"Elrod, P N - Vampire Files 10 - Cold Streets" - читать интересную книгу автора (Elrod P N)

Going to the side, I went solid near a front window that served the living room.
Within, the men whooped and laughed like Dodge City on a Saturday night. Vinzer
and Ralph were the heroes of the moment with their delivery.
Guessing the presence of so much money would keep them occupied, I eased down to
the next window. Less noise here, perhaps an empty room. As good a place as any
to start. I had to brace internally. Sieving through the tiny spaces between
wood and lathe was different from flowing through a gap like a mouse hole. It
was more a mental than a physical sensation, not a favorite, but the unpleasant
restriction was brief as I passed from outside to in, no invitation required. I
listened for signs of company in the space around me, then slowly went solid.
Some nights it's great to get out of bed. Sarah Gladwell was fast asleep on an
army cot shoved next to one wall. Her breathing didn't sound right, kind of
hoarse, but she was breathing. She didn't wake to my intrusion. I hoped it meant
she'd been drugged and wasn't sick. The room was cold; she had only one blanket.
The door was wide open to a narrow hall. Any second one of the men might walk
past and look in. I couldn't carry her out that way. They had to be taken care
of before I could get her clear.
Barging in on them like a fist-swinging gangbuster had appeal. Even at four to
one, I could win with my strength, but fights were unpredictable. If the men
were armed and quick enough to shoot, the walls were too thin to risk having
bullets flying around. I could survive getting shot, but not Sarah. She was
going back to her mother in one undamaged piece.
Getting the gang separated so I could more easily take them was best. I just had
to figure out how. Making a racket to draw them to the rear of the house would
put them on guard, bring them running, alert and suspicious. If I waited,
something would turn up in my favor. They wouldn't stay in the front all night.
My betting money was on the bathroom. Sooner or later, someone had to use the
toilet. Did this old place even have one? No matter, an outhouse would work even
better for me. I wouldn't have to worry about making noise during the bushwhack.
Hiding behind the open door, I went still again and paid attention to the
conversation in the next room. The guy named Dugan seemed to be in charge. His
accent was from Chicago, and he spoke like he'd had some education. He praised
Ralph and Vinzer for a job well done, then announced it was time to pack up and
leave.
"Aw, but it's late, and we been on the road all night," Vinzer objected. "My ass
is numb from all the driving."
"Your posterior got paid enough for it," said Dugan. "We've been here too long.
I want us away before morning. You and Ralph go over the whole house, clean it
thoroughly. Should the police find this place and find even one fingerprint, the
game is over, so dust like your grandmamma used to."
"I ain't doing no woman's stuff."
Dugan's tone was patient. "Very well, you and Ponti finish the job in the yard.
Ralph and I will clean house. Where are the gloves?"
"In the kitchen. I wanna beer."
"Then get your beer and let's all get to work. The sooner it's done, the sooner
we may leave."
There were some vague noises, then two men clumped past, going toward the back
of the house and outside slamming a door. I went invisible, waiting to see where
Ralph and Dugan would start. Dugan, I presumed, also went toward the back,
seeking gloves.