"Craig Shaw Gardner - Cineverse 1 - Slaves of the Volcano God" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gardner Craig Shaw)

The whole thing had, of course, begun with Delores. Ah, Delores! Just thinking of her
slim form and long, blond hair, her full lips, her eyes as blue as the Caribbean, Roger
wanted to swoon.

He stopped himself immediately. Swooning, as far as Roger knew, was a form of
moving. The man with the gun was not too keen on moving. He had mentioned this to
Roger, many times. Could something go on this long and still be considered a crisis?

"Oh, Roger," Delores had said in her husky voice, as distinctive in its way as the
voice of the man with the trench coat. Then Delores had kissed himтАФthe kind of kiss
that starts on the lips but somehow manages to work its way down to the toes. "My
Roger," she had said as she tousled his sandy brown hair, and with those words, he
had known his fate was sealed. He was "her Roger," and he knew what happened
when Delores really wanted something. After all, if she hadn't attacked that vending
machine, he never would have met her in the first place.

What really surprised Roger, however, was the equal certainty that he considered this
woman "his Delores." After what had happened to him with Susan, he had never
thought he could feel this way about a woman again. Heaven knows, he never felt the
same way when he walked into a supermarket. But somehow, supermarkets no longer
seemed important. They were "her Roger" and "his Delores"; that was what was
important. And that was it, no matter what.

"No moving," the man in the trench coat said again. He paused. "Well, I suppose you
can smile. I mean, we all have to move some, don't we? You can't help but blink your
eyes. That sort of thing. But no big movements. I think that's what the guys meant. I
wonder what's taking them so long?"

"Guys?" Roger asked. Somehow, this was all beginning to seem like some
particularly bad film noir.

"No talking now!" The man in the trench coat waved the gun even more in Roger's
direction than he had before. "Smiling's okay, but talking's definitely out. Talking is
moving, and then some! I know my orders. You tell Big Louie to do something, he
does it!"

Big Louie? The guy with the gun wasn't any more than five foot four, and one time
when the floor-length trench coat swung open, Roger could have sworn he glimpsed
elevator shoes. Just what was going on here?

"Just what's going on here?" the little man in the trench coat whined as if he had read
Roger's mind. "Those guys should be here by now. I mean, this is where Delores
lives, isn't it?"

Roger cleared his throat. "WellтАФ" he began.

Roger found the gun pressed against his nose.

"What did I say about talking?" Big Louie hissed. He frowned and removed the gun
from Roger's nostril. "Well, I suppose you can talk if you're answering a question.