"Des & Gordon Lewis - A Man Too Mean To Be Me" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gordon Des & Lewis)

She nodded again, having by now regathered herself. Eventually, by the time she left my office, we had fixed the terms of my mission, I looked out of the window and saw that night was aready shrouding the geometrical building-tops with shifting shadows.

The smell of WinnieТs perfume hung in the air as I sat and reflected on the turn of events. I was still bemused at the coincidence of suddenly having two cases that could be linked in some way. God knows business in my line of work was hard to come by, and here, all of a sudden, I had to find someoneТs husband who could well be intricated in my investigation at the Regis organisation. It was not merely the run of the mill case of a man on the run from his wife, but that same man could well be guilty of fraud within the company he worked for.

I shivered as I heard the rattle of cold winterТs rain on my office window but resisted the urge to partake in a nip or two from the whisky bottle in the top drawer of my filing cabinet; remembering that drinking alone was not advisable, I decided to lock up shop to call in at my local bar just a street away. Maybe my old friend Roger Portway would be there. He was another ex-cop struggling on in same profession as myself, someone I worked with at times. He often helped gain information from his younger brother still in the police force.

I switched off the office light and locked the glass panelled door where was emblazoned my name and profession. Ben Crosland... Private Investigator.

Descending to Street level I hunched my shoulders in my raincoat, pulled my hat down firmly ready to meet the elements in my dash to the СOld BoarТs HeadТ pub around the corner.

The stone in my shoe must have lodged in a niche where it ceased to remind me to limp as I sped along the rain-washed deserted pavements until I burst into the lounge bar of my favourite public house.

"Hi George," I cried out to the Barman, "not fit for dogs out there."

Roger was there too, sitting in his usual corner seat near the bar.

"So whatТs new Roger," I said, as I greeted him in my usual manner.

"NothingТs new Ben," he answered "Oh forgive me, everything is new. I forgot - IТm getting wed..."

Roger poked one of his fingers at me upon which sat the chunkiest stone IТd ever seen on a manТs hand. It sparkled as he beckoned to the barman for my usual beverage.

"My intended gave me this ring," he continued, She is richer by far than..."

I waved aside the rest of what he had to say. IТd heard it all before. Not only was I a liar, but I seemed to mix with nothing but liars, too, and Roger Portway was no exception. The slickest liar. A forked tongue, A truth twister.

He laughed, as he knew IТd seen through his silly pub talk. The ring was obviously a present - not from a sweetheart (for who could possibly fancy an ugly lump like him?) - but from a grateful customer for whom he had wielded his Сprivate eyeТ. The fact that he was half-blind always made me admire his skills. On the other hand, perhaps, his enhanced inner sight gave him more analytical ability than some with a full complement of eye-power... like me.

"Roger, I need your help," I gulped my drink ignoring the dry fizz at the back of my throat which momentarily tickled a chronic cough.

"Yep, what is it this time? And, by the way, Ben, you forgot your limp coming in here. ThereТs no telling who may be watching..."

I winced. Not often did I drop my guard in such a fashion. My shoes leaked water. IТd need a new pair before long - and a chunkier stone! I laughedЕ but it was not really a joke. Life in this city was dead serious.

"Anyway, Rodge, you know Carmichael of Regis?"

"Yep, heТs been seen frequenting the Square at night, fingering things I wouldnТt let the Devil see me fingering."

"You mean heТs into the looser sort of woman this city is duly proud to entertain?"

Roger sneered at my turn of phrase, then came clean with the goods.

"Nope. CarmichaelТs into the looser sort of substance thatТs passed around the square these days ... and I donТt mean hard cash. More hard..."

I waved Roger to join me on a foray even before he could carry on with his extrapolations. We left the pub separately and headed for the Square... the heavy drizzle infiltrating between collar and skin. The city lights flickered momentarily giving me a vision of Hell. Not another power cut, I hoped. They should stay stable till the small hours at least. TheyТd never failed me before and I breathed a sigh of relief as they bloomed brighter again. I steadfastly limped in RogerТs wake - into the square. The air round here was pretty dark at the best of times, as if the city authorities simply knew that the black economy was vital to intrinsic City well-being and needed only a modicum of subtle illumination to oil its machinations!

I began to wonder if I was on a wild goose chase. If Carmichael was still in the city, large and sprawling though it may be, his wife Winnie was labouring under a delusion that he was far away by this time. Surely a man of his stature would be frequenting classier areas than the one the city square encompassed, where the dregs of humanity came out of the shadows at night.

Thankfully the rain had stopped as I caught up with Roger.