"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 320 - Reign of Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

One of the men, the fatter one, reached in his pocket and took out a roll of nickels that was wrapped in
paper the way a bank packs theirs. He placed the package in the center of his palm. One end of the roll
of coins butted against a big heavy ring that the man wore on his smallest finger. He tightened his hand
around the roll.

The other man slammed the bedroom door open. He walked into the darkness to the side of the bed. A
man sat up in bed. Light spilling in from the other room illumined his regular features. Throat dry, he
croaked, "Wh... who is it?"

The man said, "Visitors. Get up."

Eyes wide with fear, the man staggered out of his bed. His foot caught in the bedclothes. He pitched
forward. As he fell the man who had awakened him lashed out and his hand smashed down on the nape
of the other man's neck.

Ravvel grunted with pain. He was not out, but he was groggy. A foot in his chest brought him forward
onto his knees. He got to his feet and holding onto the wall for support he made his way into the living
room.

Pin point pupils dancing in the light, the slimmer of the two men said, "C'mon, get this over. I'm tired. I
want to go to bed."

The other grabbed a handful of Ravvel's pajamas coat into a bunch and shook him. His right hand was
heavy with the roll of nickels. He said, "No matter how I muss pretty boy's face up, it ain't gonna show
when he lands on his puss. Sixteen floors, is a long drop."

"Go ahead, but hurry it up. I'm tired."

"You're not tired, you need a shot. G'wan in the bathroom and get it over. I can handle pretty boy."
Making a period to the sentence the man's heavy fist cut across Ravvel's face. His heavy ring ripped a
segment of skin off the face. Blood spurted.

The thinner man left the room. As soon as he was gone there was a susurration in the bed room. Not
quite a sound, just below the hearing level there was a trace of movement. A dark figure detached itself
from the darkness around the perimeter of the light that came in from the other room.

A dense shadow formed in the doorway. Eyes flickered into being. From below the brim of a black
slouch hat an aquiline face took form. The Shadow had entered the scene!

Ravvel, eyes glazed with pain, realized there was no use in pleading for mercy. His attacker was too
obviously enjoying what he was doing. The fist lanced down again. Again there was that tearing, fiery
pain. Ravvel's eyes closed.

He waited for the next blow, sure that it would ease him into unconsciousness. Even the knowledge that
as soon as he passed out he would be thrown out of the window did not suffice to make him anxious to
stay conscious.

The man tightened his hand till the skin was taut across his knuckles. He was smiling. He raised his hand.
This one would rip from the forehead down across the nose.