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

A tendril of smoke wafted upward from the painted smile on the doll's face. And then, suddenly, there
was no face! The doll's head was a smoking, roiling mass. The cotton batting of which the head was
made was puffing up into view as the plaster of the doll's face was eaten away.

The girl looked from the destroyed doll's head to the bottle. From the bottle her eyes went up to the face
of the man who had poured the liquid on her doll.
He said, "Get it, dearie?"

She shuddered.

The other man said. "Don't get in a hassle, darling. We won't do that to your face... not unless you force
us to."

"What do you want?" she whispered.

"Money."

"How much?"

"You make five bills a week. We want two."

"Sure." She smiled hysterically. "Sure, I get five hundred a week. But how much do you think is left after
I pay my agent ten per cent, my personal manager ten, Uncle Sam his tax cut, and the hundred I pay my
press agent a week?"

"Enough so you can give us two... or..." The man's slitted eyes went to the doll's head. He lingered over
the cotton batting which was smoking now.

"You're crazy. I don't see that much money free and clear," she said, angry now.

"So you'll have to make a couple of extra bucks a week," the man said. "That's your business, not ours."
His voice was flat. "First payment is due by Friday. And no cops." He grinned and it showed yellow
broken stumps projecting from the gums.

She dropped her head into her hands. She didn't even see them go, but there were eyes that saw them
leave. At the window, the tiny dirty window that never allowed any sun to enter the dressing room, there
was a patch of shadow which seemed just a degree darker than the real shadows.

The darker shadow faded away. The frightened girl was alone with her fears.

The prelims were over. No one had watched the fighters. People milled around, late comers bustled
down the aisles. In the ring the last pair of prelim fighters were finishing their mechanical chores. It was a
six round bout. This was the last round. The fighters were evenly matched. As a matter of fact, they had
put on a fairly good fight. But no one was interested. They were lightweights and the attention of the
evening was focused on the middleweight championship bout.

In the ring, one of the men was on the receiving end of a left jab. He staggered, the right came through
and the bout was over.