"Rob Grant - Colony" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Rob)

decomposing testicles.
He liquidified as much of his assets as possible in the time тАФ what a meagre haul
that had seemed, set against his ludicrous debt тАФ and headed for what he
considered to be the fairest casino in town.
It had taken him seventeen years of virtuous thrift and parsimonious self-denial to
amass his pitiful savings. It took considerably less than seventeen minutes to lose it
all.
 So now, here is Eddie O'Hare, in a free hotel suite the casino reserves for its
biggest high-rollers, for the people who lose the most money the quickest, clutching
a fifty chip some big-time winner has tossed him in pity. And that chip is the last
thing between Eddie and a very brutalтАж
Eddie sees the big hole appear in the door before he hears the sound of the
gunshot. The huge smoked window he's gazing through cracks across the middle
and the top half seems to sigh, then collapses without protest down towards the thrill
below.
The door has already been kicked down and two men are standing in the
doorway, silhouettes against the corridor's glow. Tight-fitting grey suits, ties as thin
as stiletto blades, trousers slightly too short, exposing fluorescent pink socks above
black suede loafers.
The uniform.
How did they find out so fast? How did they find him so fast? Eddie doesn't
really have time to think, as the men start to cross the room briskly and businesslike
in his direction. Just doing a job. Dum de dum.
Eddie briefly contemplates hurling himself after the window. Then he realizes that
would be fairly silly, since that's probably what the men are going to do to him, if
he's lucky.
The first man reaches him. Eddie sees his features. He has startlingly red hair.
He's not smiling, but he's not looking angry, either. For some reason, Eddie finds
this reassuring.
Wrongly.
The man grabs him firmly but not violently under his arms as the second man
arrives, his gun freshly holstered. He's bald, this other one. Shiny bald. He grabs
Eddie behind the knees, and swings him up. Hammocked between the two men,
Eddie feels strangely guilty that he didn't put up some kind of a fight. Some sort of
struggle at least. A verbal protest, even.
They swing him back, ready to pitch him through the window. Eddie's aware of
the aftershave of the man holding his arms. He thinks it's quite nice. In other
circumstances, he might have asked for the brand name.
One of the men speaks. The redhead.
'Mr Bevadino would really like to know where his money is.'
Eddie looks out of the window at what has suddenly become a beautiful night
sky. The moon really does look blue, just like in the song. He thinks about the long
fall he's about to undertake.
He's not looking forward to it.
It's not the prospect of the crushing, mangling impact that fills him with dread тАФ
he believes that he'll be dead before he's splattered over the pavement like so much
regurgitated Saturday night kebab. No, what he's really dreading is having his life
flash before him. It was bad enough going through it once. Such a nothing of a life.
Such a safe, riskless, funless excuse for a life.
'Last chance, pilgrim. It's a busy night.'