"Guardino, Louise - 666 Upside Down" - читать интересную книгу автора (Guardino Louise)

666 Upside Down
by Louise Guardino

John McIntyre waited while the Fresh Market clerk scanned his few purchases. A
scent of lime drifted from the customer next in line.
УLook at that!Ф The clerkТs eyes widened. She chuckled. УI hope you arenТt
superstitious.Ф
John looked at the registerТs total. Six dollars and sixty-six cents.
УItТs nearing Halloween,Ф he said. УItТs expected.Ф
УI guess,Ф said the clerk. She glanced at the next customer, as if seeking
agreement.
The tall blondТs blue eyes glowed. He smiled at John and shook his head.
УLooks like itТs not your day.Ф
УItТs just a number,Ф said John. He knew about the mark of the first beast of
the apocalypse, but this didnТt disturb him. What raised the hair on his neck
was the ordinary-the filler news item that told of the murder of an innocent.
He walked towards his car, his eyes scanning the parking lot. A minivan pulled
out, approaching on his left. Glancing at the tinted side window, John
glimpsed the darkened image of a young boy holding a round object in one
hand-a potato?-and with the other, repeatedly plunging in a pocket knife.
Short, sharp strokes. The boyТs face was placid, almost bored. Unease
feathered its way along JohnТs spine. He watched the van turn right.
When the van cleared the Fresh Market entrance, John noticed the blond. He,
too, watched the van, a thin smile curving his mouth. His gaze met JohnТs,
locking on. Where there had been the warmth of sun, cold now iced JohnТs back.
The manТs eyelids flickered once before he moved on.
The blond was not what he appeared to be. Neither was John.
He didnТt need to work, having made more than enough money in the stock market
to last a lifetime. Ostensibly, he was a writer-publisher of an internet-based
true crime newsletter. His passion, however, was the hunting of, and stopping
of, a specific manifestation of sociopath.
He tracked the news, fixing on incidents of mortal violence. A body here; a
body there. Killed seemingly without motive. Some brutally, others with a
quick break of the neck or thrust of knife. When he saw a rash of localized
murders that targeted the quiet, the meek, and the seemingly good, he took up
temporary residence in the suspect town and began investigating.
Like mosquitoes in a swamp, these killings were on the increase. Spreading in
clumps across the country, like a fad. And there was always a blond man,
though not always blond and not always a man; sometimes easy to spot, others
times not. But always there, like a carrier of plague. In an odd way, the
insanity seemed organized.
The violence-carrier never killed directly. Instead, he cultivated deadly
acolytes, then gloried in their aftermath. It took only a few, well selected,
victims to shut a town down. John loathed, feared, and was compelled to find,
these evangelists of murder.
Here in Raleigh it seemed heТd found one: the tall, loose-limbed, lime-scented
blond. John was sure of it. And the acolyte? Perhaps the boy in the van. So
far, thereТd been five deaths that fit the pattern. The cops werenТt saying
much. John knew the drill. HeТd once been on that side of the fence. Until he
realized that catching the killers did no good.