"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 02 - Laughing Corpse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

тАЬI donтАЩt do it for good press,тАЭ I said.
тАЬI know. You believe in your little cause.тАЭ
тАЬYouтАЩre a condescending bastard,тАЭ I said, smiling sweetly up at him.
He grinned at me. тАЬI know.тАЭ
I just shook my head; with Bert you canтАЩt really win an insult match. He
doesnтАЩt give a damn what I think of him, as long as I work for him.
My navy blue suit jacket was supposed to be summer weight but it was a lie.
Sweat trickled down my spine as soon as I stepped out of the car.
Bert turned to me, small eyes narrowing. His eyes lend themselves to
suspicious squints. тАЬYouтАЩre still wearing your gun,тАЭ he said.
тАЬThe jacket hides it, Bert. Mr. Gaynor will never know.тАЭ Sweat started
collecting under the straps of my shoulder holster. I could feel the silk
blouse beginning to melt. I try not to wear silk and a shoulder rig at the
same time. The silk starts to look indented, wrinkling where the straps cross.
The gun was a Browning Hi-Power 9mm, and I liked having it near at hand.
тАЬCome on, Anita. I donтАЩt think youтАЩll need a gun in the middle of the
afternoon, while visiting a client.тАЭ BertтАЩs voice held that patronizing tone
that people use on children. Now, little girl, you know this is for your own
good.
 Bert didnтАЩt care about my well-being. He just didnтАЩt want to spook Gaynor.
The man had already given us a check for five thousand dollars. And that was
just to drive out and talk to him. The implication was that there was more
money if we agreed to take his case. A lot of money. Bert was all excited
about that part. I was skeptical. After all, Bert didnтАЩt have to raise the
corpse. I did.
The trouble was, Bert was probably right. I wouldnтАЩt need the gun in broad
daylight. Probably. тАЬAll right, open the trunk.тАЭ
Bert opened the trunk of his nearly brand-new Volvo. I was already taking
off the jacket. He stood in front of me, hiding me from the house. God forbid
that they should see me hiding a gun in the trunk. What would they do, lock
the doors and scream for help?
I folded the holster straps around the gun and laid it in the clean trunk.
It smelled like new car, plastic and faintly unreal. Bert shut the trunk, and
I stared at it as if I could still see the gun.
тАЬAre you coming?тАЭ he asked.
тАЬYeah,тАЭ I said. I didnтАЩt like leaving my gun behind, for any reason. Was
that a bad sign? Bert motioned for me to come on.
I did, walking carefully over the gravel in my high-heeled black pumps.
Women may get to wear lots of pretty colors, but men get the comfortable
shoes.
Bert was staring at the door, smile already set on his face. It was his
best professional smile, dripping with sincerity. His pale grey eyes sparkled
with good cheer. It was a mask. He could put it on and off like a light
switch. HeтАЩd wear the same smile if you confessed to killing your own mother.
As long as you wanted to pay to have her raised from the dead.
The door opened, and I knew Bert had been wrong about me not needing a gun.
The man was maybe five-eight, but the orange polo shirt he wore strained over
his chest. The black sport jacket seemed too small, as if when he moved the
seams would split, like an insectтАЩs skin that had been outgrown. Black
acid-washed jeans showed off a small waist, so he looked like someone had