"Richard Harding - Outrider 01 - Premier Volume" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harding Richard)

the way it is now you are going to live for a while, maybe three hours, maybe
four... maybe till this time tomorrow. You tell me what I want to know and
I'll finish it quick and easy, right now. If not, I'll walk, and you'll end up
drowning in your own blood." Bonner looked at Hatchet a long minute. Just how
dumb can one man be, he wondered. "Now, is she alive?" Hatchet nodded:
yes. "Is she with Leather?" Hatchet nodded again: yes. "At the
Capital?" Another nod: yes. "Nice going. Hatchet," said Bonner almost
tenderly, "maybe you're not so dumb after all." Bonner leaned heavily on the
black handle of the knife and felt the blade slip sideways, puncturing the
cardial sac and slicing deep into the left ventricle of Hatchet's heart. As
the black wave of death washed over him. Hatchet thought his last thought: I
hope Leather cuts your balls off. He gave a spastic kick and
died. Unceremoniously, Bonner placed his foot on Hatchet's stomach and yanked
the deeply embedded knife from the man's body. He snatched off Hatchet's
bandana, cleaned the blade, then slid it back into the holster resting on his
hip. Two other knives rested there and the three black bone handles gleamed,
as if smiling at the job done and waiting alertly for another chance to
strike. The force behind Bonner's throw had been born of pure hate and,
inwardly, he cursed himself for it. He could not afford to get worked up, not
where Leatherman was concerned. He had to trust his in- stincts but keep anger
out of things. Anger made you sloppy. Leather wanted Bonner and he knew that
there was only one piece of bait that would bring Bonner running into the
Slavestates-Dara. In the Slavestates, Leatherman was the law. Bonner could not
believe Dara was alive-that was the answer to his wildest dreams. That she was
in Leather's hands was the darkest of his nightmares. Maybe it was a trap,
maybe Dara was dead. But maybe not, maybe she was rotting in that shell of a
city that used to be Washington that Leather now called his capital. The
thought raised Bonner's anger again and reminded him that there were old
scores too long unsettled. Like a hungry mad shark Bonner swept out of the
depths to snatch at the bait. He was headed East. Chapter 2 The girl was
asleep when Bonner hefted Hatchet's dead weight onto his back and started for
the door. Along with the corpse, Bonner carried his three knives and the
cut-down stockless, Winchester pump that was pre-bomb if it was a day. It was
reliable and it could saturate an area with shot like a hailstorm. The gun was
slung over his back too, resting in a worn leather holster. Slowly he made
his -way down the stairs and dumped Hatchet's body in the street and hoped
that he wouldn't be there when he got back. Parked in front of the old
building that Bonner called home, was a car, a Toyota, pre-bomb by a good ten
years. Bonner knew every piece of machinery that remained in the ruins of
Chicago and he didn't know that one. It must be Hatchet's. He paused to
examine it and approved. It had been modified by inelegant but skillful hands.
They had stripped away anything that reduced the vehicle's speed-all the fancy
stuff that Mr. USA wanted in a car back in the days when everybody had
one. Bonner peered into the gas tank and laughed to himself. Leather hadn't
given Hatchet enough gas to make it back-because he knew that Hatchet wasn't
coming back so why waste the gas? Sometimes Leather had a funny sense of
humor. The streets were dark and littered with the refuse that nobody ever
bothered to pick up. There was no law in Chicago and that was fine with the
residents. Bonner picked his way through the streets, ready at any moment to
pull the Winchester from his back. There were always a couple of street-men