"Hennessey, Mike - Dan Healey - The Screwdriver Solution" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hennessey Mike)

"It's open," a voice rasped. "Come in." I poked the door open. It swung back easily.

"Come in," the voice repeated impatiently. "Put your kit on the floor and turn and spread out against the wall. Put the hand with the flashlight behind you."

Mac had been right. Lester grabbed the flash, shone it all over me, then frisked me quickly, around my chest, my waist, the small of my back, a quick rub down my legs. He stepped back, shone the light on my tool kit, felt through it, then grunted, apparently satisfied.

"Okay," he said. "Turn around." I did so and he shone the light up and down a couple of times, studying me. The Luger in his right hand never wavered.

"Please," I said. "You don't need that. I'm scared enough."

"You don't act like a cop," he said.

"I'm not. Just an ordinary Joe trying to do his job and scared to death."

"Stay that way and you'll get out of this alive," he said. "Now, get on with it."

"Okay," I said. "Where's the fuse box?"

"How the hell do I know?"

"They're usually in the basement," I said. "Let's try there."

"Just a minute." He went away and in the rays from the flash I could see the boy tied to a chair, gagged, big eyes staring, full of tears, beseeching. I looked away as Lester checked the ropes.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go."

We started down the basement steps, me ahead of him. He shone the light around.

"It should be near the steps," I said. "On the wall. Up a little higher."

It was just in front of where I was standing. I reached out and flipped open the door. Inside were sixteen fuses in two rows of eight each. I studied them closely, then unscrewed a couple.

"You know much about electricity?" I asked casually.

"I know how to change a light bulb," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "We get that a lot."

"What're you doing?"

"I'm removing these fuses to check them," I said.

"How d'you do that?"

"Pass me that #10 screwdriver and I'll show you," I said. "It's that long narrow one," I added as his light played over the kit. "Yeah, that one."

He stood up and stepped closer to pass it to me. He was holding it and the flashlight in his left hand, keeping his gun hand free. He passed me the screwdriver handle first, extending his gun hand into the circle of light so I'd be aware that he had me covered. His two hands were about fifteen inches apart.

I reached to take the screwdriver with my right hand, and as I grasped the handle I swept up and away with my left and the gun exploded off to the side. I slid my left hand down until I had his gun hand firmly by the wrist.