"Johnston, Jim - Hot Ice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Johnston Jim)

'The idol itself is horrendous for its barbaric power. Its eyes are of cut gems, a skill I am sure the Eskimos never possessed. And the idol is cast metal - another skill beyond their culture. There is a fortune in gems still waiting to be utilised. Angekok has a drum, which he beats upon with a human femur bone.
'And those human remains - are they the sacred remains of devout Eskimos, or are they the remains of human sacrifices?
'Beyond the human skulls on poles, guarding sacks of gems (the sacks are made out of animal hides) there's a kayak filled to overflowing with the gems.
'Thankfully, I was able to slip away, undetected. Angekok would never have heard me over the noise he was making with his drum.
'After that, I always kept my revolver handy - and, although I longed to, I could never mention to Angekok that I had seen his secret temple. As Spring approached, Angekok journeyed more often outside. I kept a secret watch on him to make sure that he was plotting no mischief against my person -
'Then, one day, I followed him to the cavern entrance and found him drumming up one of his demon gods and what I saw on that occasion was enough to send me running - running for my very sanity!'
'I ran through the tunnels, past the bubbling mud-pools. As I ran, I knew that there was nothing for me in this place but immolation at the altar of a bestial god. I was prepared for death. One does not enter the great white wastes of the world without notifying one's soul that you may soon have need of the spiritual side of matters.
'Behind me, I could hear the stealthy sounds of pursuit. I was prepared to die - but not as a sacrifice to a heathen idol that had long out-stayed its welcome from the age of savagery.
'I had proof at last of the original intent of my scientific expedition. While Angekok had often slept, exhausted from his satanic ecstasies, I had explored this cavern and now it was my fervent hope that an underground stream might bear me from this fate.
'The kayak I had seen on my first journey was sound enough to serve as escape. Now my only hope was to take to the rushing waters and discover the true North West Subterranean Passage.
'And that was the beginning of my strangest voyage - leaving behind the dreadful secrets of the Eye of Malsum, Angekok and his cruel price for hospitality and the shadowy shapelessness of a darkling demon summoned from out an icy sky!
'How long I voyaged underground I cannot now remember. The memory of that journey is but a blur. I think I met things that mortal man dare not visualise lest his sanity be blasted, but thankfully no recollection stirs of that nightmare interlude -'
* * * * *
Next day I went back to Moses Pyper's office, and threw the folder down on his desk. 'Okey, Mose. I take it you want to retain my services?'
'My boy, you'll do it, then?'
I took off my hat and threw it onto the hat stand. 'Sure, why not? Like you said, I could do with the vacation. I take it you got some sort of cover story to get me into Monro's operation?'
Mose sat down on the edge of his desk, with a set of papers, passport, high school diplomas and other paraphernalia. 'For you, my boy, nothing but the best. You'll be Wilson K Abbott, late of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. You received a dishonourable discharge for accepting a bribe, but otherwise your credentials are impeccable.' 'A crooked Mountie. The King of England'll never forgive me.'
I glanced up and saw that the spider I'd put out onto Mose's window ledge had strung itself a web. I gestured to the spider with my thumb. 'Looks like your spider brought you good luck.'
'You and me both, Wolf, my boy -'
* * * * *
1935, New Orleans
Back in the taxi I could still hear Mose and his jubilant words: ' - you and me both.'
I groaned loudly enough for the cabby to glance warily in his rear-view mirror. How could you be so wrong, Mose?
I clenched my right hand into a fist and the glove split under the pressure. The leather seams gave way at the fingertips and the claws broke through, fur edged around the gaps, writhing unnaturally. I clamped my right wrist with my left hand and fought to stifle another groan.
' - How could you be so goddamn wrong!'
The taxi pulled up to the docks, and a big sign made it clear that we had reached Dock 17. I could even see the SS Vidor, riding at the quay.
The cabby swung his cab around and came to a halt. 'This is your stop, Mac.'
'Thanks, bud. And here's a ten-spot that says you never saw me tonight. Capiche?'
The driver stared uneasily at my gloved fist. 'Capiche.'
I watched the taxi drive off, then glanced around at the barren dockside. Last time I was here I boarded the boat for Alaska - - heading for the ice -
I saw a warehouse off to one side, with a faded sign: Monro Refrigerated Transport.
I passed the chain-link fence and was in through the dockyards, my footsteps loud in my ears. - and all I found was the tip of the iceberg.
At the foot of the Vidor's gangplank, I could see the dim outline of a hulking guard. Stray lamplight gleamed on the carbine he carried in his hands. I didn't think it would be left unguarded -
I began to walk up the gangplank, my gloved hand on the hawser to steady me. I saw the guard's silhouette stiffen as he realized he didn't know me. But I knew something else that he didn't know -
The guard came out of the shadows, a burly thug in a navy jumper, pointing his carbine at my chest. 'Okay, punk, that's far enough. ' He spoke with a pronounced Cajun accent. 'Now tell me what yew want?'
'I don't think you care about what I want, buddy. But I know what it's like -'
In mid-sentence, I sprang. My left hand pushed the barrel of the carbine down, my gloved hand came up and tore away the guard's face.
He went down with a gurgling wail, too stunned with surprise and too shocked with the pain to put up any resistance.
I snarled down at him. 'Yes, I know what it's like - to howl at the moon!'
Despite myself, I could feel the force in my gloved hand fighting me. It had made the blood flow and now it wanted more blood. It wanted a scarlet universe as its one true heritage. But I fought down the urge. It was like slamming a door against a beast. I knew I had to keep the wolf from the door.
I stepped through the hatchway and picked up his fallen carbine and checked the mechanism. I was pretty lucky even with the element of surprise on my side. There was a bullet in the breech - even in his death throes he could have fired it off.
I dropped to a crouch, the rifle still in my hands. I reacted even before I was aware of what had caused my reaction.
From beyond another hatchway, I heard someone calling in a low voice: 'Hey, Willie, you there?'
I smiled despite myself. I knew I could do this just right.
For all his care, the guard was wary. I replied in a Cajun accent similar to the fallen guard's. 'Hey, take a look at this!'
The guard stepped through, and I took him out with a rifle butt to his right temple. He went down like a sack of potatoes, his fingers nervelessly groping at my shoes. I shook his hands away. 'Didn't your Mommy teach you to wipe your feet?'
It took me three minutes to tie them up and gag them. They were unconscious, which was ten times more than what they deserved. I knew only too well the kind of scum that worked for Monro.
I took both rifles over my shoulder. I could smell that Monro was on board. He's taking a risk, I chuckled to myself. But I was glad, and the darkness rejoiced also. I could smell Monro's greed, his avarice. It floated in the air like invisible spider-webs, or trailing streamers of Spanish moss.
I came to what seemed to be a hold. There was a ladder. I didn't want to risk a light, so I climbed down. I was getting in deeper. Further entangled in Monro's web of arrogance. It was so strong I could almost taste the drip, drip, drip of his bloodied hands.
* * * * *