"Judith Lamb - A Good Boy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lamb Judith)

"Well, well, lookit the little bookkeeper," he snickered. He wasn't smiling. "Where's my dough?" His bull neck bulged over his black shirt. Jack's hand trembled as he put the money on the desk. "Here. Take it and get out," he managed to say.

The Squeeze palmed it, then slowly and carefully began counting. Jack's forehead itched with sweat as he watched Louie's lips moving.

"It's all there, Louie, come on, we ain't got all night."

Louie looked at Jack, his mean eyes flashing. "What're you pulling here, huh?" His face turned red, the acne scars pale, ghastly craters.

"What? It's all there. Five hundred, what I borrowed."

Louie reached across the desk, grabbed Jack's shirt in both beefy hands and lifted him clear of the chair. The smell of stale onions swept over him as Louie pulled him close.

"You borrowed five hundred, yeah, but you owe six-fifty. I ain't running a charity, stupid. There's interest, you little punk." He let go of the shirt and Jack fell back on the chair.

Jack swallowed back bile as he opened the cash box. Louie's eyes bulged when he saw the money and he quickly reached across the desk, slammed the lid shut, and picked up the box.

"Hey..." Jack yelled.

"For my troubles I'll just take it all," Louie said.

"You can't," Jack whimpered.

"Sez who, punk?"

Jack's rubbery legs barely held him up as he came around the desk. He grabbed Louie's arm.

"Give me the box..."

Louie's punch hit him before he even saw his arm moving. The side of Jack's face exploded in pain as he fell backward against the desk. The second punch caught him in the stomach. He dropped to his knees, struggling to breathe. Louie turned and glared at Truck cowering in a far corner. "Smart boy," he growled and headed for the door.

Jack lunged and managed to grab Louie's ankle.

"Man, you're nuts," Louie hissed. He reached down and grabbed Jack's hand and with one, quick jerk he broke Jack's grip. He closed his hand over Jack's fingers and squeezed.

Jack screamed. Louie laughed, a deep, sinister Sidney Greenstreet kind of laugh. Jack heard a dreadful snap. Louie was breaking his hand. Jack leaned forward and sunk his teeth into Louie's muscular thigh. He felt the rough texture of Louie's pants and tasted the warm, copper taste of blood. His stomach heaved.

He heard Louie scream as the pressure eased on his hand. The next instant his head began throbbing as Louie pounded on him. When Louie swung the cash box against Jack's head, Jack's vision blurred and a loud rushing pressure filled his head, but he hung on. Then, as if from a long distance, he heard the box hit the floor.

Now Jack tried to open his mouth but he couldn't. His jaw was locked. Louie fell heavily to the floor and kicked at Jack with his free leg. For a crazy moment Jack saw himself lying in his coffin, a thigh bone in his mouth, and then everything went dark.

Jack squinted into the bright light, his eyes watering. He couldn't see clearly but he was positive a lovely angel was standing beside him, a gleaming red halo surrounding her head. Dear, sweet Jesus. He'd made it to heaven.

"Jack, open your eyes now," commanded the familiar voice of Sister Mary the Terrible.

Jack's eyes popped wide open, the pain from the light like hot needles searing his brain. He lifted his head slightly and looked in the direction of that voice. He could barely make out a towering shadow. Aunt Mary. Oh, jeez. Had that rotten Louie killed her too? And sent her into eternity with Jack? Eternity. Like, forever. He blinked away tears.

He lowered his head and pain rolled from his face, through his arms and fingers and down his legs. He groaned.

"Don't try to move," the angel said. "You've taken quite a beating."