"Keith Laumer & Eric Flint - Future Imperfect" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laumer Keith)

But they had missed a betтАФmaybe. Back around the corner, where I had parked my
borrowed Humber there had been a narrow air space cutting back into the monolithic
Portland facades. I did not know where the alleys my friends had entered joined, but there
was at least a chance that the side way I had seen intersected them. If so, their rabbit had
a bolt hole. I dropped back and ran.
At the car, all was quiet. No hunted fugitives had dashed out from the dark crack in
the wall; no shots and yells indicated a successful snatch somewhere back in the lightless
recesses of the warehouse complex. There was not even a cheery drunk caroling his way
home after a long evening with the daughter of the vine. There was just me, feeling a
little fuzzy at three A.M., standing in the rain and wearing a trench coat over pajamas,
and shoes without socks, looking from my borrowed car to the silent, faceless wall before
me, and wondering just what it was that had seemed so important a few minutes earlier.
For all I knew, Gray Hair owned the warehouse. Maybe he was a big importer, down
checking on a report of mice. Maybe he was a member of the volunteer firemen, hot on
the trail of an incipient blaze. If I was really interested in what he was doing, the small,
shy voice of common sense was suggesting, why not walk up to him and ask him.
"Hi, there, Mr. Sethys," I would say. "Just noticed you taking a drive in the middle of
the night, and thought I'd trail along and ask why. . . ."
There was a sound from the two-foot wide air spaceтАФa rustle, as of someone moving,
stealthily. I moved over against the wall, one hand on the butt of my .38 like a good
churchman fingering his crucifix for luck. I could hear breathing nowтАФshort, gasping
breaths, noises made by someone who had run a long way and was about played out.
Then I caught another soundтАФthe hard clack of feet, running without much concern for
who might be listening; confident feet, closing the gap.
I waited. Sound would carry in the confined space; the chaser and the chased were
close, but it was hard to estimateтАФ
 There was a grunt, a muffled yelp, noises that indicated blows, lots of heavy
breathing. The chasee had been caught yards from where I stood. Whoever it was, he was
in the hands of Sethys' legmen now. I had poked my nose inтАФor tried toтАФbut so far I
was clean. I could slide back into my black leather seat and drift off into the night, and no
one the wiser. Tomorrow I could get started on recouping my fortunes, and by this time
next week the whole thing would seem like a bout of delirium. It was none of my
business and if I was smart, it never would be.
I took two steps and slid into the narrow alley.
***
Ten feet away, a man stood, his arms clamped around a little slim fellow wrapped in a
too-long coat. It was three jumps to where the tableau showed as a contorted black
silhouette against the light from behind; I made it in two, caught the big boy by the collar,
laid the flat of the gun across the side of his head. He kicked out, hit the wall as I pivoted
behind him. My second swing caught him on the jaw. He lost his grip, slipped down into
a half crouch, and I hit him again, putting plenty of power behind it, saw him sprawl out
flat. Then I looked upтАФjust in time to meet a big steel ball somebody had brought in to
wreck the building with.
Fireworks were showering, pretty colors whirling around and round, round and round,
and I was whirling with them, feeling ghostly bricks grinding into my face. I was
remotely aware of a thin scream, the crunch of heavy feet across me, the impact of a mule
kick in my side. Then I was clawing at a coarse-textured wall, blinking through haze at
two figures who swayed above me in a strange and violent dance, swinging first this way,
then that, locked in a close embrace. One of the dancers slipped, almost went down. I was
on my knees now, creeping up the wall like a human fly tackling the Blue Tower in