"Laymon, Richard - Bite" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laymon Richard)

"No. Are you kidding? If what he does to me is _love_, I'd hate to see the way he hates."
"But he keeps coming back," I said.
"I don't know what he sees in me. Maybe I remind him of someone -- a lost lover from his salad days in Transylvania."
"He's from Transylvania?"
"That was a joke, Sammy."
"Ah."
"I don't know where he comes from. From hell, for all I know. Which is where I'd like to send him. In maybe about an hour."
The clock on the dashboard showed 11:05 p.m.
"I thought you wanted _me_ to kill him," I said.
"It'll be a joint effort. I'll keep him busy while you sneak up on him."
"With what?"
"I've got a hammer and stake you can use."
"Jesus," I muttered.
"You can hide in my bedroom closet."
"Sounds like you've given this a little thought."
"I've wanted him dead for a year. And like I said, I've tried a few times myself. I just can't pull it off. He has to be taken by surprise."
"Don't vampires have psychic powers?" I asked.
"Do they?"
"So I've heard."
"If Elliot's psychic, he's done a good job of keeping it a secret."
"Then you don't think he'll have a vision of me hiding in the closet?"
"He might _sense_ that something isn't right. But it'll be vague. And he's usually focused on just one thing when he shows up --me. It won't even cross his mind to look in the closet."
"Hope not," I said. "You're expecting him around midnight?"
"Exactly midnight."
"What if he's early?"
"Then we're screwed," she said. "But he's never early. He's an extremely punctual vampire. Probably comes from all that worry about the time of sunrise."
"A joke?" I asked.
"Yep. I don't know how he feels about sunrises. He never sticks around that long. And he's never mentioned it. He doesn't talk about vampire stuff. He says that knowing his secrets would give me power over him."
"What makes you think he _is_ a vampire?" I asked.
Her head turned toward me for a moment. She said, "He bites." Then she faced the windshield again. "He sucks my blood."
"_I_ could do that."
"Could you come and go whenever you please in a house that's locked up tight -- without ever leaving a clue as to how you did it?"
"Not me, but a lot of people probably can. Locksmiths, certain talented burglars, magicians . . ."
"He _is_ a vampire, Sam."
"How do you know?"
"A lot of ways."
"Have you ever seen him do something . . . supernatural?"
"Like turn himself into a bat?"
"Yeah, like that."
While I waited for an answer, I turned my face to the window and had a chance to see where we were. Westbound on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica.
"I _know_ he's a vampire," she said. "But no, I can't think of anything supernatural I've seen him do."
She turned right onto a quiet street. Cars were parked on both sides and in most of the driveways, but ours seemed to be the only car in motion. Cat drove slowly.
"Does this mean you don't want to help me?" she asked.
"It doesn't mean that at all. Of course I'll help you. I just want to know what I'm dealing with."
"Elliot's a vampire, and he'll show up at midnight to suck my blood. You'll see for yourself before too much longer."
I looked at the clock.
11:14 p.m.
"How far's your place from here?" I asked.
"Two blocks."
"Guess we'll make it before midnight."