"Lumley, Brian - Psychomech 02 - Psychosphere UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

No one else appeared to notice these thingsЧ with perhaps the one exception of the blind man's woman, who backed off from him a little, her hand going nervously to her mouthЧbut Joe Black was absolutely certain of what he had seen. It was as if, in the space of only a few seconds, a different man stood in Garrison's shoes. A man with a different voice. A harsh, arrogant, authoritative, somehow Germanic voice:
"1 accept your gamble, my little Sicilian friend. Let the wheel spin. But since so very much rests
Brian Lumley
upon itЧin your eyes at leastЧplease be so good as to spin it yourself."
"That's most. . . unusual," Vicenti had grated in return. "But so is everything tonight, it appears. Very well Ч " and in utter silence he had moved through the throng, which opened to let him pass, spun the wheel, raced the ball against the spinЧand waited.
Rock steady he had stood there as the wheel gradually slowed and the ball skittered and clicked, ramrod straight at the head of the table, his face split in a frozen, almost meaningless grin. And the ball jumping, rolling, skittering, and the wheel slowing. And a sea of faces watching the wheelЧexcept Garrison's which, blind or not, seemed turned upon Vicen-ti's faceЧand Joe Black's, which watched only Garrison.
And the wheel still turning but the ball now firmly lodged in its slot. Vicenti's eyes bulging. A touch of foam at the corner of his madly grinning mouth. Concerted gasps, sighs, amazed little utterances going up from the onlookersЧand all of them drawing back from the swaying Vicenti to give him space, air.
And his half-gasp, half-croak, as the fingers of his left hand clawed at the table's rim, giving him support: "Zero!"
"You have my address," Garrison's voice was still the new, cold Germanic one. "I shall expect the documents delivered in the near future. Goodnight to you." And he had picked up Vicenti's check and pocketed it, and without another
8
PSYCHOSPHERE
word had led his wife across the floor, out of the room, out of the club and into the night.
Oh, yes, Joe Black remembered that night, flow rage and utter hatred had blazed in Vicenti's fever-bright eyes as he watched Garrison leave; how he had then switched off the table's overhead light and given the dealer and his assistant the rest of the nightЧindeed the rest of their livesЧoff, telling them never to return; and how he had retired rubber-legged to the club's offices. There he had consumed large amounts of alcohol, being quite drunk later when, after the club had said goodnight to its last patron, he staggeringly returnedЧreturned with a fire axe and great gusto to reduce the table, wheel and all to very small fragments.
Mot a night Black might easily forget... it was the night Vicenti had offered him the contract on Garrison's life ...
The second pair of eyes watching Richard Garrison and Vicki Maler belonged to a gentleman from Genoa named Paulo Palazzi. A gentleman, that is, to unacquainted eyes. Unlike Joe Black, Palazzi had no prior knowledge of Garrison beyond the fact that he was a very rich man. Anyone with his own chartered aircraft sitting idle in a hangar at Rhodes airport would, of necessity, be very rich. This had seemed indisputable to Palazzi; nevertheless, he had made several discreet, local inquiries to prove the point; and if further confirmation were needed there was always the fact that Garrison and his lady had paid for and were now enjoying the luxury of
Brian Lumley
rooms large enough to accommodate three to four times their numbers. Privacy costs money. A lot of money . . .
Paulo Palazzi was small, slim, immaculate in a white, lightweight Italian suit and patent leather shoes, and bareheaded to show off his mop of curly black hair. Light-skinned, clear-eyed and fresh-faced, he could be anything between twenty-five and forty years of age. A cheerful, fairly well-to-do Italian touristЧto anyone offering him less than a very close scrutiny. And indeed he was fairly well-do-to, on the spoils of various illicit occupations, including his very successful summer trips. This was one such: a week on Rhodes which, with a bit of luck, would pay for itself many times over.
He had been watching Garrison's comings and goings for three days now, sufficient time to acquaint himself quite intimately with the man's humors and habits. Only one thing continued to concern him: Garrison's blindness. For plainly Garrison was not blind, despite the heavy dark glasses he constantly wore. Or if he was, then his four remaining senses had expanded out of all proportionЧor, more likely, he was richer than even Palazzi had reckoned. For who but an extremely rich man could possibly afford the very special and miniaturized aids he would need to make so light of so serious an infirmity?
Mot that Garrison's blindnessЧreal or assumedЧgave Palazzi any sort of moral pause, on the contrary. The thing was a positive boon, or might be if Palazzi's plans needed to be altered. Mo, it was just that Garrison seemed to
10
PSYCHOSPHERE
see so very well... for a blind man. Well, doubtless he had his own reasons for the subterfuge, if indeed it was such. And for Palazzi ... it must remain simply a curiosity, one of the idiosyncrasies of a victim-to-be.
Palazzi sat upon a spread handkerchief, his slim legs nonchalantly crossed, his back to a merlon of the ancient battlements, high over Lindos on the precipitous wall of the Acropolis itself. He held a pair of powerful binoculars to his eyes in slender, highly articulate and well-manicured hands, his gaze fixed upon the vine beneath which he could just make out the light blue of Garrison's T-shirt and the coolly contrasting greens of Vicki's skirt and top. He smiled to himself, idly reflecting upon his own cleverness.
His modus operand! was simplicity itself, perfected over the last three seasons. Three seasons, yes, for he had discovered Lindos three summers ago. Lindos and its mighty rock.
From the old battlements, courtesy of the crusading Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, he could see virtually all of the village. Not a single house or home, shack or taverna was hidden from his scrutiny. Sitting here, warm in the brilliant sunshine and breathing the sweet, clean air of the Aegean, he could study any victim's to and froings at will, picking and choosing the perfect time to strike. And occasionally, just occasionally, there would be enough in it to keep him in luxury for . . . well, for a little while at least,
As for the way it worked:
11
Brian Lumley
Tomorrow evening, for example, Garrison and his lady would very likely go out. They would eat, drink, talk a little in one or another taverna late into the Lindos night. Their movements would be languid, leisurely. They were on holiday, in no mood to hurry. Later they might go to a disco, burn off a little excess energy. But whatever they did, it would make little difference. Palazzi, having seen them leave their rooms, would have plenty of time to get in, discover their hidden valuables (they all did that, hid away their jewelry and spare cash), take what he wanted and get out.
And of course Garrison would not be his only victim tomorrow night. There was also a fat, rich Frenchman and his mistress, who Palazzi knew were booked to see a show tomorrow in Rhodes; and finally there was a Swiss playboy and his girlfriend, who invariably danced and drank the night away. And all of them would be leaving their accommodation at approximately the same time, their movements entirely visible in the magnifying lenses of the thief's binoculars. And the cost of remaining up here when the crowds of visitors were finally ushered out of the place and the Acropolis locked its door? Oh, a few hundred Drachmas, enough to keep the gnarled old watchman in ouzo for a night or two.
And in the early hours of the following morningЧwith the sun not long up and the local constabulary still rubbing the sleep from their eyesЧwhy, Paulo Palazzi would be gone! Lone passenger in a taxi headed for Rhodes town, where he would change his suit, his style, un-
12
PSYCHOSPHERE
load a few choice items for cash and re-adopt his real name. Under which, four or five days from now, he would fly back to Genoa and business as usual. And if what he had seen of Mrs. Garrison's jewelry alone was anything to go by ... it would be quite a long time before he needed to do any "serious" work again.
Which was probably why he was so cheerful, nodding a bright good morning to a couple of pretty British girls with Birmingham accents where they leaned out over the wall close by and oohed and aahed their awe at the scene spread below. Yes, it was a very pretty scene, and a very good morning. Hopefully tomorrow would be just as good, and especially tomorrow night.
Putting his binoculars away, snapping shut the catch on their case and standing up, Palazzi smiled at the girls again. One of them had the most exquisitely jutting breasts. He licked his lips. A pity this was a purely business trip, but-Well, business is business . . .
Five minutes after Joe Black left the elevated patio where his intended victim now breakfasted, Garrison paused with a forkful of scrambled egg raised halfway to his mouth. Suddenly upon his mind's eye, leaping into view from nowhere, he had viewedЧsomething. A scene, not a true memory but something else entirely. Just what . . . he couldn't say, except that for a moment all of his senses had seemed electrified into a tingling defensiveness. The scene had been dim and smoky and had depicted a male figure, seated, his hand spinning a small rou-
13
Brian Lumley
lette wheel which he held between crossed legs. The thing had lasted no longer than a split second. Mow it was gone, beyond recall.
"Richard?" Vicki's voice reached him. "Something with your egg?"
He unfroze, relaxed shoulders grown too tight, and lowered his fork. "Ho," he smiled, "it's fine. I've had enough, that's all."
"You looked so strange just then," she was concerned.
"Did I? Oh, I was probably miles away."
She tilted her head questioningly. "Is it nice there?"
"Um?" He was still distant.
"What were you thinking?"
"Thinking?" He shrugged, shook his head, said the first thing that came into his mindЧ something which mildly surprised even him. "Did you notice the man who left a few minutes ago? With the leather pants and flowery shirt?"
"Yes, a German like me. Or rather more typicalЧor at least how you English believe a typical German should be." She smiled. "A bit loud, really. You were thinking about him?"