"George R. R. Martin - WC 5 - Down and Dirty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

jumped up on his palm, and Brennan, still hunkered down, lifted the mouse close
to his face.
Lazy Dragon sat up on his haunches, his beady eyes bright with intelligence. He
drew his tiny right front paw over his throat repeatedly. Brennan sighed again.
He hated charades.
"What is it?" he asked. "Danger? Someone in the corridor?" The mouse nodded
excitedly and held up his paw. "One man?" Again the mouse nodded. "Armed?" The
mouse shrugged a very human-looking shrug, looked doubtful. "Okay." Brennan let
the mouse down, then stood up. "Follow me." He turned to Deadhead. "You wait
here."
Deadhead nodded a jittery nod, and Brennan went off down the corridor, Lazy
Dragon scurrying at his heels. He had no confidence in Deadhead and wondered
what part in the mission he could possibly play. It's hard, he thought to
himself, when your most dependable man is a mouse. Around the bend of the
corridor a man was sitting in a metal folding chair, eating a sandwich and
reading a paperback. He looked up as Brennan approached.
"Can I help you, buddy?" He was middle-aged, fat, and balding. The book he was
reading was Ace Avenger #49, Mission to Iran.
"Got a delivery."
The man frowned. "I don't know nothing about that. I'm the night janitor. We
usually get deliveries during the day." Brennan nodded understandingly. "This is
a special delivery," he said. When he was close enough, he reached behind his
back and drew the stiletto he carried in a belt sheath under his vest, touching
the tip of its blade lightly against the janitor's throat. The janitor's lips
made a round O of astonishment and he dropped his book.
"Jesus, mister, what are you doing?" he asked in a strangled whisper, trying to


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move his throat as little as possible. "Where's the long-term storage room?"
"Over there, over that way." The janitor made little jerking motions with his
eyeballs, afraid to move even a muscle.
"Go get Deadhead."
"I don't know no one with that name," the fat man pleaded, sweat beading his
forehead.,
"I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to the mouse."
"O Lord." The janitor started to mumble an incoherent prayer, sure that Brennan
was a crazed maniac who was going to murder him.
Brennan waited patiently until Lazy Dragon returned with Deadhead.
"Anyone else on this floor?" he asked, urging the janitor up with a slight flick
of his knife wrist. The janitor, catching on quickly, stood immediately.
"No one. Not now."
"No guards?"
The janitor looked as if he wanted to shake his head, but the proximity of the
knife to his throat stopped him. "Don't really need them. No one's broke into
the morgue for, jeez, months now."
"Okay." Brennan eased the knife away from the janitor's throat and the man
visibly relaxed. "Take us to the storeroom. Be quiet and no funny business." By