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

The thug wisely stood up and backed against the bar. He clutched his bleeding
arm and moaned.
Brennan stepped forward into the diffuse light cast by the nightlamp burning
over the bar. The man stared at the razor-tipped arrow nocked to his bowstring.
"Who are they?" Brennan asked Chrysalis in a harsh, clipped voice.
"Mafia," she replied, her voice cracking with tension and fear.
Brennan nodded, never taking his eyes off the thug who stared at the arrow that
was pointed at his throat.
"Do you know who I am?"
The mafioso nodded violently. "Ya. You're that Yeoman guy-the bow 'n' arrow
killer. I read about you alla time in the Post." The words tripped out of his
mouth in a fear-filled torrent.
"That's right," Brennan said. He spared the man who'd been sitting at the table
a quick glance and saw that he was curled on the floor in a widening pool of
blood, a foot of arrow sticking out from the nape of his neck. He didn't bother
checking Sal. He'd had a clean heart shot on him.
"You're a lucky man," Brennan continued in his same dead voice. "Know why?"
The mafioso bobbed his head vigorously side to side, sighing in relief when
Brennan relaxed the tension on the taut bowstring and set the bow aside.
"Someone has to deliver a message for me. Someone has to tell your boss that
Chrysalis is off bounds. Someone has to tell him that I have an arrow with his
name on it, an arrow I would not be slow in delivering if I heard that something
had happened to Chrysalis. Do you think you could tell him that?"
"Sure. Sure I could."
"Good." Brennan reached into his back pocket and showed the thug a playing card,
a black ace of spades. "This is so he knows you're telling the truth."
He grabbed the man's wounded arm by the elbow and yanked it straight. The thug
groaned as Brennan stuck the card on the arrowtip.
"And this," Brennan said through gritted teeth, "is to make sure you don't loose
it."
With a sudden, forceful jerk he impaled the man's other arm on the arrowpoint.
The mafioso screamed at the sharp, unexpected pain. He sagged to his knees as
Brennan bent the aluminum shaft of the arrow under and around both of his arms,
pinning them together as tightly as handcuffs would. Brennan yanked him to his
feet. The man was sobbing in fear and pain and couldn't look Brennan in the eye.
"If I ever see you again," Brennan said, "you'll die." The thug staggered away,
sobbing and gibbering incomprehensible protestations. Brennan watched him until
he tottered through the front door, then turned to Chrysalis. She was looking at
him with fear in her eyes, more than some of which, he was sure, was directed
toward him. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.
"Yes ... yes, I think so.... "
"You'll have to answer a lot of questions," Brennan said, "unless we get rid of
the bodies."
"Yes." ; She nodded sharply, suddenly decisive, suddenly in control again. "I'll
call Elmo. He'll handle it." She looked him straight in the eye. "I owe you."
Brennan sighed. "Does your entire life have to consist of rigidly tabulated
credits and debits?"
She looked at little startled, but nodded. "Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, it
does. It's the only way to keep track, to make sure . . ." Her voice trailed