"George R. R. Martin - WC 7 - Deadman's hand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

He opened the window to air out his bedroom, although the odors wafting up the
dingy airshaft to his third-floor walk-up were almost as foul as those in the
room. After a long soak in his clawfoot tub, he dried himself off in a beach
towel decorated with a rather threadbare picture of Opus the Penguin.
In the top drawer of his dresser, Jay found some clean boxer shorts. Black socks
in the drawer below. Then he went to the closet and looked at his suits. He had
a cool white linen number that was fashionably rumpled, a charcoal gray Brooks
Brothers three-piece, a pinstripe from Hong Kong that had been precisely
tailored to his measurements. Hiram Worchester had given him all three. Hiram
was always after Jay to dress better. He'd get more respect, Hiram promised.
He'd get noticed. He might even get girls. The part about the girls tempted him,
but otherwise Jay was having none of it. "Hiram," he had explained, "I'm a PI. I
sit in parked cars and donut shops. I shoot Polaroids through motel windows. I
bribe doormen and hide in bushes. I don't want to be noticed. If they made a
suit out of Holiday Inn wallpaper, I'd buy six of them." But every Christmas
Hiram gave him another goddamned suit.
It looked like it was going to be hot. Jay picked out a short-sleeved white
shirt with a button-down collar, a pair of dark brown slacks to match his hair,
and a tan blazer. No tie. He hated ties.

7:00 A.M.
Brennan woke from a deep, dreamless sleep as the light from the rising sun shone
through the window and touched his face. Jennifer Maloy turned over, murmuring,
as he slipped silently from under the sheet that covered their futon and padded
noiselessly to the chair where his clothes were laid out. He put on shorts,.
T-shirt, and running shoes, and went quietly through the back door that opened
to the outside.
The sun was up, the land was half-awake, wet with dew and alive with the smells
of a clean country morning. Brennan took a deep breath, filling his lungs with


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fresh air as he stretched, unlimbering his body for his daily run.
He jogged to the front of the A-frame house, slipping into a slow trot as he
reached the looping gravel driveway. He turned left at the mouth of the
driveway, scattering the rabbits playing on the front lawn, and passed the sign
that read ARCHER LANDSCAPING AND NURSERY. He felt alive and clean, at peace with
himself and the world at the beginning of another beautiful day.
After his third knock went unanswered, Jay stepped inside the Crystal Palace.
The door wasn't locked. That surprised him. Chrysalis had been expecting
him,yes, but she'd also been expecting trouble. Otherwise why bother to hire a
bodyguard? When you're expecting trouble, you're supposed to lock your doors.
Jay poked his head into the darkened taproom. "Anyone home?" he called softly.
"Chrysalis? Elmo?"
There was no answer. "Real good," he muttered under his breath. No wonder she
needed a bodyguard. He considered turning on the lights, thought better of it,
waited for his eyes to adjust. Slowly the outlines of the familiar room began to
emerge from the gloom. Straight-back chairs upended on small round tables. The