"Wildcards - 05 - Down And Dirty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

Brennan stood up. "Goddamn wops."
He looked over his right shoulder. A pair of blue eyes, nerve tendrils and
connective tissue dangling eerily from them, were floating five and a half feet
above the floor. Fadeout blinked into existence, looking slightly rumpled and
very, very angry.
"The Mafia?" Brennan asked.
"That's right, Cowboy. Rico Covello's men. I recognized what was left of their
ugly faces from our dossiers." He paused, his anger replaced by sudden
gratefulness. "I owe you one. They would've had me if you hadn't knocked me
down."
Brennan shrugged. "If not for Lazy Dragon, we'd both be chopped meat. Wed better
see if he's okay. His tiger got shot to shit."
"Right."
They went back upstairs. Brennan was relieved to see then immediately angry at
himself for the feeling-that Dragon was sitting calmly in one of Fadeout's
comfortable chairs. He looked up as they entered the room.
"Everything is all right?" he asked.
"I wouldn't say that," Fadeout replied, still angry. "Those guinea bastards just
waltzed in here and almost offed me." He looked angrily at Whiskers, who was
standing uncertainly in the middle of the room. "What were you doing about it,
you joker shitbag?"
Whiskers shrugged. "I-I thought someone should stay with Deadhead--"
"Take off that goddamned mask when you talk to me!" Fadeout ordered angrily.
"I'm sick and tired of looking at Nixon's mug. No matter how ugly you are, it
can't be worse."
Lazy Dragon watched Whiskers with calculated interest, and Brennan's hand crept
closer to his holstered Browning. Werewolves had been known to fly into killing
rages when unmasked, but Whiskers, as indicated by his earlier actionor lack of
action-wasn't the fiercest of Werewolves. He took off his mask and stood in the
center of the room uncomfortably shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Every bit of his face, except for his eyeballs, was covered with thick, coarse
hair. Even his tongue, which was nervously licking his lips, was furred. No
wonder, Brennan thought, his voice was so mushy.
Fadeout grunted, said something under his breath that Brennan didn't quite catch
but had 'joker bastard' in it, and turned away from the Werewolf.
"We've got to leave. The police will be here any minute. Dragon, you and
Whiskers get that freak,-he nodded at Deadhead, who was still slumped muttering
in his chair,and bring him around back. Get the car and pick me up in front.
Cowboy, come with me. I have to do a quick damage assessment."
Dragon stood. Brennan stopped in front of him and they looked at each other for
a long moment. There was something strange about Lazy Dragon, Brennan suddenly
thought, something hidden, something utterly unfathomable that went beyond his
unusual ace power. But the man had saved his life.
"Lucky you had a tiger on you."
Dragon smiled. "I like to have a backup handy. Something more deadly than a
mouse."
Brennan nodded. "I'm in your debt," he said.
"I'll remember that." Dragon turned to help Whiskers with Deadhead.
Downstairs there were five dead Egrets, and half a dozen deceased mafiosi. The
surviving Egrets were buzzing like angry bees.