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

Fadeout shook his head. "Damn. It's escalating. Little Mother isn't going to
like this."
Brennan squelched the expression of sudden interest before it reached his face.
He said nothing, because he was afraid his voice would betray him. Little
Mother, Sin Ma, was the head of the immaculate Egrets. If Fadeout was a
lieutenant in Kien's organization, she was at least a colonel. In all his months
of investigation he'd discovered only that she was an ethnic Chinese from
Vietnam who'd come to the states in the late 1960s to become the wife of Nathan
Chow, the leader of a penny-ante street gang called the Immaculate Egrets. Her
arrival corresponded with a quick rise in the fortune of the Egrets, little of
which was enjoyed by Chow. He had died under unspecified but mysterious
circumstances in 1971, and Siu Ma took over the gang, which continued to grow
and prosper. Kien, then still an ARVN general, used it to funnel heroin into the
States. There was no doubt that Siu Ma was very high in Kien's organization,
very high indeed.
"We have to split before the cops arrive," Fadeout said. He turned to an
Ingram-toting Egret. "Leave this place. Take all the files, all valuables."
The Egret nodded, sketched an informal salute, and started shouting orders in
rapid Chinese.
"Let's go," Fadeout repeated, carefully picking his way among the bodies.
"Where to?" Brennan asked as casually as he could. "Little Mother's place in
Chinatown. I've got to tell her what happened."
A sleek limo pulled up to the curb. Whiskers was driving, Deadhead lolled in the
backseat with Lazy Dragon. Fadeout got in and Brennan followed him, excitement
thrumming through his body like tautly stretched wire.
He carefully noted the route that Whiskers took, but he had no idea at all where
they were when the limo finally stopped in a small, ramshackle garage in a
dirty, garbage choked alley. His unfamiliarity with the area irritated him and
upset his fine-tuned sense of control. He hated the helpless feeling that had
been plaguing him lately, but there was nothing to do but swallow it and go on.
Whiskers, his mask back in place, and Lazy Dragon dragged Deadhead from the limo
on Fadeout's order. The significance of that wasn't lost on Brennan. He knew
that he'd gone up a notch or two in Fadeout's estimation, which was exactly what
he wanted. The closer he got to the core of Kien's organization, the easier it
would be for him to bring it tumbling down like a house of cards.
The door they approached wasn't as flimsy as it appeared. It was also locked and
guarded, but the sentinel let them in after peering through a peephole when
Fadeout knocked.
"Siu Ma is asleep," the guard said. He was a large Chinese dressed in
traditional baggy trousers, broad leather belt, and matching tunic top. The
machine pistol holstered on his broad leather belt was a jarring anachronism
with his antique style of dress, but, Brennan reflected, was a sensible
compromise with what was apparently Siu Ma's strongly developed sense of
tradition.
"She'll want to see us," Fadeout said grimly. "We'll be in the audience
chamber."
The guard nodded, turned to a very modern intercom system, and spoke Chinese too
quickly for Brennan to follow. The audience chamber was as luxurious as the
outside of the building was dilapidated. The decorating motif was dynastic
China. There were rich rugs, beautiful lacquered screens, delicate porcelain, a