"Wildcards - 07 - Dead Mans Hand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

threaten Chrysalis two Wild Card Days ago.
Of course, he'd been out of touch a long time. Things had probably changed, but
there were people he could talk to, people who would be willing to pass on the
latest information. Brennan hefted his bow case and started down the street.
The hunter had returned to the city.

4:00 P.M.
Jube lived in the basement of a rooming house on Eldridge, in an apartment with
bare brick walls and a lingering odor of rotting meat. His living room featured
a lot of second-hand furniture and some kind of weird modern sculpture, an
imposing floor-to-ceiling construct with angles out of Escher and a bowling ball
at its center. Every now and then the bowling ball seemed to glow.
"I call it joker Lust," Jube told him. "You think that's strange looking, you
ought to meet the girl who modeled for it. Don't look too long, it'll give you a
headache. Want a drink?"
St. Elmo's fire flickered disturbingly across the surface of the construct. Jay
sat down on the edge of the couch. "I'll take a scotch and soda," he said. "Go
easy on the soda."
"All I've got is rum," Jube said, waddling into his kitchen. "Yum," Jay said,
deadpan. "Sure."
Jube brought him a water tumbler half-full of dark rum, with a single ice cube
floating on the surface. "The papers say it was the ace-of-spades killer," he
said as he eased his bulk into a recliner, his own glass of rum in hand. His was
decorated with a little paper parasol. "The Post and the Cry both."
"There was an ace of spades next to the body," Jay agreed, sipping his drink.
"The cops don't buy it."
"How about you?"
He shrugged. "I don't know." He'd spent the last couple of hours reading the
police file on the yahoo who signed himself "Yeoman." Now he wasn't sure what to
think. "The M.O. is all wrong. Our friend likes to litter the landscape with
corpses, but most of them have arrows sticking out of sensitive parts of their
anatomy."
"I remember the papers used to call him the bow-andarrow killer, too," Jube
said.
Jay nodded. "Not that he isn't flexible. If he can't put a razor-tipped
broadhead through your eye, he'll strangle you with a bowstring or use an arrow
with an explosive tip to blow you to hell. The cops have him down for one job
with a knife and two with bare hands, but those have question marks next to
them. Mostly he goes in for theme murders. He's got a real grudge against
Orientals, too, judging from the number he's offed. But he's not fussy, he'll
kill anyone in a pinch." Jay sighed. "The only problem is, Chrysalis was beaten
to death by someone who was inhumanly strong, and our friend with the
playing-card fetish is a nat."
"How can you be sure?" Jube asked.
"I took a crack at archery once," Jay said. "It's hard. You'd need to work at it
for years to get good, and this psycho is a lot better than good. Why bother, if
you're an ace?"
Jube plucked thoughtfully at one of his tusks. "Yeah," he said, "only. . ." The
fat little joker hesitated.
"What?" Jay prompted.