"Night Warriors - 02 - Death Dream" - читать интересную книгу автора (Masterton Graham)

'What for? You don't think this is going to happen again, do you?'
'Mr. Woods, please don't make it difficult.'
'Very well, then,' said John testily. 'It's 1305 Fairmount.'
Thank you, Mr. Woods,' said Sergeant Clay, jotting down the address in his notebook. 'And there's one thing more.'
John said nothing, waiting with an exaggeratedly impatient expression for Sergeant Clay to tell him what this 'one thing more' might be.
'My brother says to lock your bedroom door.'
'Your brother says what?'
'It may sound impertinent, Mr. Woods, but believe me, he knows what he's talking about.'
'Are you guys high?' John demanded.
'Mr. Woods, what we're telling you is entirely for your own protection.' 'You're spaced out, both of you,Т John retorted. 'I never met two such goddamned weirdos in my whole life. Well, you listen to me. If I get any more crap from you two, I'm going to call the police commissioner's office personally and make an official complaint. I'm not some bum living in a cardboard box, mister. You can't roust me, and you'd better not try.'
'We know who you are, sir,' said Sergeant Clay courteously. 'And we're still advising you to lock your bedroom door tonight. Not just for your own protection, but for the safety of your wife and son, too.' John was about to snap out another caustic remark when Jennifer quietly laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. He turned around, and she smiled at him. He let out a long breath of resignation, and said, 'Okay, okay. Thank you, gentlemen. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?'
He closed the door, and put his arms around Jennifer, and kissed her.
'What do you think of that?' he asked her. 'They think we did it.'
Jennifer smiled. 'I love you when you're angry.' 'Angry? Goddamn it, I'm not angry. I'm just - I don't know - mystified.'
He went back into the sitting room and poured them both a last foaming glass of champagne.
'Here's to us,' he said. 'And here's to the confusion of our enemies.'










Three



As evening settled warm and cloudless over Chestnut Hill, John and Jennifer sat on the patio at the back of Jack Felling's house and enjoyed a last glass of wine. Lenny was just inside the patio doors, playing with He-Man figures on the tiled floor of the sunroom. John said, 'How about another toast? Here's to Jack.' Jack Felling was the chairman of the executive committee at the Philadelphia News group. Although he was eleven years older than John, and one of corporation's most senior executives, the two men had become friends almost at once. The immediacy of their friendship had had a lot to do with their mutual obsession with backgammon, but they were also remarkably alike, both in character and in looks. Jack saw in John the feisty young manager that he himself had been when he first joined the News; John saw in Jack the wise, experienced member of the board that he would like to grow into.
Chestnut Hill was one of the most desirable residential areas in Philadelphia, northwest of the city past Fairmount Park, and Jack Felling owned one of its most dramatic houses. Jack's mother had been a native Neapolitan, and Jack adored Italy and everything Italian. He had built the house on three levels on a thickly wooded slope, its blue-tiled rooftops clustered together to resemble a small Italian village rather than a single house. There were cloisters and courtyards and ornamental fountains, and even a bell tower copied from a church in Siena, although its bell had been rung only once. Further campanology had been forbidden by the Chestnut Hill residents' association.
The patio was sheltered on its north and east sides by a spectacular rockery, densely planted with maiden pink and rockrose and snow-in-summer. An artificial stream trickled down through the rocks, and into a small circular pool at the patio's edge.
John and Jennifer had been too tired and a little too drunk to cook supper, so they had sat on Zarach stools in the stylish marble-countered kitchen and eaten a Chinese carryout, chow mein and sweet-and-sour-pork, straight out of the boxes. Now, an hour later, John was beginning to wish that he hadn't so doggedly finished off the last of the soft-fried noodles. He grimaced and thumped his chest with his fist.
'What's the matter?' Jennifer asked. 'You're not having a coronary on me, are you?'
'It's that Chinese food. I don't know how they do it. They chop it up into tiny little pieces, and when we eat it, we masticate it into even tinier pieces. So how come it's sitting in my stomach in one huge homogenized stomach-shaped lump?'
That's because you ate so much, it's all been compressed back together again. They make chipboard the same way.'
John took a mouthful of tepid Chablis and swilled it around his teeth. 'Don't say things like that. I feel bloopy enough already.'
Jennifer swung her legs off her basketwork lounger, and came over to kiss John on the forehead. 'It's your own fault. You have too much guilt when you eat. You seem to think if you leave even the teeniest piece of | noodle on your plate, you're going to upset the j starving millions of Ethiopia or something. Well, John -I'm here to tell you that if you leave two spoonfuls of soft-fried noodles, it's not going to be a cause for international concern in Ethiopia or anywhere else.' She kissed him again. 'I still love you, though, you greedy hog.'
The corners of the patio were gradually filling up with shadows. The sky behind the treeline was the color of dying lilacs. Jennifer walked across to the pool and stood looking around, and said, 'Isn't this perfect? What a house.'
СI sure wish we could buy a house like this,' said Lenny.
'Well, maybe one day,' John told him. He looked at his watch. 'Hey, it's bedtime, champ. Upstairs and brush your teeth. You may not have school tomorrow, but you still have to get your sleep.'
Lenny went inside to brush his teeth. A couple of minutes later he came down one last time to kiss them good night.
'How are you feeling?' John asked, hugging him close.
'Okay,Т said Lenny. 'Can I watch TV for a while?'
Ten minutes, and that's all.'
'Okay, Dad.' He paused. 'Dad?'
'What is it?'
Lenny squinched up his face, the way he always did when he wasn't sure he ought to be asking what he was asking.' Dad, why did that detective say that to me?'
'Which detective? What?'