"Robert McCammon - Night Calls The Green Falcon" - читать интересную книгу автора (McCammon Robert R)

almost even with it. Out walked his next-door neighbour, Julie Saufley,
and a young man with close-cropped blond hair.
She almost bumped into him, but she stopped short. тАЬHi, Cray. YouтАЩre
prowlinтАЩ around kinda late, arenтАЩt you?тАЭ
тАЬGuess so.тАЭ Cray glanced at the young man. JulieтАЩs latest friend had
pallid skin that was odd in sun-loving California, and his eyes were small
and very dark. Looks like an extra in a Nazi flick, Cray thought, and then
returned his gaze to Julie, whose dark brown hair was cut in a Mohawk
and decorated with purple spray. Her spangled blouse and short leather
skirt were so tight he couldnтАЩt fathom how she could draw a breath. тАЬHad
to use the bathroom,тАЭ he said. DidnтАЩt that just sound like an old fool? he
asked himself. When he was forty years younger, such a statement to a
pretty girl would have been unthinkable.
тАЬCray was a movie star,тАЭ Julie explained to her friend. тАЬUsed to be in тАж
what did they call them, Cray?тАЭ
тАЬSerials,тАЭ he answered. Smiled wanly. тАЬCliff-hangers. I was the тАУтАЭ
тАЬIтАЩm not paying you for a tour of the wax museum, baby.тАЭ The young
manтАЩs voice was taut and mean, and the sound of it made Cray think of
rusted barbed-wire. A match flared along the side of a red matchbook; the
young man lit a cigarette, and the quick yellow light made his eyes look
like small ebony stones. тАЬLetтАЩs get done what we came here for,тАЭ he said,
with a puff of smoke in Cray FlintтАЩs direction.
тАЬSure.тАЭ Julie shrugged. тАЬI just thought you might like to know he used
to be famous, thatтАЩs all.тАЭ
тАЬHe can sign my autograph book later. LetтАЩs go.тАЭ Spidery white fingers
slid around her arm, and drew her away.
Cray started to tell him to release her, but what was the use? There were
no gentlemen anymore, and he was too old and used-up to be anyoneтАЩs
champion. тАЬBe careful, Julie,тАЭ she said as she guided the man to her
apartment.
тАЬMy nameтАЩs Crystal this week,тАЭ she reminded him. Got her keys out of
her clutch purse. тАЬCoffee in the morning?тАЭ
тАЬRight.тАЭ JulieтАЩs door opened and closed. Cray went into his room and
eased himself into a chair next to the window. The boulevardтАЩs neon pulse
painted red streaks across the walls. The street denizens were out, would
be out until dawn, and every so often a police car would run them into the
shadows, but they always returned. The night called them, and they had to
obey. Like Julie did. SheтАЩd been in the building four months, was just
twenty years old, and Cray couldnтАЩt help but feel some grandfatherly
concern for her. Maybe it was more than that, but so what? Lately heтАЩd
been trying to help her get off those pills she popped like candy, and
encouraging her to write to her parents back in Minnesota. Last week
sheтАЩd called herself Amber; such was the power of Hollywood, a city of
masks.
Cray reached down beside his chair and picked up the well-worn leather
book that lay there. He could hear the murmur of JulieтАЩs voice through the
paper-thin wall; then her customerтАЩs, saying something. Silence. A police
carтАЩs siren on the boulevard, heading west. The squeak of mattress springs
from JulieтАЩs apartment. Over in the corner, the scuttling of a rat in the
wall. Where was Seymour when you needed him? Cray opened his memory