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

CHAPTER THREE : A RED MATCHBOOK

His robe snagged on a jagged piece of metal. The cloth ripped, almost
tore off him, and for three awful seconds he was dangling five floors over
the alley, but then he reached upward and his fingers closed around the
railing.
The Fliptop Killer was already scrambling down the fire escape. The
woman тАУ Mrs. Sargenza, bless her soul тАУ was still screaming, and now
somebody else was hollering from another window and the Fliptop Killer
clambered down to the alley with the speed and power of a born survivor.
Cray pulled himself up, his legs kicking and his shoulder muscles
standing out in rigid relief. He collapsed onto his knees when heтАЩd made it
to the landingтАЩs safety. He thought he might have to throw up enchiladas,
and his stomach heaved, but mercifully there was no explosion. Blood was
in his mouth, and his front teeth felt loose. He stood up, black motes
buzzing before his eyes. Looked over the edge, gripping hard to the railing.
The Fliptop Killer was gone, back to the shadows.
тАЬCall the police,тАЭ he said, but he didnтАЩt know if Mrs. Sargenza had heard
him, though she disappeared from her window and slammed it shut. He
was trembling down to his gnarly toes, and after another moment he
climbed back into the room where the corpse was.
Cray felt her wrist for a pulse. It seemed the sensible thing to do. But
there was no pulse, and JulieтАЩs eyes didnтАЩt move. In the depths of the
wound he could see the white bone of her spine. How many times had the
killer slashed, and what was it inside him that gave him such maniacal
strength? тАЬWake up,тАЭ Cray said. He pulled at her arm. тАЬCome on, Julie.
Wake up.тАЭ
тАЬOh, Jesus!тАЭ Mr. Myers from across the hall stood in the doorway. His
hand went to his mouth, and he made a retching sound and staggered
back to his apartment. Other people were peering in. Cray said, тАЬJulie
needs a doctor,тАЭ though he knew she was dead and all a doctor could do
was pull the bloodied sheet over her face. He still had her hand, and he
was stroking it. Her fingers were closed around something; it worked loose
and fell into CrayтАЩs palm.
Cray looked at it. A red matchbook. The words GRINDERSWITCH BAR
printed on its side, and an address just off Hollywood and Vine, three
blocks over.
He opened the red matchbook. Two matches were missing. One of them
had been used to light the Fliptop KillerтАЩs cigarette, out in the hallway. The
Fliptop Killer had been to the Grinderswitch, a place Cray had walked past
but never entered.
тАЬCops are on their way!тАЭ Mr. Gomez said, coming into the room. His
wife stood at the door, her face smeared with blue anti-ageing cream.
тАЬWhat happened here, Flint?тАЭ
Cray started to speak, but found no words. Others were entering the
room, and suddenly the place with its reek of blood and spent passions
was too tight for him; he had a feeling of suffocation, and a scream flailed
behind his teeth. He walked past Mr. Gomez, out the door and into his
own apartment. And there he stood at the window, the brutal neon pulse