"Miller, Kevin James - The Taking Of Martha Lorrimar" - читать интересную книгу автора (Miller Kevin James)

Bo picked a chair and sat.
"You want a drink, Bo?"
"No. No, I don't think so."
Tony sat across from Bo. Tony planted his cigarette between his thumb and index finger.
"What the hell you doing in a bar then?"
"Want to talk to this wise old gangster I know."
"Ha!" Tony planted the cigarette between his lips. "Remind me again. You're how old?"
"Twenty-two."
"Twenty-two! Jesus, you were still crapping in your diapers when I was telling the boys not to launder the money through discos. But you and your buddy are playing it right. When crime gets too big and organized it might as well be fucking Microsoft, then where's the fun in that? Piece of advice. You going to do crime, ditch those jeans and T-shirt and get yourself a suit. When the law comes down on you, they'll just assume like you got the big bucks and cut you some slack. Why are you here, Bo?"
"This thing me and J.T. are doing. Turns out, I gotta kill this girl."
"So what's the problem?"
"Never killed anybody before. And, I don't know, a girl...."
"Do you fuck 'em, Bo?"
"Yeah."
"Then you can kill one of them. Of course, that's not perfect logic. We killed lots of guys in the old Mob days, and I only knew one hitter who was a faggot. This guy loved the ice pick. No, it cuts either way. I don't care how gentle anyone is, or what people smarter than me say is or is not natural. Fucking and killing anyone is always hard for one party or the other in the transaction. Whatever you got to do, do it quick, and don't think about it too much later."
From a door behind the bar came a man who was, maybe, seven feet. Bo couldn't guess right, because the man stooped something awful. And the weird, twisted way the man held his head, and the left eye that seemed ready to pop out of place distracted Bo.
The man held a cardboard box over his head. On the box, Bo could read a Scotch brand name.
"No, that goes under the basement stairs. Those we don't pay taxes on."
The man nodded and went back through the door.
"Who is that, Tony?"
"Name's Largo. The local nuthouse has had him for a resident since they don't when. He's mute."
"Deaf?"
"If I meant deaf, I would have said deaf. What I said was mute. All they got in the records is the one name, Largo. My niece is dating an orderly there, and I found out about the guy, and gave him a job."
Tony pointed his lit cigarette at his own heart.
"Everybody has a soft spot, Bo."
"Big son of bitch."
"Yeah, Bo, he is. Don't know what Largo was, but he's a damn kitten now."
Bo saw on a table next to were he sat another graffiti drawing of that fat, grinning spider. He pointed to it.
"Tony, what is that thing? I've been seeing that around this town all my life."
"That, Bo, is the mark of the Spider. He was a big time criminal around here, maybe twenty years ago. The Spider seemed to have his hand in everything. He was a ruthless fucker too. He's why the boys never got dug in here, back in the old days. The Spider hasn't been in operation around here a long time."
Back in the van, Bo took Martha Lorimar to River Park. He marched her to the bank of the river. A sliver of moon hung in the sky, but the lights from the suburban streets washed out the stars.
"You're going to kill me. Aren't you?"
"Shut up, Martha Lorimar," Bo said, tapping her in the back with the .45.
Christ. What was the fastest way to kill somebody in this situation, anyway? Even if you shot them in the head, couldn't they then scream? He didn't need anyone screaming right now.
Bo suddenly felt really stupid. Martha, although heavy, at least looked she had her act together with the green pantsuit she wore. He, on the other hand, who had kidnaped the wrong girl, stood on the bank of the river in his jeans, faded heavy metal T-shirt, and dirty sneakers. Christ, he even needed a haircut. Maybe Tony was right. If he was going to do crime, he should look like a gangster. Didn't they at least dress better?
"I gotta kill you now," Bo said.
"I guessed as much," Martha said.
"Sorry. I guess."
"Don't be. This is the most exciting thing that's every happened to me, and Toland's secretary is hooking at a hotel near the airport."
"WHAT?"
"So what do you? Shoot me in the head? You know, I may float on the surface, and if the police can match the bullet to your gun, then you're in trouble."
Bo put his hand on her shoulder, and steered her, still sightless from Bo's blindfold, in the opposite direction.
"Back to the van, Martha."
They had already been in River Park too long, and Bo now had another change of plans circumstances had thrown at him.
He aimlessly drove the empty streets and called J.T.
"Yeah. What?"
"Codename Mad Dog?"
"'Mad Dog'? That must mean...Jesus, Bo. You haven't killed her yet, and she's right there?"
"Would Toland's secretary be hooking at the airport?"
"What--you mean like in the damn snack bar or something?"