"park_9781436290630_oeb_c11_r1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robert B Parker- [Spenser 36] - Rough Weather)

RoughWeather

There were horses in the barn. Probably the big Belgians. It was too dark to see them, but as we felt our way along the inside wall, I could hear them moving in their stalls and making that sort of lip-smacking snort that horses make sometimes, for reasons of their own. It was a stone barn, and the thick walls made the storm outside seem more distant. We found a bare space and sat down, our backs against the wall, and breathed for a while. I still had the gun in my right hand, and Susan’s hand in my left.

“Do you think they’ll find us here?” Susan said.

It was an actual question of interest. Not an expression of fear. Susan could approach hysteria over a bad hair day. But in matters of actual crisis she became calm, and lucid, and penetrating. If they might find us here, we’d best prepare.

“I don’t think they’ll look,” I said. “At the moment, I doubt that anyone in the chapel quite knows what happened. Think about it. The door bursts open. The candles go out. Shots are fired. People scream and run out. Most of their hostages are scattered all over the island.”

“What did happen?” Susan said. “I assume it had something to do with you.”

“It did,” I said. “But you may well be the only one who knows that. For all they know the doors blew open and the rest of it followed.”

“So what will they do?”

“It’s what Rugar will do,” I said. “Once he knows the deal, he’ll collect what hostages he has left and assemble them with his shooters by the helicopter. The first moment the storm allows, he’ll ditch the hostages, except Adelaide, hop in the chopper with his shooters, and get out of here.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure,” I said.

“Because?”

“Because that’s what I’d do,” I said.

“Should we try to stop him?” Susan said.

I loved the “we.”

“I have a thirty-eight with five rounds and a two-inch barrel,” I said. “Rugar’s got five guys with at least thirty rounds each, plus himself, who can shoot the balls off a flea at a hundred yards.”

“I don’t think fleas have balls,” Susan said.

“Their loss,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

The barn was warm. The horses generated some heat. And a comforting horsey smell.

“All those circumstances existed when you came to get me,” Susan said.

“That’s true,” I said.

“I get special treatment,” she said.

“You do,” I said.

“If we get out of this,” Susan said, “people may be critical that you didn’t save the bride.”

“Probably,” I said.

“What would you tell them?”

“Never complain,” I said. “Never explain.”

“No,” Susan said. “I want to know.”

“I would,” I said, “tell them that saving you was all I could manage, and trying to save anyone else would have endangered you.”

“And if someone said you sacrificed Adelaide for me, what would you say?”

“I’d say, ‘You bet your ass I did.’”

“And you couldn’t do both,” Susan said.

“No.”

“It is one of your greatest strengths,” Susan said. “Since I have known you, you do what you can, and do not blame yourself for not doing more.”

“There is no red S on my chest,” I said. “I cannot leap tall buildings at a single bound.”

“Short buildings?” Susan said.

“Short buildings, sure,” I said.

“No regrets?”

“None about the buildings,” I said.

“But otherwise?”

“Sorrow sometimes. Like when I lost Candy Sloan. But . . .”

“But?” Susan said.

I shrugged, and realized she couldn’t see me. It was odd talking like this, two disembodied voices in the oppressive darkness. The lightning flashes seemed to be gone.

“But I did what I could,” I said.

“It helps to know that,” Susan said, “when you lose.”

We were quiet for a time, listening to the horses move pleasantly in their stalls.

“What do you think happened to those security guards?” Susan said.

“Nothing good,” I said.

“You think Rugar killed them?”

“Yep.”

“Because that’s what you would have done.”

“If I were Rugar,” I said.

“What’s interesting is, why you’re not.”

“Not Rugar?” I said.

“In many ways you’re like him,” Susan said. “But in crucial ways you’re not. It’s like Hawk. I’ve never quite figured it out.”

“Hawk’s different than Rugar,” I said.

“I know,” Susan said. “All three of you have rules.”

“We do.”

“But?” Susan said.

“That’s all Rugar’s got,” I said.

“Hawk has more?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And you?”

“I have you,” I said.

“I like to think that,” Susan said. “But I’m pretty sure you were different than they are before you met me.”

“Maybe I was,” I said. “But far less happy.”

We were quiet again. The horses were quiet. It was hard to be sure, but I thought it possible that the storm was quieting.

“My hair is plastered to my skull,” Susan said. “And I’m sure that all my face has washed away.”

“Lucky it’s dark,” I said.

RoughWeather

“Do you think they’ll find us here?” Susan said.

“What did happen?” Susan said. “I assume it had something to do with you.”

“It did,” I said. “But you may well be the only one who knows that. For all they know the doors blew open and the rest of it followed.”

“So what will they do?”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure,” I said.

“Because?”

“Because that’s what I’d do,” I said.

“Should we try to stop him?” Susan said.

I loved the “we.”

“I don’t think fleas have balls,” Susan said.

“Their loss,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

The barn was warm. The horses generated some heat. And a comforting horsey smell.

“All those circumstances existed when you came to get me,” Susan said.

“That’s true,” I said.

“I get special treatment,” she said.

“You do,” I said.

“If we get out of this,” Susan said, “people may be critical that you didn’t save the bride.”

“Probably,” I said.

“What would you tell them?”

“Never complain,” I said. “Never explain.”

“No,” Susan said. “I want to know.”

“I would,” I said, “tell them that saving you was all I could manage, and trying to save anyone else would have endangered you.”

“And if someone said you sacrificed Adelaide for me, what would you say?”

“I’d say, ‘You bet your ass I did.’”

“And you couldn’t do both,” Susan said.

“No.”

“It is one of your greatest strengths,” Susan said. “Since I have known you, you do what you can, and do not blame yourself for not doing more.”

“There is no red S on my chest,” I said. “I cannot leap tall buildings at a single bound.”

“Short buildings?” Susan said.

“Short buildings, sure,” I said.

“No regrets?”

“None about the buildings,” I said.

“But otherwise?”

“Sorrow sometimes. Like when I lost Candy Sloan. But . . .”

“But?” Susan said.

I shrugged, and realized she couldn’t see me. It was odd talking like this, two disembodied voices in the oppressive darkness. The lightning flashes seemed to be gone.

“But I did what I could,” I said.

“It helps to know that,” Susan said, “when you lose.”

We were quiet for a time, listening to the horses move pleasantly in their stalls.

“What do you think happened to those security guards?” Susan said.

“Nothing good,” I said.

“You think Rugar killed them?”

“Yep.”

“Because that’s what you would have done.”

“If I were Rugar,” I said.

“What’s interesting is, why you’re not.”

“Not Rugar?” I said.

“In many ways you’re like him,” Susan said. “But in crucial ways you’re not. It’s like Hawk. I’ve never quite figured it out.”

“Hawk’s different than Rugar,” I said.

“I know,” Susan said. “All three of you have rules.”

“We do.”

“But?” Susan said.

“That’s all Rugar’s got,” I said.

“Hawk has more?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And you?”

“I have you,” I said.

“I like to think that,” Susan said. “But I’m pretty sure you were different than they are before you met me.”

“Maybe I was,” I said. “But far less happy.”

We were quiet again. The horses were quiet. It was hard to be sure, but I thought it possible that the storm was quieting.

“My hair is plastered to my skull,” Susan said. “And I’m sure that all my face has washed away.”

“Lucky it’s dark,” I said.