"Tom Reamy - That Detweiler Boy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reamy Tom)

on the glass against the wall in front of me. BERT MALLORY Confidential
Investigations. I got up and looked out. This section of the Boulevard wasn't
rotting yet, but it wouldn't be long.

There's one sure gauge for judging a part of town: the movie theaters. It
never fails. For instance, a new picture hadn't opened in downtown L.A. in a
long, long time. The action ten years ago was on the Boulevard. Now it's in
Westwood. The grand old Pantages, east of Vine and too near the freeway, used
to be the site of the most glittering premieres. They even had the Oscar
ceremonies there for a while. Now it shows exploitation and double-feature
horror films. Only Graumann's Chinese and the once Paramount, once Loew's, now
Downtown Cinema (or something) at the west end got good openings. The Nu-View,
across the street and down, was showing an X-rated double feature. It was too
depressing. So I closed the blind.

Miss Tremaine looked up from her typing at the rattle and frowned. Her desk
was out in the small reception area, but I had arranged both desks so we could
see each other and talk in normal voices when the door was open. It stayed
open most of the time except when I had a client who felt secretaries
shouldn't know his troubles. She had been transcribing the Lucas McGowan
report for half an hour, humphing and tsk-tsking at thirty-second intervals.
She was having a marvelous time. Miss Tremaine was about forty-five, looked
like a constipated librarian, and was the best secretary I'd ever had. She'd
been with me seven years. I'd tried a few young and sexy ones, but it hadn't
worked out. Either they wouldn't play at all, or they wanted to play all the
time. Both kinds were a pain in the ass to face first thing in the morning,
every morning.

"Miss Tremaine, will you get Gus Verdugo on the phone, please?"

"Yes, Mr. Mallory." She dialed the phone nimbly, sitting as if she were
wearing a back brace.

Gus Verdugo worked in R&I. I had done him a favor once, and he insisted on
returning it tenfold. I gave him everything I had on Andrew Detweiler and
asked him if he'd mind running it through the computer. He wouldn't mind. He
called back in fifteen minutes. The computer had never heard of Andrew
Detweiler and had only seven hunchbacks, none of them fitting Detweiler's
description.

I was sitting there, wondering how in hell I would find him, when the phone
rang again. Miss Tremaine stopped typing and lifted the receiver without
breaking rhythm. "Mr. Mallory's office," she said crisply, really letting the
caller know he'd hooked onto an efficient organization. She put her hand over
the mouthpiece and looked at me. "It's for youтАФan obscene phone call." She
didn't bat an eyelash or twitch a muscle.

"Thanks," I said and winked at her. She dropped the receiver back on the
cradle from a height of three inches and went back to typing. Grinning, I
picked up my phone. "Hello, Janice," I said