"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 172 - Let's Kill Ames" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Pulaski continued bragging to me. He liked to boast to me, I think, because I spoke his language. When
he talked about fluxing and reducing reagents, saponification numbers, Elliot apparatus and molecular
weightsтАФwhy do the simpleminded ones always talk about their business with big words?тАФI could
understand what he was talking about.

In college, I specialized in chemistry. Afterward, I worked at it for a couple of years. I worked for the
American Union Chemical Foundation until one of their dopey chemists perfected an improved
production method for penicillin and was going to just hand it over to our employers. I had just about
persuaded him to take the idea and go into business for ourselves when they fired me. They had a lawyer
with bright ideas, too, but all they made stick was firing me.

Anyway, that was why Pulaski liked to brag to me. It wasn't why he liked me; it was just why he would
brag to me. But there was something eating him tonight.

I had merely thought I would stick him for an expensive dinner, and maybe for the hotel bill, although I
doubted he even had that kind of money, but now I was beginning to wonder what was eating him.
Whatever it was, it was taking big bites out of his courage.
Pulaski was scared. It finally dawned on me. Pulaski was so frightened of something that he couldn't
keep his mouth still. He wore it like a garment. It oozed out of his pores. They say animals can smell fear
in a person, and Pulaski would certainly have been a bouquet tonight.

тАЬWhat,тАЭ I asked him, тАЬis bothering you?тАЭ

тАЬNothing,тАЭ he said. тАЬBothering me? Nothing at all, baby. I'm just made breathless by you, is all.тАЭ

Men seem to be like that. Ask them a question, and they back away, and they either want to be begged
and are being coy, or they downright don't intend to tell you and will pretend that it's preposterous to
think anything is nipping on them. Pulaski belonged to the latter bracket. He didn't intend to tell me
anything, and was made more frightened than he had been by the fact that I had spotted something amiss.

Men are suckers. I haven't met one who isn't. They can be played like a violin if you have the right kind
of a bow and know how to use it. I had discovered this several years ago, when I was about fourteen.
Pulaski was an easy fiddle to play, and that was what he was, just a fiddle. The music that came out of
him probably wouldn't have much quality.



AN hour and fifteen minutes later, I had him giving out information. We were in a night-club now, the
fanciest one the city hadтАФthere is something about extremely fleshy surroundings that makes some men
want to boast. That, I had decided, was the way to get Pulaski's information out of him. Get him to take
enough liquor to weaken his fences, then goad him.

I led him into making a pass or two, then gave his amour a cold reception. He complained about this.

тАЬListen,тАЭ I said. тАЬI'm not saying I couldn't fall for you, Pulaski. You're not bad looking. But it just happens
that I have certain ideas about small-timers, and I'm not going to get all involved with some fellow who
uses nickels when he should be using dollars.тАЭ

He flushed. тАЬYou're mercenary.тАЭ