"Callahan 04 - Lady Sally's House 01 - Callahan's Lady" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Spider)

"What's-that?'
"Look down."
I shook my head. "Nice try, Travis."
He was nearly hysterical now. "No, no," he said, backing away. "I'll stand right here. Just take a peek."
I glanced down and back up before he could have moved. Nothing there. I took two steps forward to attack him before it registered.
If I hadn't been wearing a white blouse I'd have missed it altogether in the dim light. A large spreading dark stain.
Suddenly the pain in my side went from dull ache to lancing agony, and I was so scared I seemed to become hollow. He was still laughing at me, rocking slightly back and forth.
"Oh yeah? Well I can handle a knife, jerk, that's first year stuff, what do you think of that?" I screamed-and fell hard onto my knees.
His laughter tapered off. "I think you in your LAST year," he murmured, and moved toward me.
I saw his knife now. The blade was long and wet, and I knew I'd taken it all; I was cut bad. Most murder victims, I remembered thinking, are killed by someone they know...
I swayed on my knees. My arms were too heavy to lift. So were my eyes. I have seen a man turn into a beagle, I thought, and now I am going to die, and my last sight on earth will be Big Travis' crotch there, coming closer to my face: No fair. I wasn't ready. Start again-
"Told you once before, be no second chances, sweet thing. Whore cross me once, she'll do it again, an' I can't be bothered spendin' energy keepin' you scared." He took me by the hair, yanked my head back so that I was looking up at him, throat exposed. I was grateful, thinking that I preferred to die seeing his face. Then I saw his face. "My other bitches already scared good-but when they read tomorrow in the News what Baby Love looked like when she was found, they gon' get industrious. I don't plan to let you die fo' 'nother hour or so . . . so the first thing we got to take is your voice."
"You must stop this at o~1ce. At once, do you hear?" someone's British maiden aunt said.

I was not scared. I bad passed way beyond scared, seconds ago. I -knew-scared would return as soon as I felt the knife again, but now I was conscious only of a vast sadness, sadness and the bitter taste of defeat. It seemed unfair, and anticlimactic, of the universe to torment me further by -adding dollops of guilt and shame to my sorrow. I had been stupid: the message did not need underlining.
So why did I also have, to bear the guilt for the death of an innocent bystander, somebody's harmless, brainless auntie? Not to mention the beagle, which Travis was probably going to stomp to death and sell to a Korean restaurant.
"GO 'way," I croaked. "It's a game we play-"
"That's right, Auntie." Travis said, grinning. "We playin' a game. Like foreplay, you dig? Better beat it on home, we jus' gettin' to the good part." He unzipped his fly partway with his knife hand, still holding me by the hair.
"If it is a game, dear boy, then I should very much like to play too, if I may. And in my judgment it is your turn to be It."
Big Travis frowned, confused. I closed my eyes and groaned, because I knew how he always reacted to confusion. Sure enough, he let go of my hair, and as I slumped back onto my heels I heard his snakeskin boots stride slowly away.
"Old woman," he said, "I think it be your turn to be shit-"
I knelt there marinating in sorrow for a thousand years. I could feel things rearranging themselves inside me where he had stabbed me, cut edges rubbing past each other, but the pain could not distract me from my sadness and guilt. Something exploded in my head, and I knew I had to open my eyes and look at her, had to see her sweet, well intentioned, stupid face once, so that I could take the sight of it to Hell with me. I deserved to; I had gotten her killed.
I turned my head in her direction with a massive effort and forced my eyes open.
There was something wrong with what I was seeing. The point of view was too high. I was on my feet! How bad I gotten to my feet?
At once came the thought, Maureen, if you are strong enough to get up on your hind legs, you are strong enough to turn around and run.
I calculated my chances of escape - at one in a hundred. But even that one chance made it more imperative than ever that I see the old lady's face before she died. I focussed on it, squinting because she was silhouetted against the mouth of the alley.
Then she took a step forward, toward Travis. She entered a zone of weak light reflected from something shiny in the trash around us, and I saw her fairly clearly.
She could have been a duchess. Her bearing was as aristocratic as her accent. She was smaller and slighter than me. She was dressed very expensively and very elegantly and very tastefully. She carried no purse. I guessed her at an expensively preserved fifty. She carried herself like someone used to respect. She looked like a nice old lady, and my heart sank.
She was still holding that leash in her hand. On the other end of it was the beagle. He looked as sad as I felt.
Getting enough air to shout hurt dreadfully, but I did it anyway. "Lady, run!" I called. "He's got a knife."
She stood her ground. "I know, dear. Don't be afraid."
Her voice was deep and throaty, and she sounded just slightly tipsy, as though she'd been nipping at the port. A British Tallulah Bankhead.
"That dog come at me," Travis said, "an' I'll take it away from you, put it someplace you might not like."
"Oh, I've always been one for a fair fight," she said cheerily, and let go of the leash. "I'll take him alone, Charles," she told it. It looked up at her and panted mournfully.
Travis stood still for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Sure is a night for dumb bitches," he said, and moved toward her. Then something happened and he fell down.
I was looking right at them and that is what I saw. Doubtless it surprised him even more than it did me. It didn't seem to surprise the duchess at all I swear I never saw her move a muscle. He got his hands under him, and then his feet, stayed in a crouch and felt his face. He glanced down at his hand, flung something from it that made a splatting sound on trash cardboard. "Jesus Christ," he said softly, "-you broke my damn nose!"
"It protrudes," she said. "Or did."
Travis's nose was inordinately important to him. I should know; I'd worked hard keeping it fed. He made an animal sound.
She sighed. "I shall only give you one more lesson, dear boy," she said. "Then if you absolutely insist I shall kill you."
He-sprang upward toward her, screamed, and did a back flip. At least it looked as if he tried to. But although he tucked well, he just didn't rotate fast enough and landed hard on his back. He stayed tucked. After a moment, he began making an odd, whistling-sound.
"I, for one, certainly hope we're done now." she said, and waited.
It took him long seconds to straighten out, and more to let go of his crotch and get his breathing back to normal. He got to his feet slowly and with extreme care. He looked down stupidly at the knife he still held in his hand. Then he looked back up to her. Travis's crotch was inordinately important to him, too, and I had no idea what on earth was going on but I, for one, was sure we were not done now. He began to growl- And she took a step toward him, eyes flashing, and the growl turned into a yelp, and he fled.
He ran so fast that he lost his footing, fell headlong, did a tuck and roll and came up running even faster; so fast that when he burst out of the alley he had to run a few thundering steps along the side of a parked Buick to make his turn.
The duchess did not relax. She already was relaxed. She sniffed. "What an asshole," she said delicately.
The beagle, panting happily, seemed to nod.
I was still on my feet, but the alley wall was against my back now. I decided I was hallucinating, that I must have gone mad, like people did in the movies. I thought of a movie they showed us once in one of my dozens of schools, "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge." Was this my dying fantasy? Was Big Travis even now slicing mc open, humming thoughtfully and artistically? I did feel my feeble reserves of strength draining, and I did hear a humming sound.
I shoved myself away from the wall, tottered forward four steps on my stilts, stared at the calm, unruffled auntie. She separated into two identical copies of herself, like an amoeba reproducing. So did the beagle and everything else. I made an immense effort and resolved the double vision.
"Thank you for not dying," I said. My voice sounded distant. "It was kind of-you." Manners. Duchesses placed high value on manners. "But I'm afraid I have to now. Terribly sorry. Will you excuse me-?"
Falling to my knees hurt worse the second time. The light at the end of the alley began receding rapidly, taking the deadly duchess and her dog with it.
My last thought was that I'd have to hurry if I warned to get to Hell before the evening rush-