"Dean Wesley Smith & David Michelinin - Spiderman - Carnage In New York City" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Dean Wesley)

needed to get off this street, cut down an alley, find a subway, get out of the city. Anything.
He studied the black doorways.
He studied the stairs along the sidewalks going down into more blackness.
He studied the sidewalk and street stretching in
front of him,
Then he saw it. Straight ahead loomed a black
slot between two stately old apartment buildings.
An alley. That would work. He would cut down it
to 93rd, and hide across the street to see if anyone
followed him. If they did, they would have to come
out of the alley and he would see them.
If no one followed him through the alley he
would circle around and go back to the little hotel
he had passed off 90th Street. Then, after a night's
sleep, he might be able to figure out what to do.
He started walking again, slowly, controlled.
Taking shallow breaths, he listened for any other
movement on the street. He had a plan now and
the sanity of the plan helped clear his mind.
At the face of the alley he kept going, pretending he was going to pass the corridor. Then
at the last instant he ducked to the right and down the deserted alleyway. He stopped in the
first shadow and listened, his heart pounding in his ears, his breath sending white clouds of
mist into the air around him. No one seemed to be following him. But he didn't want to let
himself believe that. He couldn't be that lucky. Not after what he had done. He'd get the next
street and hide and watch just to make sure. He turned and moved quickly down the alley,
using only the glow from a few windows and the distant street lights to guide him through
the garbage cans and dumpsters. The place smelled of rotten cabbage and a dead animal.
The rain brought out the smells on the pavement, accentuated them. They choked him
slightly. After a hundred steps, he looked up into the looming face of a dark brick wall. The
alley was a dead end. A building sat there, almost tauntingly, its blank brick wall
disappearing into the black night. He clutched the briefcase to his chest and breathed
quickly, glancing up, down, sideways, hoping against hope for a way out of the alley. He
couldn't have let himself get trapped like this. It wasn't possible. There had to be a way out.
Any way at all. But there was nothing but a few locked doors, brick walls, and garbage. "Oh,
no," he said softly to himself, his heart feeling like it might explode at any moment. He was
trapped again. He had to get back to the street. He was halfway to the opening of the alley
when two men stepped into the light from the street and closed off his escape. He could
see that they were wearing business suits, open rain coats, and fedoras. But he couldn't
see their faces and that dug at his mind like nothing else could. Their presence filled the
alley like the worst nightmare from his childhood. The nightmare of his dead father standing
in his bedroom door, the hall light behind him, his face totally dark. Now two men blocked
his path and he couldn't see their faces no matter how hard he looked. inside him
something snapped and he panicked, his mind screaming that he had to escape at all
costs. His gaze darted at every door, every opening of the alley, but there was no escape
except right through the two men. They stood watching him. Silent, Ominous. If there was no
escape, then he would face his fear. He would face his dead father and the nightmares that
filled his life after the man died. He would face them all right now. He spotted a short length
of lead pipe and quickly picked it up, hardly noticing the cold wet feel of it in his hand. The
pipe gave him strength. He could feel the extra courage coursing up his arm and through
his system. He had never won with the nightmares of his dead father standing in his