"Thompson, Jim - Killer Inside Me, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Jim)

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I know the Conways right well. How do you figure on hookin' 'em?"
We talked it over, lying there on her bed together, and off in the night somewhere a voice seemed to whisper to forget it, _forget it, Lou, it's not too late if you stop now_. And I did try, God knows I tried. But right after that, right after the voice, her hand gripped one of mine and kneaded it into her breasts; and she moaned and shivered and so I didn't forget.
"Well," I said, after a time, "I guess we can work it out. The way I see it is, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again."
"Mmm, darling?"
"In other words," I said, "where there's a will there's a way."
She squirmed a little, and then she snickered. "Oh, Lou, you corny so and so! You slay me!"

. . . The street was dark. I was standing a few doors above the cafe, and the bum was standing and looking at me. He was a young fellow, about my age, and he was wearing what must have been a pretty good suit of clothes at one time.
"Well, how about it, bud?" he was saying. "How about it, huh? I've been on a hell of a binge, and by God if I don't get some food pretty soon--"
"Something to warm you up, eh?" I said.
"Yeah, anything at all you can help me with, I'll . .
I took the cigar out of my mouth with one hand and made like I was reaching into my pocket with the other. Then, I grabbed his wrist and ground the cigar butt into his palm.
"Jesus, bud!"--he cursed and jerked away from me. "What the hell you tryin' to do?"
I laughed and let him see my badge. "Beat it," I said.
"Sure, bud, sure," he said, and he began backing away. He didn't sound particularly scared or angry; more interested than anything. "But you better watch that stuff, bud. You sure better watch it."
He turned and walked off toward the railroad tracks.
I watched him, feeling sort of sick and shaky; and then I got in my car and headed for the labor temple.

3
The Central City Labor Temple was on a side street a couple of blocks off of the courthouse square. It wasn't much of a building, an old two-story brick with the downstairs rented out to a pool hail and the union offices and meeting hall on the second floor. I climbed the stairs, and went down the dark corridor to the end where a door opened into several of the best and largest offices in the place. The sign on the glass read
CENTRAL CITY, TEXAS
Building Trades Council
Joseph Rothman, Pres.
and Rothman opened the door before I could turn the knob.
"Let's go back here in the rear," he said, shaking hands. "Sorry to ask you to come around so late, but with you being a public official and all I thought it might be best."
"Yeah," I nodded, wishing I could have ducked seeing him entirely. The law is pretty much on one side of the fence out here; and I already knew what he wanted to talk about.
He was a man of about forty, short and stocky, with sharp black eyes and a head that seemed too big for his body. He had a cigar in his mouth, but he laid it down after he sat down at his desk, and began rolling a cigarette. He lit it and blew smoke over the match, his eyes shying away from mine.
"Lou," the labor leader said, and hesitated. "I've got something to tell you--in the strictest confidence, you understand--but I'd like you to tell me something first. It's probably a pretty touchy subject with you, but . . . well, how did you feel about Mike Dean, Lou?"
"Feel? I'm not sure I know what you mean, Joe," I said.
"He was your foster brother, right? Your father adopted him?"
"Yes. Dad was a doctor, you know--"
"And a very good one, I understand. Excuse me, Lou. Go on."
So that's the way it was going to be. Spar and counterspar. Each of us feeling the other out, each of us telling things he knows damn well the other fellow has heard a thousand times. Rothman had something important to tell me, and it looked as though he was going to do it the hard--and careful--way. Well, I didn't mind; I'd play along with him.
"He and the Deans were old friends. When they got wiped out in that big flu epidemic, he adopted Mike. My mother was dead--had been dead since I was a baby. Dad figured Mike and me would be company for each other, and the housekeeper could take care of two of us as easily as one."
"Uh-huh. And how did that strike you, Lou? I mean, you're the only son and heir and your dad brings in another son. Didn't that rub you a little the wrong way?"
I laughed. "Hell, Joe, I was four years old at the time, and Mike was six. You're not much concerned with money at that age, and, anyway, Dad never had any. He was too softhearted to dun his patients."
"You liked Mike, then?" He sounded like he wasn't quite convinced.
"Like isn't the word for it," I said. "He was the finest, swellest guy that ever lived. I couldn't have loved a real brother more."
"Even after he did what he did?"
"And just what," I drawled, "would that be?"
Rothman raised his eyebrows. "I liked Mike myself, Lou, but facts are facts. The whole town knows that if he'd been a little older he'd have gone to the chair instead of reform school."
"No one _knows_ anything. There was never any proof."
"The girl identified him."
"A girl less than three years old! She'd have identified anyone they showed her."
"And Mike admitted it. And they dug up some other cases."
"Mike was scared. He didn't know what he was saying."
Rothman shook his head. "Let it go, Lou. I'm not really interested in that as such; only in your feelings about Mike. . . . Weren't you pretty embarrassed when he came back to Central City? Wouldn't it have been better if he'd stayed away?"
"No," I said. "Dad and I knew Mike hadn't done it. I mean"--I hesitated--"knowing Mike, we were sure he couldn't be guilty." _Because I was. Mike had taken the blame for me_. "I wanted Mike to come back. So did Dad." _He wanted him here to watch over me_. "My God, Joe, Dad pulled strings for months to get Mike his job as city building inspector. It wasn't easy to do, the way people felt about Mike, as popular and influential as Dad was."
"That all checks," Rothman nodded. "That's my understanding of things. But I have to be sure. You weren't sort of relieved when Mike got killed?"
"The shock killed Dad. He never recovered from it. As for me, well all I can say is that I wish it had been me instead of Mike."