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

He grunted and crossed his legs. "I dunno, Lou," he frowned. "Dunno about all this. What if the old man never cools off? What'll me and Joyce do when the ten thousand runs out?"
"Well, Elmer," I said. "I guess there's some misunderstanding. I understood that you were sure your father would come around in time. If that isn't the case, maybe I'd better tell Miss Lakeland and--"
"No, Lou! Don't do that! . . . Hell, he'll get over it. He always gets over the things I do. But--"
"Why don't you do this?" I said. "Don't let your ten thousand run out. Buy you some kind of business; you and Joyce can run it together. When it's going good, get in touch with your Dad. He'll see that you've made a darned smart move, and you won't have any trouble squaring things."
Elmer brightened a little--doggoned little. Working wasn't Elmer's idea of a good solution to any problem.
"Don't let me talk you into it," I said. "I think Miss Lakeland has been mighty badly misjudged--she convinced me and I'm not easy to convince. I've stuck my neck out a mile to give you and her a fresh start together, but if you don't want to go--"
"Why'd you do it, Lou? Why'd you do all this for me and her?"
"Maybe money," I said, smiling. "I don't make very much. Maybe I figured you'd do something for me in a money way."
His face turned a few shades redder. "Well . . . I could give you a little something out of the ten thousand, I guess."
"Oh, I wouldn't take any of that!" _You're damned right I wouldn't_. "I figured a man like you must have a little dough of his own. What do you do for your cigarettes and gas and whiskey? Does your Dad buy 'em for you?"
"Like hell!" He sat up and jerked out a roll of bills. "I got plenty of money."
He started to peel off a few bills--they were all twenties, it looked like--and then he caught my eye. I gave him a grin. It told him, plain as day, that I expected him to act like a cheapskate."
"Aw, hell," he said, and he wadded the roll together and tossed the whole thing to me. "See you tonight," he said, hoisting himself up.
"At ten o'clock," I nodded.
There were twenty-five twenties in the roll. Five hundred dollars. Now that I had it, it was welcome; I could always use a little extra money. But I hadn't planned on touching Elmer. I'd only done it to shut him up about my motives in helping him.
I didn't feel much like cooking, so I ate dinner in town. Coming home again I listened to the radio a while, read the Sunday papers and went to sleep.
Yes, maybe I was taking things pretty calmly, but I'd gone through the deal so often in my mind that I'd gotten used to it. _Joyce and Elmer were going to die. Joyce had asked for it. The Conways had asked for it. I wasn't any more cold-blooded than the dame who'd have me in hell to get her own way. I wasn't any more cold-blooded than the guy who'd had Mike knocked from an eight-story building_.
Elmer hadn't done it, of course; probably he didn't even know anything about it. But I had to get to the old man through him. It was the only way I could, and it was the way it should be. I'd be doing to him what he'd done to Dad.
. . . It was eight o'clock when I waked up--eight of the dark, moonless night I'd been waiting for. I gulped a cup of coffee, eased the car down the alley and headed for Derrick Road.

6
Here in the oil country you see quite a few places like the old Branch house. They were ranch houses or homesteads at one time; but wells were drilled around 'em, right up to their doorsteps sometimes, and everything nearby became a mess of oil and sulphur water and red sun-baked drilling mud. The grease-black grass dies. The creeks and springs disappear. And then the oil is gone and the houses stand black and abandoned, lost and lonely looking behind the pest growths of sunflowers and sage and Johnson grass.
The Branch place stood back from Derrick Road a few hundred feet, at the end of a lane so overgrown with weeds that I almost missed it. I turned into the lane, killed the motor after a few yards and got out.
At first I couldn't see a thing; it was that dark. But gradually my eyes became used to it. I could see all I needed to see. I opened the trunk compartment and located a tire tool. Taking a rusty spike from my pocket, I drove it into the right rear tire. There was a _poof!_ and a _whish-ss!_ The springs squeaked and whined as the car settled rapidly.
I got a jack under the axle, and raised it a foot or so. I rocked the car and slid it off the jack. I left it that way and headed up the lane.
It took maybe five minutes to reach the house and pull a plank from the porch. I leaned it against the gate post where I could find it in a hurry, and headed across the fields to Joyce's house.
"Lou!" She stood back from the door, startled. "I couldn't imagine who--where's your car? Is something wrong?"
"Nothing but a flat tire," I grinned. "I had to leave the car down the road a piece."
I sauntered into the living room, and she came around in front of me, gripping her arms around my back and pressing her face against my shirt. Her negligee fell open, accidentally on purpose I imagine. She moved her body against mine.
"Lou, honey . . ."
"Yeah?" I said.
"It's only about nine and Stupid won't be here for another hour, and I won't see you for two weeks. And . . . well, you know."
I knew. I knew how _that_ would look in an autopsy.
"Well, I don't know, baby," I said. "I'm kind of pooped out, and you're all prettied up--"
"Oh, I am not!" She squeezed me. "I'm always prettied up to hear you tell it. Hurry, so I can have my bath."
Bath. That made it okay. "You twisted my arm, baby," I said, and I swept her up and carried her into the bedroom. And, no, it didn't bother me a bit.
Because right in the middle of it, right in the middle of the sweet talk and sighing, she suddenly went still and pushed my head back and looked me in the eye.
"You _will_ join me in two weeks, Lou? Just as soon as you sell your house and wind up your affairs?"
"That's the understanding," I said.
"Don't keep me waiting. I want to be sweet to you, but if you won't let me I'll be the other way. I'll come back here and raise hell. I'll follow you around town and tell everyone how you--"
"--robbed you of your bloom and cast you aside?" I said.
"Crazy!" she giggled. "But just the same, Lou . . ."
"I know. I won't keep you waiting, baby."
I lay on the bed while she had her bath. She came back in from it, wiping herself with a big towel, and got some panties and a brassiere out of a suitcase. She stepped into the panties, humming, and brought the brassiere over to me. I helped her put it on, giving her a pinch or two, and she giggled and wiggled.
_I'm going to miss you, baby, I thought. You've got to go, but I'm sure going to miss you_.
"Lou . . . You suppose Elmer will make any trouble?"
"I already told you," I said. "What can he do? He can't squawk to his Dad. I'll tell him I changed my mind, and we'll have to keep faith with the old man. And that'll be that."
She frowned. "It seems so--oh, so complicated! I mean it looks like we could have got the money without dragging Elmer into it."
"Well. . . ." I glanced at the clock.
Nine-thirty-three. I didn't need to stall any longer. I sat up beside her, swinging my feet to the floor; casually drawing on my gloves.