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

"Well, I'll tell you, baby," I said. "It is kind of complicated, but it has to be that way. You've probably heard the gossip about Mike Dean, my foster brother? Well, Mike didn't do that. He took the blame for me. So if you should do your talking around town, it would be a lot worse than you realized. People would start thinking, and before it was all over . .
"But, Lou. I'm not going to say anything. You're going to join me and--"
"Better let me finish," I said. "I told you how Mike fell from that building? Only he didn't fall; he was murdered. Old man Conway arranged it and--"
"Lou"--she didn't get it at all. "I won't let you do anything to Elmer! You mustn't, honey. They'll catch you and you'll go to jail and--oh, honey, don't even think about it!"
"They won't catch me," I said. "They won't even suspect me. They'll think he was half-stiff, like he usually is, and you got to fighting and both got killed."
She still didn't get it. She laughed, frowning a little at the same time. "But, Lou--that doesn't make sense. How could I be dead when--"
"Easy," I said, and I gave her a slap. And still she didn't get it.
She put a hand to her face and rubbed it slowly. "Y-you'd better not do that, now, Lou. I've got to travel, and--"
"You're not going anywhere, baby," I said, and I hit her again.
And at last she got it.
She jumped up and I jumped with her. I whirled her around and gave her a quick one-two, and she shot backwards across the room and bounced and slumped against the wall. She staggered to her feet, weaving, mumbling, and half-fell toward me. I let her have it again.
I backed her against the wall, slugging, and it was like pounding a pumpkin. Hard, then everything giving away at once. She slumped down, her knees bent under her, her head hanging limp; and then, slowly, an inch at a time, she pushed herself up again.
She couldn't see; I don't know how she could. I don't know how she could stand or go on breathing. But she brought her head up, wobbling, and she raised her arms, raised them and spread them and held them out. And then she staggered toward me, just as a car pulled into the yard.
"Guhguh-guhby. . . kiss guhguh-guh--"
I brought an uppercut up from the floor. There was a sharp _cr-aack!_ and her whole body shot upward, and came down in a heap. And that time it stayed down.
I wiped my gloves on her body; it was her blood and it belonged there. I took the gun from the dresser, turned off the light and closed the door.
Elmer was coming up the steps, crossing the porch. I got to the front door and opened it.
"Hiya, Lou, ol' boy, ol' boy, ol' boy," he said. "Right on time, huh? Thass Elmer Conway, always right on time."
"Half-stiff," I said, "that's Elmer Conway. Have you got the money?"
He patted the thick brown folder under his arm. "What's it look like? Where's Joyce?"
"Back in the bedroom. Why don't you go on back? I'll bet she won't say no if you try to slip it to her."
"Aw," he blinked foolishly."Aw, you shouldn't talk like that, Lou. You know we're gonna get married."
"Suit yourself," I shrugged. "I'd bet money though that she's all stretched out waiting for you."
_I wanted to laugh out loud. I wanted to yell. I wanted to leap on him and tear him to pieces_.
"Well, maybe . . ."
He turned suddenly and lumbered down the hall. I leaned against the wall, waiting, as he entered the bedroom and turned on the light.
I heard him say, "Hiya, Joyce, ol' kid, ol' ol' ol' k-k-k. . I heard a heavy thump, and a gurgling, strangled sound. Then he said, he screamed, "Joyce. . . Joyce. . . Lou!"
I sauntered back. He was down on his knees and there wasblood on his hands, and a big streak across his chin where he'd wiped it. He looked up at me, his mouth hanging open.
I laughed--I had to laugh or do something worse--and his eyes squeezed shut and he bawled. I yelled with laughter, bending over and slapping my legs. I doubled up, laughing and farting and laughing some more. Until there wasn't a laugh in me or anyone. I'd used up all the laughter in the world.
He got to his feet, smearing his face with his big flabby hands, staring at me stupidly.
"W-who did it, Lou?"
"It was suicide," I said. "A plain case of suicide."
"B-but that d-don't make--"
"It's the only thing that does make sense! It was the way it was, you hear me? Suicide, you hear me? Suicide suicide suicide! I didn't kill her. Don't you say I killed her. SHE KILLED HERSELF!"
I shot him, then, right in his gaping stupid mouth. I emptied the gun into him.
Stooping, I curved Joyce's hand around the gun butt, then dropped the gun at her side. I went out the door and across the fields again, and I didn't look back.
I found the plank and carried it down to my car. If the car had been seen, that plank was my alibi. I'd had to go up and find one to put under the jack.
I ran the jack up on the plank and put on the spare tire. I threw the tools into the car, started the motor and backed toward Derrick Road. Ordinarily, I'd no more back into a highway at night without my lights than I would without my pants. But this wasn't ordinarily. I just didn't think of it.
If Chester Conway's Cadillac had been traveling faster, I wouldn't be writing this.
He swarmed out of his car cursing, saw who I was, and cursed harder than ever. "Goddamit, Lou, you know better'n that! You trying to get killed, for Christ's sake? Huh? What the hell are you doing here, anyhow?"
"I had to pull in there with a flat tire," I said. "Sorry if I--"
"Well, come on. Let's get going. Can't stand here gabbing at night."
"Going?" I said. "It's still early."
"The hell it is! It's a quarter past eleven, and that damned Elmer ain't home yet. Promised to come right back, and he ain't done it. Probably up there working himself into another scrape."
"Maybe we'd better give him a little more time," I said. I had to wait a while. I couldn't go back in that house now. "Why don't you go on home, Mr. Conway, and I'll--"
"I'm going now!" He turned away from the car. "And you follow me!"
The door of the Cadillac slammed. He backed up and pulled around me, yelling again for me to come on. I yelled back that I would and he drove off. Fast.
I got a cigar lit. I started the motor and killed it. I started it and killed it again. Finally, it stayed running, it just wouldn't die, so I drove off.
I drove up the lane at Joyce's house and parked at the end of it. There wasn't room in the yard with Elmer's and the old man's cars there. I shut off the motor and got out. I climbed the steps and crossed the porch.
The door was open and he was in the living room, talking on the telephone. And his face was like a knife had come down it, slicing away all the flabbiness.