"Thompson, Jim - Wild Town" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Jim) Bugs glowered at him. Amy looked curiously from one man to another.
"What _is_ the matter?" she said. "You may as well tell me, Lou, now that you've started to. I--No, Mr. McKenna. I'm sure this concerns me, and I want to hear what it is." Ford grinned at Bugs. He spread his hands easily. "Why, it wasn't nothin', really. All I was going to say was that Bugs seen you in your birthday suit." "Did he?" Amy looked at him steadily. "Didn't have a stitch on that I could see," Ford said, "and I sure could have seen any, close as I was. Yes, sir, you went skittering out into the hallway, naked as a jaybird. Stood there puttin' on your underclothes while you was chewin' me out." "Yes? Well, go on. You're surely not going to stop there, are you?" Ford drawled that yes, he guessed he would stop there. "Probably ain't a real fittin' thing to talk about at table," he added, with unapologetic apology. "Kind of looks like I maybe already sort of spoiled Bugs's dinner." Amy turned away from him. Seemingly, at least for the moment, he ceased to exist for her. "Well?" she said. "Well, Mr. McKenna?" Her voice was quiet, too quiet. Her gaze too steady. "Well?" she repeated. "We--" "Sounds like a deep subject," remarked Lou Ford. "Yes, sir, I'd say that was a plumb deep subject, and that's a fact." Bugs suddenly shoved back his plate. He shoved back his chair and stood up. And Amy smiled at him mistily and also stood. She seemed to have been waiting for him to make the move. He took her arm, and they started for the door. "Hey, wait a minute, now," Ford called after them. "Where y'all rushing off to?" But he didn't sound like he actually cared, only sardonically amused. And they continued on across the restaurant and out the door to the sidewalk. Bugs had paid down on an old coupe out of his last salary check, and it was parked a few doors down the street. He helped her into it and drove her home. Her house was a companion piece to Ford's--was, in fact, in the same block as his. And, as in his case, it had been her parents' home, and their parents' before them. They were both old family, Lou Ford and Amy Standish. The last survivors of two old families. Bugs considered that fact, taking another look at her in his mind's eye, and he decided that she must be older than he orginally thought. Around thirty maybe. Maybe as old as thirty-one. He stopped the car. She smiled at him softly, spoke as though answering a question and making an explanation. "I'll be thirty my next birthday," she said. "I've lived here all my life, and I've never gone with anyone but Lou. What would you do in my place?" "What would I . . ." "Considering my age and my background. Considering that there is a very limited number of eligible men in a place like this." Bugs didn't see what she was driving at. Or, perhaps, he didn't care to admit that he saw it. He was pretty broadminded, understand--by his own admission. And he'd fallen for this Amy Standish the moment he saw her. But falling for her, liking and wanting her, was one thing, and something else was something else. And he'd already had one chuck of second-hand goods. "I guess I ought to be getting back to the job," he said uncomfortably. "Am I--can I see you again?" "I don't know--Mac? Is it all right to call you that? I don't care for Bugs." "I don't either, and Mac's fine. Well, how about it-- Amy?" "As I was saying, I don't know, Mac. I'm not sure that you should . . . No, it isn't that"--she anticipated him. "Lou has told me quite a bit about you, your past, and that isn't a factor at all. It's just that--that--" "You think Lou might not like it?" "I'm not sure. I can't tell you. But"--she smiled with sudden brightness, head tilted playfully to one side--"there's one thing I am sure of. Very sure of. In fact there are several things. I'm sure I like you a lot, and I'm sure you've got the kindest-looking eyes I've ever seen, and I'm sure"--she kissed him lightly on the mouth--"I've been wanting to do that for the last thirty minutes." She laughed and scampered out the car. She turned her head back through the window. "And another thing. I'm sure you ask a great many questions on short acquaintance." Weeping, she fled up the walk to the house. Bugs kicked open the door, called a question after her. "Y-yes!" she stopped and whirled around. "Why shouldn't you see me? Why shouldn't anyone, everyone? Why--why--" She started running again. Bugs let her go. After all, he was going to have this Dudley matter to deal with tonight. And he'd damned well better keep his mind on it until it was safely wrapped up. And, aside from that, well . . . Well? He cursed, cursing himself and Lou Ford with equal venom. Feeling frustrated, his mind churning with confusion, he drove back to the hotel. Ford was loitering in front of the entrance, one boot heel hooked back against the bricks, one of his thin black cigars in the corner of his mouth. He slouched out to the curb as Bugs climbed out of his car. "You're bein' paged," he announced. "Looks like you got a suicide on your hands." "A suicide?" Bugs managed a satisfactory start. "Who was it? How did it happen?" "Joyce Hanlon. Drank herself a cup of poison. Guess she heard about you bein' with Amy and it plumb broke her heart." He nodded soberly, very long of face. Then, as Bugs gaped at him, he laughed and slapped the big man on the back. "Just jokin' with you, fella; doubt if they's anything on the market that would make a dent in Joyce." "Very funny," Bugs snapped. "Look, has there actually been a suicide, or--" "Oh, sure, there's been one all right. Sure looks like one anyway. Man name of--Well, let's see if you can guess. Three guesses, and if you hit it right I'll give you a see-gar." "Never mind, goddammit." Bugs started for the entrance. "Of all the--!" "You mean you don't like see-gars?" Ford easily joined stride with him. "Well, seem' as you're so impatient-like, it was a fella named Dudley, Alec Dudley. You know him, I reckon?" "Sure, I know him; he's the Hanlon's auditor. I don't mean I was well-acquainted with him, but--" "Uh-huh. Then, you wouldn't have any idea why he'd kill himself? Don't know of any trouble he was in, or whether he was feelin' dee-spondent or anything like that?" "No." "Well, let's see what we can find out." Ford linked arms with him companionably. "Been waitin' for you to come back before I did any investigatin'. Me, I'm a great hand for observin' pro-to-col, as the sayin' is. Guess you might call it my greatest vice and my strongest virtue . . ." They made the investigation together--if such a casual asking of questions and looking-about could be called an investigation. Then, an ambulance having removed Dudley's body, they stood once more at the entrance of the hotel. Bugs didn't want to be there; not with Ford, at least. He wanted to be alone, to relax his taut nerves, to sort out his thoughts about Amy Standish. But the deputy held him as if by an invisible magnet. He didn't have anything to say. He simply rambled on and on, with his usual drawling, rube-ish chit-chat, until Bugs was on the point of crawling out of his own skin. And then Ford broke off suddenly, staring at Bugs out of shrewd, narrowly amused eyes. "Ain't you got some work to do?" he inquired, his voice soft-hard. "Hadn't you maybe ought to be gettin' at it?" Bugs said he had. He added curtly that he couldn't very well work while he was standing around listening to a lot of goddamned nonsense. Ford nodded equably. He took the cigar from his mouth, and examined the tip. And then, swiftly, he looked up, his gaze striking into Bugs's face like a blow. |
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