"E. C. Tubb - Dumarest 06 - Lallia" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tubb E. C)

Against the softness and luxury the killer looked like a skull at a feast:
tall, horribly emaciated, eyes smoldering in the blotched skin of his face.
He was a mutant with mottled hair and hands grotesquely large, a sport
from some frontier world. He crossed to the long bar, snatched up a
bottle of heavy glass and, without hesitation, smashed it on the back of
his unsuspecting victim's head. Half-stunned, dazed, the man
turnedтАФand received the splintered shards in face and throat.

"Damn you!" The mutant dropped the stained weapon as he spat at
the dying man. "Remember me? I swore I'd get you and I have. It's taken
years but I did it. You hear me? I did it! I got you, you stinking bastard!
Now roast in hell!"

A woman screamed and men came from the shadows to grasp the
killer. Dumarest took two long strides towards the door then paused,
thinking. The tavern was close to the field, police could not be far away
and it was possible that he had already been noticed. To leave now would
be to invite suspicion with the resultant interrogation and interminable
delay. He regained his position before the mural as officers poured into
the tavern. On Aarn the police were highly efficient, and they moved
quickly about the tavern as they quested for witnesses. Not surprisingly
they discovered them hard to find.

"You there!" The officer was middle-aged, his face hard beneath the
rim of his helmet. His uniform was impeccable and the leather of his
boots, belt, and laser holster shone with a mirror-finish. "Did you see
what happened?"

"Sorry, no," said Dumarest.

"You too?" The officer echoed his disgust. "Over fifty people in the
place and no one saw what happened." He glanced over his shoulder
towards the scene of the crime. "If you were standing here how could you
avoid not seeing? You've a perfect view."

"I wasn't looking that way," explained Dumarest. "I was studying
this." He pointed at the mural. "All I heard was some shouting. When I
turned the sport was standing over something on the floor. What
happened? Did he hurt someone?"
 "You could say that," said the officer dryly. "He killed a man with a
bottle." He stared curiously at Dumarest, eyes narrowing as he took in
the gray plastic finish of pants, knee-boots, and tunic. The tunic was
long-sleeved, falling to mid-thigh and fastened high and snug around the
throat. It was unusual wear for a city dweller of Aarn. "Are you a
resident?"

"No, a traveler. I came here to arrange an outward passage."

"Why not go to the field office?" The officer didn't wait for an answer.
"Never mind. I suppose a tavern is the best place to do business if you can