"Van Lustbader, Eric - Linnear 01 - The Ninja" - читать интересную книгу автора (Van Lustbader Eric)

cherry blossom. But the Americans called them baka - the idiot bomb. Western
philosophical thought had no place for the concept of ritual suicide inherent in
the Japanese samurai of old. But that was it, really. The samurai survived,
despite all obstacles that had been put in his path. Doc Deerforth would never
forget the haiku which, so the story went, had been written by a
twenty-two-year-old kamikaze pilot just before his death; this, too, was
tradition: 'If only we might fall / Like cherry blossoms in the spring - / So
pure and radiant!' And that, he thought, was how the Japanese felt about death.
The samurai was born to the a glorious death in battle.
And all I wanted was for the war to end with my skin intact and my mind unbent.
And it had come to pass, except for the nightmares that haunted him like hungry
vampires newly risen from the grave.
Doc Deerforth got up from behind his desk and went to the window. Beyond the
fluted layers of the oak leaves that shaded this side of the house from the long
afternoon's heat, he saw the expanse of Main Street. Just another weekday in the
summer. But that world now seemed a million miles away, as remote as the surface
of another planet.
Doc Deerforth turned back into his office and, scooping up the manila folder and
its contents, went out of the house, down Main Street towards the one-storey
ugly red brick building housing the Fire Department and, beyond a courtyard
parking lot, the Village Police.
Half way there, he ran into Nicholas, who was just coming out of the automated
doors of the supermarket loaded down with groceries.
'Hello, Nick.'
'Hey, Doc. How are you?'
Tine. Fine. Just on my way to see Ray Florum.' They had met, as most residents
of West Bay Bridge did eventually, along this same Main Street, introduced by
mutual acquaintances. It was difficult here, even for the most devoutly
reclusive, not to make friends even if they were only of the 'Howdy' variety.
'Just got back from Hauppauge.'
'That body they found yesterday?'
'Yeah.' Doc Deerforth turned his head quickly, spat out a bit of food that had
lodged itself between his teeth. He was glad of this diversion. He felt a
genuine fear of confronting Florum with what he had. Besides, he liked Nicholas.
'Hey, you might've known him. Didn't live too far from you along Dune Road.'
Nicholas smiled thinly. 'Not very likely -'
'Braughm's his name. Barry Braughm.'
Nicholas felt a queer sense of vertigo for just a moment and he thought of
Justine's words on the beach the day she had run into him. You know how
incestuous this place is. She couldn't know how right she was.
'Yes,' Nicholas said slowly. 'I knew him. When I was in advertising, we worked
together at the same agency.' 'Say, I'm sorry, Nick. Did you know him well?'
Nicholas thought about that for a time. Braughm had had a brilliantly analytical
mind. He knew the public perhaps better than anyone at the agency. What a shock
to find him suddenly gone. 'Well enough," he said, thoughtfully.
Swinging her around. Slow-dancing into the night, the screen door bang open, the
record player sending the music rolling in languorous ribbons, drowning the
tide. Moving in stereo. Her arms had trembled when he had first taken them,
guiding her out onto the porch. But it was the right thing to do. The perfect
thing. She loves to dance, first off. And it was perfectly acceptable for him to