"Kate Wilhelm - And the Angels Sing" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

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"Fat Eddie? What the hell -- "

"Right now, and bring plenty of film." He hung up.

A few seconds later his phone rang; he took it off the receiver and laid it down on the table.
While he waited for Mary Beth he surveyed the room. The house was small, with two bedrooms, one
that he used for an office, on the far side of the living room. In the living room there were two
easy chairs covered with fine, dark green leather, no couch, a couple of tables, and many
bookshelves, all filled. A long cabinet held his sound equipment, a stereo, hundreds of albums.
Everything was neat, arranged for a large man to move about easily, nothing extraneous anywhere.
Underfoot was another Navajo rug. He knew the back door was securely locked; the bedroom windows
were closed, screens in place. Through the living room was the only way the kid on his bed could
get out, and he knew she would not get past him if she woke up and tried to make a run. He nodded,
then moved his two easy chairs so that they faced the bedroom; he pulled an end table between
them, got another glass, and brought the bottle of bourbon. He sat down to wait for Mary Beth,
brooding over the girl in his bed. From time to time the blanket shook hard; a slight movement
that was nearly constant suggested that she had not yet warmed up. His other blanket was under her
and he had no intention of touching her again in order to get to it.

Mary Beth arrived as furious as he had expected. She was his age, about forty, graying, with
suspicious blue eyes, and no makeup. He had never seen her with lipstick on, or jewelry of any
kind except for a watch, or in a skirt or dress. That night she was in jeans and a sweatshirt, and
a bright red hooded raincoat that brought the rainstorm inside as she entered, cursing him. He
noted with satisfaction that she had her camera gear.

She cursed him expertly as she yanked off her raincoat, and was still calling him names when he
finally put his hand over her mouth and took her by the shoulder, propelled her toward the bedroom
door.

"Shut up and look," he muttered. She was stronger than he had realized, and now twisted out of his
grasp and swung a fist at him. Then she faced the bedroom.

She looked, then turned back to him red faced and sputtering. "You... you got me out... a floozy
in your bed... So you really do know what that thing you've got is used for! And you want
pictures! Jesus God!"

"Shut up!"

This time she did. She peered at his face for a second, turned and looked again, took a step
forward, then another. He knew her reaction was to his expression, not the lump on the bed.
Nothing of that girl was visible, just the unquiet blanket, and a bit of darkness that was not
hair but should have been. He stayed at Mary Beth's side, and his caution was communicated to her;
she was as quiet now as he was.