"Destroyer 013 - Acid Rock.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

"That is what we want," said Willie. As they left the office for a street phone, Mo Edelstein took two Maalox and a Seconal. After the phone conversation, he popped a Nembutal. He was still nervous, so he took a Librium.
"You know, if they put booze in a pill, Mo, you'd be an alcoholic," said Willie the Bomb.
Edelstein's face eased somewhat as he watched Willie the Bomb load his Lincoln Continental. Edelstein's curiosity was aroused. Here was a man with an IQ that probably never saw the high side of retarded, but when it came to making and setting bombs, knowing what they would do and how they would do it, Bombella was the Michelangelo of the blast.
Bombella sensed this newfound respect and
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although he had never before explained how he did things, he did so for Edelstein. He knew Edelstein would never use his trade secrets. Edelstein could do more, Willie knew, with a briefcase than Al Capone with a thermonuclear warhead.
Going east and north from St. Louis, Willie explained that nothing he had in the car was illegal until he put it together.
"Almost anything that'll burn can be made into a bomb," Willie explained. "What a bomb is, is really a very fast fire with not enough place to go fast enough."
"That is the most brilliant explanation I have ever heard of a bomb," said Edelstein. "Brilliant in its simplicity."
"Now there are two basic ways to use one. One is to use it to send something else into the hit or another is to make the hit part of this very fast burning fire. Now, take a car for instance. Most of these guys go putting it in the engine. Do you know why?"
"No," said Edelstein.
"Cause they only know how to hook up to the ignition and they don't want no one to see the wires. Right in the engine they put it and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. You know why it doesn't. It doesn't cause there's a frigging fire wall between the driver and the engine and all you get sometimes is blowing off some poor guy's legs."
"Incompetent," said Edelstein, who secretly despised prosecutors who did not give him a good professional battle.
"Yeah, that," said Bombella, knowing from the tone of the voice that incompetence was something not nice. "Now the place to put a bomb is under the seat. You use a mechanical
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device that works on pressure, maybe eighty pounds pressure tops, no more."
"But who weighs that little?"
"Some guys slide in and you get the torso."
"But some torsos must weigh less, especially women's," Edelstein said.
"The brake does it. The brake drives the body into the seat, so you're guaranteed your blast at the first stop."
"Brilliant," said Edelstein. "But then why did you use the ignition last May."
"I didn't do the job last May," said Bombella.
"Funny," said Edelstein. "That's what you told me then too."
"Now for a car I don't like to use no material like metal shards, nails, or a hand grenade kind of thing. I like a clean explosion. Especially in the summer, when the windows are up for air conditioning. The whole car acts like a casing."
"Brilliant," said Edelstein.
"The air pressure created is amazing. It'd take off someone even without breaking 'em up. Just by the concussion."
"Brilliant," said Edelstein.
"I could make a bomb out of a pack of cards," said Bombella. "You see that tree there? I could take it off exactly where you want it and land it where you want it. You could put a home plate anywheres near that tree and I'd get you a strike."
"Can you throw a curve?" asked Edelstein, jesting.
"Nah. I can't do that yet," said Willie, after thinking a moment. "But if it was a wet day with some heavy air and if we had a good wind, maybe eighteen to twenty-three miles an hour, and it was kind of a good-shaped tree like a young
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maple, and you let me put the plate where I wanted, I might be able to get a strike on a curve."
"You're beautiful, Willie."
They drove leisurely, and a day and a half later neared Pittsfield, Mass., the general area of the rock festival where Vickie Stoner was to show up.
"Is this the right way?" Edelstein said.
"A little detour I was told about when I made that phone call," Bombella said. Outside Pittsfield, Willie stopped the Continental near a large sign that read Whitewood Cottages. He went to a mailbox and took out a package that looked like a rolled magazine. The computer printed name on it said "Edelstein."
"I'm not supposed to be involved like this," said Edelstein when Willie returned to the car. "What's in the package."
"It's supposed to be money and a note."
"I'll read the note to you," said Edelstein.
"I can read," said Willie. And he could. Edelstein watched the lips move as Willie the Bomb formed words. Edelstein tried to get a peek at the letters pasted on the paper, but Willie defensively shielded the note.
"Count the money," said Willie, tossing the package to Edelstein and slipping the note into his pocket.
"Fifty thousand," said Edelstein.
"A lot of money," said Willie. "Give it to me."
"It's half of what you owe me," said Edelstein.
'I'll give you everything at the music show. There'll be some money there for us."
"And then perhaps I might sort of leave cause you don't really need me, right, Willie. I'd only get in the way."
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"Right," said Willie glumly. "You want to see something really great in the way of bombs?"
"What is it?" asked Edelstein suspiciously.
As they passed a country store, Willie suggested Edelstein get a jar of Prosco homemade pickles and, as he suspected, Edelstein couldn't open the bottle. They drove on through Pittsfield with Willie refusing to stop for lunch and Edelstein eyeing the pickles sitting there unopened between them.