"Destroyer 036 - Power Play.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

"That's all right," Remo said. "I'll be gone and you'll be dead before she gets here. My name's Remo, by the way."
Winstler smiled. The din from the disco records was deafening. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn that the man opposite him was saying that Kenroth Winstler was going to die.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," Winstler said.
"You heard me," Remo said. "Now I've got a lot of things to do tonight and not much time to waste, so just tell me, please, where is the Red Regiment?"
Winstler leaned forward to hear him better. He thought the man had asked him where the Red Regiment was.
"What?"
"Are you going to keep answering my questions with questions?" Remo said. He mouthed the words carefully and slowly. "The... Red... Regiment... Where?"
Winstler heard him clearly this time and turned around, looking for a waiter to throw the man out.
"That's all right," Remo said. "I don't want any thing. Well, maybe a glass of water. No, never mind. In this place, water would curdle."
Winstler ignored him and kept looking for a waiter. Remo sighed. He slid his chair around next to Winstler's. Winstler saw the waiter in the back of the room. He was about to wave to him, when he felt a bitter pain in his right knee, a pain so intense that it felt as if his knee were being cut into by a dull and rusty saw. He turned away, the waiter forgotten, and clapped his hand to his right knee. His hand landed on Remo's hand. Remo's face was close to his now and Remo was smiling.
"See," Remo said. "That's pain. Now if you don't want pain, we're going to talk nicey-nice. I told you already, I don't have a lot of time."
Winstler had no trouble hearing the thin young man now. The pain in his knee subsided briefly.
"Where's the Red Regiment holed up?" asked Remo.
"Did you say before you were going to kill me?" Winstler asked.
"See. There you go again. Asking questions instead of just answering." The pain returned to the knee. Winstler grimaced. He would have screamed except Remo's left hand had come around his back and was resting on his left shoulder and one finger was touching something in Winstler's throat and no sound came out.
"Yes, of course I'm going to kill you," Remo said.
"Why?" gasped Winstler.
"Now, you might reasonably think," Remo said, "that it's because you always answer a question with a question. But that's not the reason. I'm going to kill you because that's what I do. And do. And do. No one cares how much I work. No unions for me. If I ever get in a deal like this again, I'm getting me a lawyer, a fancy lawyer like you. Now, come on, the Red Regiment, where are they?"
Winstler hesitated and there was the pain again in the knee. He tried to scream and there was the finger again alongside the throat. The throat pressure lessened.
"I don't know," he gasped.
"Aww, come on," Remo said in annoyance. "What do you lawyers say, that's not responsive. You know and I know that you know and I've got to find out so I can go there and get that businessman they're holding free and now will you please tell me 'cause it's getting late and I've got a lot of things to do."
"What makes you think I know?" Winstler tried again.
"Because they're loonies and you defend all the loonies and besides your secretary's been dropping a dime on you all the while and letting Upstairs know who you talk to on the phone. And you been talking to the Red Regiment, so come on."
And then there was the pain again, but this time it was pointed, shafting pain. Winstler felt tears come to his eyes. It felt as if his kneecap had rusted onto his leg and this man was wrenching it free.
"See, real pain is like that," Remo said.
"You're really going to kill me." This time it was not a question. For the first time, Winstler believed that perhaps this man might mean what he had said. "Here? In this disco?"
"Why not? For supporting music like this, you deserve death. Where are they?"
"If I tell you, you let me live."
"No," Remo said.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm going to kill you whether you tell me or not," Remo said.
"Then why should I tell you?"
"Why not out of an overriding commitment to the truth, above all things?" Remo said. Winstler shook his head. "All right," Remo said. "Because of this. There are lots of ways to die. There are quick and painless ways and there are slow and painful ways and they only make you want the quick and painless ways. Now it's up to you. I only have five more minutes."
"Let me live," Winstler said.
The waiter appeared alongside the table. Winstler felt the slight thumb pressure on his throat again and his voice vanished.
"Would you care for something?" the waiter asked, looking at Winstler and ignoring the man in the black T-shirt.
"Yes, some privacy," Remo said. "Can't you see we're talking? Get out of here."
The waiter sniffed and walked away.
The pressure softened on the throat.
"Let me live," Winstler said.
"No. Absolutely not," Remo said.
"Let me live and I'll give you the Red Regiment. And I'll give you those saloon bombers in New York and the Pan-Palestinian skyjackers."
"I don't want them," Remo said.
"Why not?"
"Because I've got enough to do. I'm not volunteering for anything. The Red Regiment."
There was the pain again in the knee, this time even sharper than before and Winstler quickly blurted out an address in the east seventies. Lights from the disco Strobe-n-Globe flashed across his face and Remo saw panic in his eyes.
"And the guy they kidnaped is there too?" Remo asked. He had to speak up to be heard over the screech of the music.
"Right, right."
"Good," Remo said.
"You're still going to kill me?"