"Destroyer 044 - Balance of Power.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

Max Snodgrass stepped back slightly, a wary half step. "Yes?"
"An old woman is dying upstairs."
''I'll call a doctor."
Daniels raised a shaking hand. "No. No. It's too late for that."
"How do you know? You're not a doctor."
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"I've seen enough death to know, Max," he intoned somberly. "I smell death."
Daniels could see the pink neck stretching, the flat gray eyes trying to peer into the house. "And you want me to do something for her, is that right?"
Daniels nodded.
"And I'm the only man in the world who can help, is that right? And it's not a loan of a few dollars because I have the check with me, right? Then it must be something else. Could it be she wants one last glass of tequila for her dry old throat before she passes on to that great desert up yonder?"
Snodgrass smiled, an evil, vicious, untrusting smile. The smile of a man who would not give a dying grandmother a drink.
"You have no heart," Daniels said. "From a man who has no heart, I will not accept the check."
"You're not doing me any favors."
"Yes I am, buddy. If I don't take the check, your bookkeeping will get all fouled up." He grinned wickedly. "And we both know what your boss will think about that."
Your boss. Not ours. Thank God.
"Ridiculous," Snodgrass said in a casual voice that suddenly squeaked. "Just add another memo to the files."
"But the CIA doesn't cotton to memos," Daniels taunted.
The pink neck grew red and the gray eyes above it flashed. "Quiet," Snodgrass hissed. "Will you shut up?"
"I'll say it louder," Daniels-said. "Louder and louder. CIA. CIA. CIA."
Snodgrass, glanced quickly and desperately to both sides. He slapped the oak panel of the door
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with the flat of his hand. "All right, all right, all right. Will you shut up? Shhhh."
"Mickey's Pub will sell it to you, and it's only three blocks away. The liquor store's six and a half blocks," Daniels said helpfully.
"I'm sure you've counted the steps," Snodgrass sneered as he turned to go.
"Don't forget to bring two glasses and a lemon."
"First take the check."
"No."
"All right. I'll be back. And shut up." Snodgrass pranced neatly down the steps to the cracked path that led to his well-polished Ford.
Squawk. Squawk. Squawk. The ducks started flying through his head again. Damn it, when would Snodgrass get back?
Snodgrass didn't knock. He walked through the open door to the kitchen where Daniels sat on the sink desperately desiring a cigarette.
"Got a smoke?"
"One thing at a time," Snodgrass said, opening his attache case and extracting the tequila bottle.
He offered the bottle as if throwing out a challenge. Daniels accepted it as if accepting a gift from the altar of grace.
"No glasses?" Daniels asked.
"No."
"How can you expect a man to drink in his own private home straight from the bottle?" Daniels asked, twisting off the cap and dropping it into the white porcelain sink. "What are you, Snodgrass? Some kind of animal that never lived in a house? Where were you brought up, some South American jungle or something?"
Indignantly, Barney Daniels raised the bottle to his lips and let the clear, fiery liquid pour into his
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mouth and singe it clean. He swished the tequila in his mouth, careful that it washed over each tooth and numbed the gums. Then he spat it over his right arm, twisting around so the spray splattered the sink. He softly exhaled, then inhaled. It was good tequila. Magnificent.
Finally, he took a long swig and sucked it into his whole body. The ducks disappeared.
"Cigarette," he said weakly and took another sip from the bottle.
Snodgrass flashed open a gold cigarette case filled with blue-ringed smokes. With deft hands, Daniels plucked out all of them, leaving the case shining and empty before Snodgrass could close it. He stuffed one in his mouth and the rest in his pocket.
"Those are imported Turkish, my special blend," Snodgrass whined.
Daniels shrugged. "Got a light?"
"I'd like some of them returned."
"I'll give you two. Got a light?"
"You'll return the rest."
"All right. Four."
"All of them."
"They're crushed. You wouldn't want crushed cigarettes, would you?"