"Wilson, F Paul - adversary 2 - The Tomb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson F. Paul)

it, taste itЧand it looked, smelled, and tasted dirty. Dust, soot, and lint
laced with carbon monoxide, with perhaps a hint of rancid butter from the
garbage can around the corner in the alley.
Ah! The Upper West Side in August.
He ambled down to the sidewalk and walked west, along the row of brownstones
that lined his street, to the phone booth on the corner. Not a booth, actually;
an open chrome and plastic crate on a pedestal. At least it was still in one
piece. At regular intervals someone yanked out its receiver, leaving
multicolored strands of wire dangling from the socket like nerves from an
amputated limb stump. At other times someone would take the time and effort to
jam a small wedge of paper into the coin slot, or the tips of toothpicks into
the tiny spaces between the pushbuttons and the facing. He never ceased to be
amazed by the strange hobbies of some of his fellow New Yorkers.
He dialed his office number and sounded his beeper into the mouthpiece. A
recorded voiceЧnot Jack'sЧcame over the wire with the familiar message:
"This is Repairman Jack. I'm out on a call now, but when you hear the tone,
leave your name and number and give me a brief idea of the nature of your
problem. I'll get back to you as soon as possible."
There was a tone and then a woman's voice talking about a problem with the timer
on her dryer. Another beep and a man was looking for some free information on
how to fix a blender. Jack ignored the numbers they gave; he had no intention of
calling them back. But how did they get his number? He had restricted his name
to the white pagesЧwith an incorrect street address, naturallyЧto cut down on
appliance repair calls, but people managed to find him anyway.
The third and last voice was unique: smooth in tone, the words clipped, rapid,
tinged with Britain, but definitely not British. Jack knew a couple of
Pakistanis who sounded like that. The man was obviously upset, and stumbled over
his words.
"Mr. JackЕ my motherЧgrandmotherЧwas beaten terribly last night. I must speak to
you immediately. It is terribly important." He gave his name and a number where
he could be reached.
That was one call Jack would return, even though he was going to have to turn
the man down. He intended to devote all his time to Gia's problem. And to Gia.
This might be his last chance with her.
He punched in the number. The clipped voice answered in the middle of the second
ring.
"Mr. Bahkti? This is Repairman Jack. You called my office during the night andЧ"
Mr. Bahkti was suddenly very guarded. "This is not the same voice on the
answering machine."
Sharp, Jack thought. The voice on the machine belonged to Abe Grossman. Jack
never used his own voice on the office phone. But most people didn't spot that.
"An old tape," Jack told him.
"Ahhh. Well, then. I must see you immediately, Mr. Jack. It is a matter of the
utmost importance. A matter of life and death."
"I don't know, Mr. Bahkti, IЧ"
"You must! There can be no refusal!" A new note had crept in: This was not a man
used to being refused. The tone was one that never set well with Jack.
"You don't understand. My time is already taken up with otherЧ"
"Mr. Jack! Are the other matters crucial to a woman's life? Can they not be put
aside for even a short while? MyЕ grandmother was mercilessly beaten on the