"Woods, Stuart - Dead In The Water" - читать интересную книгу автора (Woods Stuart)

"Sure thing, boss."

"... was predicted for later this evening, but it started around noon,
and we already have a foot of snow on the streets, with at least twenty
inches expected by the wee hours of tomorrow morning. Kennedy, La
Guardia, and Newark Airports closed at midafternoon, so nothing is
flying into or out of the city until fitrther notice. The Port
Authority predicted that no flights would be moving until noon
tomorrow."

"Shit," Stone said aloud. "Okay, you can turn the volume down
again."

"What you care, boss?" the bartender asked, turning down the TV. "You
already here."

"Yeah, but my girl isn't. She was due to leave at four this
afternoon."

"Bad luck, boss," the man said. "Where are you from?" Stone asked.
"Born right here on St. Marks, boss."

"Funny, you sound Bahamian. You shining me on with that accent?"

The man grinned. "You're too good for me, pal." He stuck out his
hand. "I'm Thomas Hardy, like the writer." Now the accent was more
island British, with an extra, familiar layer.

Stone shook his hand. "Do I hear a little New York in there
somewhere?"

"Lived in Brooklyn a long time; worked all over the city."

"I'm Stone Barrington; I'm on a charter yacht over at the marina."

"That's kind of a familiar name," Thomas said. "Don't know why; it's
my first time in St. Marks." "Were you ever a cop?"

Stone blinked in surprise. "I was, mostly in the Nineteenth Precinct.
Have we ever met?"

Thomas shook his head. "No, but I heard about you.

I was walking a beat in the Village when you left the force; everybody
was talking about you, said you got'-a bad deal."

"I can't complain," Stone said. "I left with the full pension after
fourteen years."