"000015-parryspr" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yngve A R - Parry's Protocol)______________________ A.R.Yngve PARRY'S PROTOCOL ______________________ Chapter 15 Outside, a small band of people were raiding the parking-lot; one car had been set on fire with a molotov-cocktail and exploded. The flames threw dancing shadows over the neighbourhood, as they spread to adjacent cars. Giordano, seeing this, shouted a foul curse in Spanish that made the looters stop in their tracks. He stood on the balcony parapet, and fired his double-barrel shotgun in the air. Several looters turned and ran away. Two of them had just managed to break into a car and start the engine. It bumped against other cars as it roared off across the parking-lot. Giordano pushed the speechless Abram aside and locked the apartment door. Then he hurried down the stairway, opening the barrels and loading a new shell. Abram hesitated for a second, then rushed after. "Wait," he gasped, "they're running away!" "I gotta move the car to a safer place," Giordano said tensely, striding toward the parking-lot. "Those were just frontrunners. In a minute the riot will be here!" A few seconds later, they were sitting in Giordano's tiny Nissan as he swerved backward, then forward and out into the street. Abram sat in the backseat -- Giordano's shotgun was taking up the other front seat. "Could you take me to the airport?" Abram asked, pale in the face. "I must go there anyway, and it's probably safer too." Giordano looked at Abram by the rear-view mirror. "Okay... that'll cost you fifty bucks." He grinned. "I am a taxidriver, but I usually don't work riot-time." Abram blinked rapidly several times, unsmiling -- and was thrown off balance, when the car skidded left to avoid rioters on the street. Giordano honked the horn, and something bumped against the roof as they raced past the raging crowd. They drove past a few empty, littered city blocks -- only a handful of speeding cars were out in the area -- and made a turn up north, onto the Long Beach Freeway. Giordano scanned the landscape. "Getting to the airport shouldn't take too long, unless we run into any troops. Seems those military exercises weren't a waste after all." He sank back in his seat and looked over his shoulder at Abram, who held a hand over his chest, leaning on the briefcase in his lap. Abram was breathing with effort. "You okay, old man?" "Yeah," he wheezed. "Thanks." Giordano looked thoughtful for a while. He asked: "You know, you never asked me what Rymowicz told us on that lecture when he shot Bonzo." Abram rubbed his moustaches with a handkerchief, then wiped his face. "I've already read the testimonies from that day, and they don't seem to fit in with the facts you gave me. What do you think?" "You know what I think?" Giordano said. "Dr. Rymowicz knew Bonzo was going to ice him, but if he'd reported him to the cops, Bonzo's gang would've fixed him anyway. Rymo's only chance of getting rid of Bonzo and surviving it, was to act crazy -- so that he wouldn't end up among Bonzo's friends in prison." Abram looked into the rear-view mirror and caught Giordano's hard eyes; his own were haggard. "An interesting theory... but I honestly don't think the authorities would believe me if I told them." He stared forward -- avoiding the shotgun with his eyes? -- and added: "For Rymowicz' own sake, I would keep such theories to myself." ______________________ A.R.Yngve PARRY'S PROTOCOL ______________________ Chapter 15 Outside, a small band of people were raiding the parking-lot; one car had been set on fire with a molotov-cocktail and exploded. The flames threw dancing shadows over the neighbourhood, as they spread to adjacent cars. Giordano, seeing this, shouted a foul curse in Spanish that made the looters stop in their tracks. He stood on the balcony parapet, and fired his double-barrel shotgun in the air. Several looters turned and ran away. Two of them had just managed to break into a car and start the engine. It bumped against other cars as it roared off across the parking-lot. Giordano pushed the speechless Abram aside and locked the apartment door. Then he hurried down the stairway, opening the barrels and loading a new shell. Abram hesitated for a second, then rushed after. "Wait," he gasped, "they're running away!" "I gotta move the car to a safer place," Giordano said tensely, striding toward the parking-lot. "Those were just frontrunners. In a minute the riot will be here!" A few seconds later, they were sitting in Giordano's tiny Nissan as he swerved backward, then forward and out into the street. Abram sat in the backseat -- Giordano's shotgun was taking up the other front seat. "Could you take me to the airport?" Abram asked, pale in the face. "I must go there anyway, and it's probably safer too." Giordano looked at Abram by the rear-view mirror. "Okay... that'll cost you fifty bucks." He grinned. "I am a taxidriver, but I usually don't work riot-time." Abram blinked rapidly several times, unsmiling -- and was thrown off balance, when the car skidded left to avoid rioters on the street. Giordano honked the horn, and something bumped against the roof as they raced past the raging crowd. They drove past a few empty, littered city blocks -- only a handful of speeding cars were out in the area -- and made a turn up north, onto the Long Beach Freeway. Giordano scanned the landscape. "Getting to the airport shouldn't take too long, unless we run into any troops. Seems those military exercises weren't a waste after all." He sank back in his seat and looked over his shoulder at Abram, who held a hand over his chest, leaning on the briefcase in his lap. Abram was breathing with effort. "You okay, old man?" "Yeah," he wheezed. "Thanks." Giordano looked thoughtful for a while. He asked: "You know, you never asked me what Rymowicz told us on that lecture when he shot Bonzo." Abram rubbed his moustaches with a handkerchief, then wiped his face. "I've already read the testimonies from that day, and they don't seem to fit in with the facts you gave me. What do you think?" "You know what I think?" Giordano said. "Dr. Rymowicz knew Bonzo was going to ice him, but if he'd reported him to the cops, Bonzo's gang would've fixed him anyway. Rymo's only chance of getting rid of Bonzo and surviving it, was to act crazy -- so that he wouldn't end up among Bonzo's friends in prison." Abram looked into the rear-view mirror and caught Giordano's hard eyes; his own were haggard. "An interesting theory... but I honestly don't think the authorities would believe me if I told them." He stared forward -- avoiding the shotgun with his eyes? -- and added: "For Rymowicz' own sake, I would keep such theories to myself." |
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