"Дон Пендлтон. Chicago Wipe-Out ("Палач" #8) " - читать интересную книгу автора

Charming."
"And found him to be no prince," Bolan commented dryly.
"You carried me away in your white charger, didn't you," she quietly
observed.
"Call it a white coffin," he suggested. "That's what it could turn
into."
"I guess I knew what I was doing," the girl murmured. "We - the girls
at the club - we were talking about you just the other night. They had that
special from New York on Channel 4, and we were talking about your - uh -
battles there. Someone said you'd never come to Chicago. The people around
here are kind of crazy - or have you noticed that? They seem to be proud to
be the crime center of the universe. Anyway, I suppose all this was in my
mind - and the shooting started - and I heard that man on the roof shout
your name. I guess I knew where I was running. Still I guess I didn't know
for sure until I saw you walking toward the car in that black suit. Then it
all came together. The Executioner had come to Chicago."
Bolan said, "And right in the nick of tune, eh?"
"I guess that's how I thought of it," she admitted. "Very egotistic,
huh. Just the same, you did save my life back there, you know."
"Not quite," he told her.
"What?"
"Look, I believe your story," he said. "I could just as easily
disbelieve it, but I have to lean your way. And you have to lean with me.
Now you think carefully and answer the same way. How many people knew you
were going to that joint with Aurielli?"
She blinked her eyes rapidly and replied, "Lots of people. It was an
assignment. I told you. I was sent..."
"Okay. Now what do you suppose is going to happen when the mob begins
looking into the thing? They're going to discover there's a chick missing
from the woodpile. They're going to wonder what happened to the chick and
they're going to wonder if there was any connection between her and Bolan.
These guys don't miss any bets. They're as good as any cops anywhere when it
comes to polling evidence together. They know their business, and they
conduct it with a notable absence of tenderness. Sooner or later they're
going to start wondering about a certain Foxy Lady. And if they develop any
suspicion whatever that maybe this lady helped set up that little slaughter
out there this afternoon, then that lady will be not very long for this
world. Are you leaning with me?"
She was. Bolan had to believe that the reaction was genuine. Her eyes
fluttered, the veneer of sophistication cracked a bit further, and she
exclaimed, "Oh wow! That's what you meant by 'out of the frying pan and into
the fire.' "
Bolan assured her, "That's exactly what I meant."
"So what do I do now?" she asked in a small voice. "Go back?"
He shook his head. "It's too late for that. The cops are already
swarming the joint. No, you have to go on. But we have to build you a story.
You panicked and ran, a guy picked you up and took you into town. You..."
The look in her eyes stopped him. He asked, "What's wrong?"
"It's no good," she replied miserably. "They saw me. Two men. I saw
them watching me from the kitchen window as I was running. They had to know