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

dead ?" He snapped his fingers. "Just like that ?"
"No!" Palmer exclaimed. "Not like that. I mean his brains are
splattered all over Lakeside. Him and about a dozen boys. City Jim says
bodies are strung all around the joint, just shot to hell."
Lavallo slowly pushed his swivel chair away from the desk and eased to
his feet. As if in a slow-motion reflex he opened a drawer and picked up a
.45 Colt autoloader, checked the clip, and placed it on the desk. Then he
went to the window and stared out upon the warehouse complex that surrounded
the modernistic office building. In a barely audible voice he asked, "And
where does City Jim come into it?"
"Hell, I guess they got half the police force out there, that's where
he comes into it. He said to tell you..."
"He said?" Lavallo snarled, whirling away from the window. "You mean he
called personal?"
"Yes he did, and let me tell you about it, Pete." Palmer took time to
light a cigarette, exhaling with the burst of words. "You remember a
Lakeside soldier called Johnny Vegas? Tall skinny kid, always doing card
tricks?"
Lavallo cried, "Get to it! What the hell happened out there?"
"This Johnny Vegas is the only soldier left alive up there. He says it
was a Bolan hit. He says he stood eye-to-eye with the bastard and..."
Lavallo had scooped up an ashtray from the desk and thrown it the
length of the office. It struck the far wall and shattered, dislodging a
heavy plaque.
Palmer yelled, "Calm down, Pete! God, listen to what I got to tell
you!"
"Alright. I'm listening." Lavallo picked up the .45 and thrust it into
the waistband of his trousers. "I'm listening! Go ahead!"
"Johnny Vegas says Bolan left a message for you. That's why City Jim
called direct. He says you better take a vacation, and damn quick. Bolan
gave the kid one of those medals - you know, those calling-cards of his. He
said Johnny should give it to you, because you're next."
Lavallo's eyes twitched. He muttered, "Smart son of a bitch. Where the
hell does he get off with - just who the hell does he think he is?"
"Who? You mean City Jim? He's just trying..."
"Hell no, I mean that smart bastard!" Lavallo yelled. "Where the hell
does he think he's at, still in New York or somewheres? He can't pull that
stuff in this town, don't he know that?"
"God, I guess he already pulled it, Pete," Rudy Palmer quietly pointed
out. "The guy's a nut, you know that. You can't figure a nut. He's probably
all horsed up, you know how those guys come back from Vietnam. Popping four
or five caps of horse a day and clear outta their skulls with the stuff. I
think you ought to..."
"Aw shut up," Lavallo muttered. "Lemme think. Hell I ain't even got
used to Lou being dead yet. Lemme think."
"Well listen to one more thing first. I already sent for Nicko and
Eddie. I told them to round up plenty of soldiers and get a convoy out here
to take you home. I don't want you taking no chances with this nut."
"Yeah, yeah - okay." Lavallo was staring at the window, his eyes glazed
and unseeing. "And tell City Jim thanks if he calls back. Tell him I