"Дон Пендлтон. Chicago Wipe-Out ("Палач" #8) " - читать интересную книгу автораa cigar into his mouth and lit it while the portly underboss made his way
along the line of wiremen. Lavallo was puffing slightly as he rounded the corner into the turret. He gave a little hand signal and said, "Hi Turk. How's it going?" "Fine, just fine, Mr. Lavallo. What can we do for you?" This was polite notice that the Caporegime was neither wanted nor needed here. "I'm just too nervous to sit around and wait," Lavallo admitted. "I thought maybe I could lend a hand." Turk's eyes went to the ceiling. This was a delicate matter. At the moment, he was kingpin. Tomorrow, or next week, one day soon, Pete Lavallo's great rank could squash a dozen Larry Turks into nothingness. He told the underboss, "That's great, Mr. Lavallo. Not much happening right now, though. The guy's crawled into a hole somewhere, I guess." The trucker dropped into a chair. "I'd rather be here than sitting around wondering," he muttered. Turk exchanged glances with a crew chief. He told Lavallo, "We were just reviewing the strategy. We, uh, got a whole invisible crew tailin' you around, Mr. Lavallo. If you're gonna spend the night here, we need to put those boys someplace else." Lavallo's eyes showed his surprise. "Nobody told me that," he said. "No sir, nobody meant to." "I got my own damn hardmen," the Caporegime huffed. "Yes sir, that's the idea. A double line. One obvious, one not - not even to you." Lavallo lost the clash of eyes. His went to the floor and he growled, look-see. I guess you got things pretty well in hand." "Thanks. Look, uh, it would be better if you went on natural-like. Bolan tried for you once tonight. We expect he'll try again. We want him to." He slapped his hands together. "Then pow't Eh?" "I get the idea," Lavallo said with a tired smile. "I just ain't exactly used to being a sitting duck, a decoy at that." He struggled to his feet. "Uh, what're you doing, uh, about that dollie?" Turk shrugged. "The usual things. We got her name, her address, her hangouts. We know where she gets her teeth fixed and who gives her her pelvics. We know her momma and her poppa, and we've had a tap on their phone for over an hour, clear out in Montana. Don't you worry, Mr. Lavallo. When she comes out, we'll know it." "You don't forget, I got an interest, a right. I wanta know about her and Louis. You don't touch her until I say so." "My only interest is Bolan. Whatever I have to do to get to Bolan, Mr. Lavallo, I'll have to do. You know that. After that..." Turk sighed delicately. "... you're welcome to her." A lineman had hurried into the turret and was anxiously awaiting a chance to break into the conversation. Turk acknowledged his presence with a sliding glance. The man told him, "Chollie Sanders, over at Neighborhood Protective, just gimme something. One of his pigeons, a dress shop on West Washington, called in a suspicious. About an hour late, but they didn't think anything about it until they got home and turned on the television. This guy's wife..." |
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