"Дон Пендлтон. The Violent Streets ("Палач" #41) " - читать интересную книгу автораexited from the rear in a shower of blood and bone fragments.
And the sole survivor was taking it all in with astonished eyes, standing behind the desk with both hands flat on the broad top and making no move to leave it. His round eyes never left the smoking muzzle of Bolan's lethal Beretta. Mack Bolan had known from the moment of entry that this man would be Benny Copa, and that he would not be packing. The self-styled honchos of the mob considered themselves exempt from the dirty chores of the gun-bearers, and Bolan had learned from experience that that arrogance made them vulnerable in a pinch. The pinch was on Benny Copa now, and he knew it. Bolan crossed the office, his eyes and gun never wavering from Benny's pallid face. When he was less than a foot from the mobster, his Beretta almost grazing the little guy's nose and letting him savor the cordite smell of death, Bolan gave the guy a light push that dumped his slack form into a waiting swivel chair. And at that, Benny Copa recovered enough of his voice to break the silence. "Easy, man," he said, not quite pleading. "There must be some mistake." "You made it, Benny." Copa thought that one over quickly, licking dry lips. "Well, hey, I mean... it can't be all that bad, can it?" Bolan's face and voice were hard, unyielding. "That depends on you." And Bolan could see the guy's face and mind working, trying to read the "Okay, yeah," he said at last. "I can dig it. Let's talk a deal here." "Make it simple," Bolan said. "You have some information, and I want it. You give, you live. Simple." The look in Benny Copa's eyes was telling the Executioner that, yeah, the guy understood simple very well indeed. Copa nodded rapidly as he spoke. "Fire away... hey, I mean... ask, okay?" "You sent some crews out this morning, Benny. They didn't come home." Copa's face registered shock at Bolan's inside knowledge. He covered it a second later, but not before Bolan had duly noted the reaction. "Uh, I've got lots of crews, man," he said, stalling. "I run a big operation here." "I'm only interested in two." "Uh-huh, well... maybe we can make a deal here," he said, smiling craftily. Bolan pressed the hot muzzle of the Beretta Belle against Benny's forehead, hearing the flesh sizzle on contact. He let Copa wince and wiggle for a moment before withdrawing the gun, leaving an angry red circle above the guy's left eye. "You heard the deal, Benny. The minute I think you're shucking, I terminate the conversation." And Bolan's tone left no doubt that the conversation would not be the only thing terminated, sure. "Okay, okay," he said hastily. "Jesus, you can't blame a guy for trying." |
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