Книга Dead Men's s Boots — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

Putting on a last desperate spurt of speed, I held it out beside me like a vaulter’s pole: but then I flung it like a javelin.

It didn’t have the balance of a javelin, and the heavy end dipped at once towards the ground as it flew. Another couple of feet and it would just have hit the pavement and spun away, end over end. But I was riding my luck and it stayed with me: the shaft went squarely between the guy’s pounding feet and he tripped, smacking down heavily on the stone slabs.

He was winded, but he managed to scramble up again and limp forward another couple of steps.

By that time, though, I was on him. I knocked him down again with a shoulder charge: then I jumped on top of him, planting one knee into the small of his back to pin him to the ground. He squirmed and tried to get up, but I had the advantage of weight and position.

‘What the fuck!’ he spluttered. ‘Let go of me! Are you frigging insane?’

‘We haven’t met,’ I panted, my pulse pounding and my breath coming in ragged hiccups.

‘Well, except on the phone. But I’m hoping we can be friends. I’m Castor. Who are you?’

‘I’m gonna scream,’ the guy snarled, still struggling. His head snaked around to glare at me, his nose looking like a raptor’s beak. ‘You think you can do this in broad daylight? Out on the street?’

‘I think,’ I said, still breathless, ‘that you wanted to take – a look at me without – committing yourself. And for some reason you got cold feet. I told you, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m just a friend of John’s.

’

‘Then let me up!’

I did. He looked to be in even worse shape to run agai {pe ""2en than I was, but in any case I could see now that the alley was a dead end: there was nowhere for him to run to. I stood up and stepped back, letting him climb slowly to his feet.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked him again. ‘And tell me the goddamn truth. I was in a bad mood when I got here and it’s not getting any better.’

He rubbed his knee, favouring me with a sneering grin. ‘Yeah, I’m not surprised,’ he sniggered.

‘Sitting there in the café, like you’re waiting for a blind date. Should’ve worn a white carnation in your- Chesney,’ he added hastily, as I took a step towards him. ‘Vincent. Vincent Chesney.’ He threw up his hands to protect himself.

I grabbed the right one, much to his surprise, and shook it hard. It probably looked absurdly formal given the fact that I’d just chased him down like a dog chases a hare, but I didn’t give a damn.