Odnośniki
|
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
The street they were looking for, the one Reeve directed the driver to, wasn t
too deep into Queens. They stuck close to the East River, as though the cabbie
didn t want to lose sight of the Manhattan skyline. When the cab stopped at
lights, there were usually a few men hanging around, leaning down to peer into
the back like they were at an aquarium. Or looking into a butcher s cabinet,
thought Reeve. He preferred the idea of the aquarium.
This is the street, Reeve said. The driver pulled over immediately. He
wasn t going to cruise looking for the shop, he just wanted to dump Reeve and
get out of there.
Will you wait? Reeve asked.
If I stop longer than a red light, the tires ll be gone. Shit, I ll be gone.
Reeve looked around. The street was run-down, but it didn t look particularly
dangerous. It was no Murder Mile. What about giving me your card, he said,
so I can call for another cab?
The man looked at him levelly. Reeve had already paid and tipped him. It was a
decent tip. He sighed. Look, I ll drive around. No promises, but if you re
right here at this spot in twenty minutes, maybe I ll be back here to pick you
up. No promises, you hear? If I catch another fare, that s it.
Deal, Reeve said.
Twenty minutes might cover it.
He found the store on the other side of the street. Its window made it look
like a junk shop which in part it was but it specialized in militaria and
survivalist goodies. The hulk behind the padlocked counter didn t look like he
was going to be mugged. Brown muscled shoulders bulged from a tight black
T-shirt with some Nazi-style emblems and writing on the front. There were
tattoos on the man s arms, variously colored. The thick veins ran through them
like roads on a map. The man had a bulbous shaven head but a full black beard
and mustache, plus a large looped earring in one ear. Reeve immediately
pictured him as a pirate, cutlass between his teeth in some old
black-and-white movie. He nodded a greeting and looked around the shop. What
stock there was the mostly boxed, but the display cabinet behind which the
owner Reeve presumed he was the owner sat was full of just what he d come here
for: knives.
You the one that phoned?
Reeve recognized the man s voice and nodded. He walked towards the display
case. The knives were highly polished combat weapons, some with extremely
mean-looking serrated edges. There were machetes, too, and butterfly
knives even a foreshortened samurai sword. There were older knives among the
flashing steel; war souvenirs, collectibles with dubious histories.
The man s voice wasn t as deep as his frame would suggest. Thought you must
Page 107
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
be; we don t get too many customers midweek. Lot of our stuff goes out mail
order. You want I should put you on the computer?
What computer?
The mailing list.
I don t think so.
You see anything you like?
Reeve saw plenty. He d considered buying a gun, but wouldn t have known how to
go about it. Besides, a knife was just about as good, so long as you got
close. He was hoping to get very close&
Nothing exactly like what I m looking for.
Well, this is just a selection. The man came from behind the counter. He was
wearing gray sweatpants, baggy all the way down to his ankles, and open-toed
sandals showing one toe missing. He went over to the door and locked it,
turning the sign to CLOSED.
Was it a bullet or shrapnel? Reeve asked.
The man knew what he meant. Bullet. I was rolling, trying to get to cover,
bullet went into the toe of my damned boot.
Through the steel toe cap?
I wasn t wearing steel toe caps, the man said, smiling. This didn t happen
to me in the army. He was leading Reeve through the shop. The store was
narrow but went back a long way. They came to a section of clothing:
disruptive patterns, plain olive greens, stuff from all over the world. There
were boots, too, and a lot of equipment for wilderness survival: compasses and
stoves and pup tents, binoculars, reels of filament for making trip wires,
rifle sights, crossbows, balaclavas&
This, Reeve realized, was going to take more than the twenty minutes his
cabbie had allotted him. No guns? he asked.
I m not licensed for them.
Can you get them?
Maybe if I knew you better. Where you from anyway?
Scotland.
Scotland? You guys invented golf!
Yes, Reeve admitted, not sure why the hulk was suddenly so excited.
Ever played St. Andrews?
I don t play golf. The hulk looked bemused by this. Do you?
Hell, yes, got me a five handicap. I love golf. Man, I d like to play some of
those courses over there.
Well, I d be happy to help you.
But you don t play.
I know people who do.
Well, man, I would surely love to do that someday& He unlocked a door at the
back of the store. It had three locks, one of them a padlock attached to a
central bolt.
Not the rest rooms? Reeve said.
Yeah, the head s back here, but then so is a lot of other stuff.
They entered a small storeroom with barely enough space for the two of them.
There were three narrow doors with piles of boxes in front of two of them. A
box sat on the small table in the middle of the room.
I already looked these out; thought they might be more your thing. He lifted
the lid from an innocuous brown cardboard box, the size of a shoe box. There
were layers of oiled cloth inside, and between the layers lay the knives.
Nice balance, Reeve said, handling one. Bit too short, though. After
handling each knife, he handed it to the hulk for repolishing. Reeve peeled
off another strip of cloth near the bottom of the box and saw what he d been
looking for: an eight-inch blade with five-inch handle. He tried it for weight
and balance. It felt almost identical to his German knife, his Lucky 13.
I like this one, he said, putting it to one side. He checked the remaining
knives out, but none came close. No, he said, it has to be this one.
That s a good knife, the hulk agreed, a serious knife.
I m a serious person.
Page 108
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pldoc.pisz.plpdf.pisz.plblacksoulman.xlx.pl
|
