Читать книгу Let’s All Kill Constance - Рэй Брэдбери, Ray Bradbury, Ray Bradbury Philip K. Dick Isaac Asimov - Страница 11

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Chapter Six

In one hour, Crumley called.

But didn’t call me William.

He said, “Crud, crap, crapola. You really know how to hook a guy. What is it with these goddamn Books of the Dead?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Hell, I was born in a mortuary, raised in a graveyard, matriculated in the Valley of the Kings outside Karnak in upper, or was it lower, Egypt? Some nights I dream I’m wrapped in creosote. Who wouldn’t know a book that’s dead when it’s served with his beer?”

“Same old Crumley,” I said.

“I wish it wasn’t. When I hang up I’m calling your wife!”

“Don’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because—” I stopped, gasped, and then blurted out, “I need you!”

“Crud.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard,” he muttered. “Christ.”

And at last, “Meet you down by Rattigan’s. Around sunset. When things come out of the surf to get you.”

“Rattigan’s.”

He hung up before I could.

Let’s All Kill Constance

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