James Hadley Chase Believed Violent 1968 by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: rus
Format: epub

-r

Sheila went down on her knees: her eyes streaming, begging.

Keegan regarded her, then he looked at the syringe.

'I think you can wait. What's the hurry? You keep begging like that, baby. You look cute.'

Sheila moaned and snuffled. 'Please, Chet … it's killing me. I'll do anything … please… please ..

'You've done everything,' Keegan sneered. 'Anyway, I'm not in the mood. Knock your head three times on the floor. I want to see you do that. Go on, baby, knock hard.'

As she was abjectively obeying, the telephone bell rang. Keegan cursed under his breath, hesitated, then got to his feet.

'Keep knocking, baby,' he said, 'while I get this.' He put the syringe on the table and answered the telephone. Silk's voice sounded tense.

'Pack anything you want for a quick trip,' he said. 'The lid's blown off. I'm right now with Coogan. I'll give you half an hour to get here, then I'm on my way. Forrester and the girl have blown. They'll be talking any minute. Move with the feet,' and the line went dead.

Keegan stood motionless. He knew Coogan owned a fast motorboat. Silk would never panic. If there was to be a quick trip, there would be a quick trip. His brain raced. What did he want to take with him? He turned to see Sheila reaching for the syringe. He thudded the flat of his foot against her ribs, sending her sprawling across the room. Then viciously, he snatched up the syringe and threw it out on to the terrace where it exploded like a tiny bomb. He ran into his bedroom, jerked a suitcase from the top of his closet and threw his best clothes into the case. He unlocked a drawer in his wardrobe and took from it his passport and a thick roll of money which he always kept by him for such an emergency. He stuffed the money and his passport into his pocket, remembering his gun was in the sitting-room. He had taken it from its holster when he and Sheila had returned to the apartment. He slammed the suitcase shut, then went into the sitting-room to collect the gun. He looked around, went to the cocktail bar where he thought he had left it, but couldn't see it. He cursed, then went over to the radiogram.

'Where are you going?' Sheila asked. She was sitting in one of the lounging chairs.

137

TJrop dead!' Keegan snarled. 'Where the hell's my gun?' 'I have it.'

Keegan stiffened and stared at her. She had got unsteadily to her feet and moved away from him, shaking, his gun, wavering in her hand, pointed in his direction.

Keegan had never faced a gun before. Always it was the other man who had to face the gun. Looking at the tiny hole of the barrel that could spell death, he felt a surge of panic go through him. He stood motionless.

'Give it to me,' he said, his voice a croak.

She snuffled and jerked. Water oozed out of her eyes. She was the

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