Spenser - 05 - The Judas Goat by Robert B. Parker

Spenser - 05 - The Judas Goat by Robert B. Parker

Author:Robert B. Parker
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780440141969
Publisher: DELL
Published: 1992-06-01T07:46:12+00:00


15

I went out of the Sheraton and turned left on Vester Stogade. Most of the buildings along the street were low apartment buildings, relatively new, and middle-class or better. Number 36 was hers. Brick, with a small open porch on the front. Before I got there I crossed the street and lingered inconspicuously near some bushes in the park. A lot of people must walk their dogs, I noticed, ‘along a narrow path that skirted the lake. A light blue Simca cruised by with one man at the wheel. I stayed where I was. I didn’t see Hawk. In a few minutes the Simca was back. A little one, square and boxy. It went past me gqing the other way and parked a half block up toward the hotel. I stood. It sat.

After another ten minutes a black Saab station wagon pulled up in front of Kathie’s apartment. Three men got out and two of them began to walk toward me, the third went into Kathie’s. I looked in the other direction toward the Simca. A tall, dark, stoop-shouldered man with a big nose and a gray crew-cut was getting out. Behind me was the lake. One of us was sort of cornered. The two men from the Saab fanned out a little as they came so that if I had wanted to I couldn’t run straight ahead and split the defense and get away. I didn’t want to. I stood still with my feet about a foot apart, my hands clasped loosely in front of me, slightly below my belt buckle. The three men reached me and spread out in a little circle around me. The tall guy with the nose stood behind me. The two men from the Saab looked like brothers. Young and ruddy-cheeked. One of them had a scar that ran from the corner of his mouth halfway across his cheek. The other had very small eyes and very light eyebrows. Both were wearing loud sport shirts hanging outside their pants. I guessed why. The one with the scar took a .38 automatic out of his waistband and pointed it at me. He said something in German. “I speak English,” I said. “Put your hands on top of your head,” he said. “Wow,” I said, “you hardly have an accent.” He gestured with the gun barrel. I rested my hands loosely on my head. “That seems dumb to me,” I said. “Should ein cop come by he might notice that I was standing here with my hands on my head. He might pause to ask why, nein?”

“Put your hands down at your sides.” I put them down. “Which of you is Hans?” The guy with the gun ignored me. He said something in German to the big-nosed guy behind me. “I’ll bet you’re Hans,” I said to Scarface. “And you’re Fritz.” Big Nose patted me down, found my gun, and took it. He slipped it into his belt under his shirt. “That’s the Captain behind me.” They didn’t seem to be fans of the Katzenjammer Kids.



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