JК
Guilty Pleasures :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 82 из 205Would Jean-Claude go crazy? I picked up my fork and foundmyself halfway through a piece of blackberry pie. I hate blackberries. Damn, I treat myself to pie and get the wrong kind. What was the matter with me? The taste was still warm and thick in my mouth. I took a big swig of Coke to wash it down. The Coke didn't help much.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
I pushed the half-eaten pie away and opened one of the folders. The first victim, one Maurice-no last name, had lived with a woman named Rebecca Miles. They had cohabited for five years. “Cohabited” sounded better than “shacked up.”
“I'll talk to friends and lovers of the dead vampires.”
“I might know the names.”
I stared at him, debating. I didn't want to share information with him because I knew good of Phillip was the daytime eyes and ears of the undead. Yet, when I had talked to Rebecca Miles in the company of the police, she had told us zip. I didn't have time to wade through crap. I needed information and fast. Nikolaos wanted results. And what Nikolaos wanted, Nikolaos damn well better get.
“Rebecca Miles,” I said.
“I know her. She was Maurice's property.” He shrugged an apology at the word, but he let it stand. And I wondered what he meant by it. “Where do we go first?” he asked.
“Nowhere. I don't want a civilian along while I work.”
“I might be able to help.”
“No offense, you look strong and maybe even quick, but that isn't enough. Do you know how to fight? Do you carry a gun?”
“No gun, but I can handle myself.”
I doubted that. Most people don't react well to violence. It freezes them. There are a handful of seconds where the body hesitates, the mind doesn't understand. Those few seconds can get you killed. The only way to kill the hesitation is practice. Violence has to become a part of your thinking. It makes you cautious, suspicious as hell, and lengthens your life expectancy. Phillip was familiar with violence, but only as the victim. I didn't need a professional victim tagging along. Yet, I needed information from people who wouldn't want to talk to me. They might talk to Phillip.
I didn't expect to run into a gun battle in broad daylight. Nor did I really expect anyone to jump me, at least not today. I've been wrong before but … If Phillip could help me, I saw no harm in it. As long as he didn't flash that smile at the wrong time and get molested by nuns, we would be safe.
“If someone threatens me, can you stay out of it and let me do my job, or would you charge in and try to save me?” I asked.
“Oh,” he said.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
I pushed the half-eaten pie away and opened one of the folders. The first victim, one Maurice-no last name, had lived with a woman named Rebecca Miles. They had cohabited for five years. “Cohabited” sounded better than “shacked up.”
“I'll talk to friends and lovers of the dead vampires.”
“I might know the names.”
I stared at him, debating. I didn't want to share information with him because I knew good of Phillip was the daytime eyes and ears of the undead. Yet, when I had talked to Rebecca Miles in the company of the police, she had told us zip. I didn't have time to wade through crap. I needed information and fast. Nikolaos wanted results. And what Nikolaos wanted, Nikolaos damn well better get.
“Rebecca Miles,” I said.
“I know her. She was Maurice's property.” He shrugged an apology at the word, but he let it stand. And I wondered what he meant by it. “Where do we go first?” he asked.
“Nowhere. I don't want a civilian along while I work.”
“I might be able to help.”
“No offense, you look strong and maybe even quick, but that isn't enough. Do you know how to fight? Do you carry a gun?”
“No gun, but I can handle myself.”
I doubted that. Most people don't react well to violence. It freezes them. There are a handful of seconds where the body hesitates, the mind doesn't understand. Those few seconds can get you killed. The only way to kill the hesitation is practice. Violence has to become a part of your thinking. It makes you cautious, suspicious as hell, and lengthens your life expectancy. Phillip was familiar with violence, but only as the victim. I didn't need a professional victim tagging along. Yet, I needed information from people who wouldn't want to talk to me. They might talk to Phillip.
I didn't expect to run into a gun battle in broad daylight. Nor did I really expect anyone to jump me, at least not today. I've been wrong before but … If Phillip could help me, I saw no harm in it. As long as he didn't flash that smile at the wrong time and get molested by nuns, we would be safe.
“If someone threatens me, can you stay out of it and let me do my job, or would you charge in and try to save me?” I asked.
“Oh,” he said.