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The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 26 из 213" He drained his coffee mug. "We better go. Don't want to keep the Seсora waiting."
"God forbid," I said.
"Amen," he said.
I stared at him as he rinsed his mug out in the sink. "Do you know something you're not telling me?"
"No," he said.
I rinsed my own cup, still staring at him. I could feel a suspicious frown between my eyes. "Manny?"
"Honest Mexican, I don't know nuthin'."
"Then what's wrong?"
"You know I was vaudun before Rosita converted me to pure Christianity."
"Yeah, so?"
"Dominga Salvador was not just my priestess. She was my lover."
I stared at him for a few heartbeats. "You're kidding?"
His face was very serious as he said, "I wouldn't joke about something like that."
I shrugged. People's choices of lovers never failed to amaze me. "That's why you could get me a meeting with her on such short notice."
He nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because you might have tried to sneak over there without me."
"Would that have been so bad?"
He just stared at me, brown eyes very serious. "Maybe."
I got my gun from the table and fitted it to the inter-pants holster. Eight bullets. The Browning could hold fourteen. But let's get real; if I needed more than eight bullets, I was dead. And so was Manny.
"Shit," I whispered.
"What?"
"I feel like I'm going to visit the bogeyman."
Manny made a back and forth motion with his head. "Not a bad analogy."
Great, just freaking, bloody great. Why was I doing this? The image of Benjamin Reynolds's blood-coated teddy bear flashed into my mind. All right, I knew why I was doing it. If there was even a remote chance that the boy could still be alive, I'd go into hell itself-if I stood a chance of coming back out. I didn't mention this out loud. I did not want to know if hell was a good analogy, too.
5
The neighborhood was older houses; fifties, forties. The lawns were dying to brown for lack of water. No sprinklers here. Flowers struggled to survive in beds close to the houses. Mostly petunias, geraniums, a few rosebushes. The streets were clean, neat, and one block over you could get yourself shot for wearing the wrong color of jacket.
Gang activity stopped at Seсora Salvador's neighborhood. Even teenagers with automatic pistols fear things you can't stop with bullets no matter how good a shot you are. Silver plated bullets will harm a vampire, but not kill it. It will kill a lycanthrope, but not a zombie.
"God forbid," I said.
"Amen," he said.
I stared at him as he rinsed his mug out in the sink. "Do you know something you're not telling me?"
"No," he said.
I rinsed my own cup, still staring at him. I could feel a suspicious frown between my eyes. "Manny?"
"Honest Mexican, I don't know nuthin'."
"Then what's wrong?"
"You know I was vaudun before Rosita converted me to pure Christianity."
"Yeah, so?"
"Dominga Salvador was not just my priestess. She was my lover."
I stared at him for a few heartbeats. "You're kidding?"
His face was very serious as he said, "I wouldn't joke about something like that."
I shrugged. People's choices of lovers never failed to amaze me. "That's why you could get me a meeting with her on such short notice."
He nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because you might have tried to sneak over there without me."
"Would that have been so bad?"
He just stared at me, brown eyes very serious. "Maybe."
I got my gun from the table and fitted it to the inter-pants holster. Eight bullets. The Browning could hold fourteen. But let's get real; if I needed more than eight bullets, I was dead. And so was Manny.
"Shit," I whispered.
"What?"
"I feel like I'm going to visit the bogeyman."
Manny made a back and forth motion with his head. "Not a bad analogy."
Great, just freaking, bloody great. Why was I doing this? The image of Benjamin Reynolds's blood-coated teddy bear flashed into my mind. All right, I knew why I was doing it. If there was even a remote chance that the boy could still be alive, I'd go into hell itself-if I stood a chance of coming back out. I didn't mention this out loud. I did not want to know if hell was a good analogy, too.
5
The neighborhood was older houses; fifties, forties. The lawns were dying to brown for lack of water. No sprinklers here. Flowers struggled to survive in beds close to the houses. Mostly petunias, geraniums, a few rosebushes. The streets were clean, neat, and one block over you could get yourself shot for wearing the wrong color of jacket.
Gang activity stopped at Seсora Salvador's neighborhood. Even teenagers with automatic pistols fear things you can't stop with bullets no matter how good a shot you are. Silver plated bullets will harm a vampire, but not kill it. It will kill a lycanthrope, but not a zombie.