The Hell Yo - lanyon Josh (бесплатные версии книг .txt) 📗

The room was a store room. Junk was piled from floor to ceiling. Enough space had

been cleared in the center of the room for a cot. A man lay on the cot. He was talking to the

ceiling.

It was Gabriel Savant.

“Hey,” I whispered.

He continued to hold forth with the shapes in the plaster ceiling.

I walked over to the cot and stared down. He stopped talking and gazed up at me with

bloodshot, dilated eyes.

“Savant,” I said. “Can you walk?”

“I know you,” he said. “I remember you.” He began to hum the melody to the old

Johnny Mercer song, “I Remember You.” Off key.

“Shhhhhhhh!” I squatted for a closer look at him. One look at his eyes told me all I

needed to know. He was drugged out of his skull. No way could I waltz him out of there on

my own.

Savant smiled at me.

“You’re the bookseller. Avery. Avery…I’ve forgotten your last name.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. I flicked open my cell phone, relieved to see I had a signal. I

rang Guy.

“Where are you?” he answered. “There’s a catering truck pulling into the gates.”

Keeping my voice low, I said, “They’ve got Savant locked in the basement. He’s totally

stoned.”

“You need to get out of there,” Guy said vehemently. “Now.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah. I’ll call the police. Get out of there now. Go!”

“I’m going to try to –”

“No!”

His panic silenced me.

“…a distant bell…” crooned Savant.

Fiercely, Guy said, “If they find you, they won’t let you leave. They can’t. Don’t you

realize what today is?”

“Friday?” Then it hit me. “December twenty-first.” Winter Solstice.

“Yule,” agreed Guy.

“Is the blue sedan still parked out front?”

“What? Yes! GO!”

“I’m on my way. Call the cops,” I said and rang off. So I still had both Betty and Wilmer

to contend with. The arrival of the caterers wouldn’t help, if we got ourselves locked up in

this soundproof basement – or taken to another location before the cops arrived. I smacked

Savant’s gaunt cheek lightly. “Savant? Gabe, wake up!”

He stopped singing. Peered at me. “Wah…wha?”

“We’ve got to get out of here. Can you walk?”

“Wha – where?”

“Not far.” I wasn’t sure I could get him up the stairs, and I was damn sure I couldn’t get

him across the yard without being seen. Frankly, I doubted I could get him across the yard at

all, but maybe I could stash him somewhere safe on the grounds. Just until the cops arrived. I

was afraid to leave him in the basement in case someone decided practicality was preferable

to ritual and dispatched him when they heard the sirens.

I draped his arm around my neck, levered him to his feet. He hugged me.

“Always liked you,” he said.

“Yeah, not now.”

“When my life is through…” he sang.

“Shut up, for God’s sake,” I told him.

He chuckled, then rolled his head back on his shoulders and bellowed, “…and the

angels ask me to reeeecaaaaaaaall…”

I slapped my hand over his chapped mouth. “Shut. Up .”

He began to laugh. His whole body shook with gusts of giggles. His eyes ran. Snot blew

out his nostrils on my hand.

It wasn’t easy, but I got him up the stairs, one lurching step at a time. I half-dragged

him through the kitchen, hauled him out the back door, expecting every moment to hear

shouts of discovery behind us. We stumbled drunkenly along the cobblestone walk until I

spied the half-shed where the trash bins were kept.

I unlatched the gate, lowered Savant behind the battered bins. He stretched out and

prepared to go to sleep.

I got out from behind the bins, eased shut the gate, and started back across the yard.

There was no hint of sirens in the chilly night’s breeze. Maybe Guy couldn’t get hold of Jake.

Maybe Jake figured this was one way of eliminating a potential leak in his private life.

Or maybe Guy hadn’t called.

I ran past the black and silent pool and the spectral white marble slab.

Rounding the corner, I came face-to-face with Harry Potter.

No, it just looked like Potter in the gloom. It had to be Wilmer aka Peter Verlane.

Verlane was as startled as I was. “Hey!” he cried out after a second. I took advantage

and shoved him into the pool.

He went in yelling and splashing, making waves and racket enough for a Sea World

main attraction. Lights flared on around the pool courtyard.

“Hey!” shrieked Betty from somewhere behind me.

I ran for the front, past the bewildered-looking caterers with their trays of stuffed

shrimp and crab puffs.

Peter Verlane squelched after me.

As I reached the tree-lined driveway, headlights slid along the banks of rosebushes, and

a car rolled silently through the tall gates. A black Mercedes. For a moment, I froze in that

spotlight.

The driver braked for half a second, then accelerated.

I jumped to the side. I landed lightly in the grass and picked myself up, ready to run.

The car turned sharply, braked, and reversed, heading back my way.

Peter Verlane materialized out of the darkness, sprinting past me. He reached the gates,

swinging them closed. They clanged shut before I could reach them.

“Are you nuts?” I panted. “The caterers are right over there.”

He glared at me defiantly.

The Mercedes purred up behind us. I turned, and Oliver Garibaldi got out of the car.

He wore a red-lined cape. Maybe he thought it was Halloween. Maybe he’d planned on

doing magic tricks. He stared at me with eyes like black holes in his face.

“I am disappointed,” he said.

“Don’t be,” I said.

Betty Sansone came puffing up. She leaned against the tail of the Mercedes. “Savant’s

gone,” she said.

Garibaldi turned to me. I shrugged. He pointed at me, abracadabra style. “You will die.”

“So will you. That’s life.” I turned to the gatekeeper. “Get out of the way.”

Peter looked to Garibaldi. Garibaldi seemed momentarily nonplussed, as though he

couldn’t understand why I hadn’t died to order. The other car door opened. Ava got out.

“Grab him!” she commanded.

Peter and Betty moved forward, then stopped as the familiar sound of sirens in the