Ultimate Thriller Box Set - Crouch Blake (лучшие книги без регистрации txt) 📗

I sat there like James Bond in that scene from Dr. No and the one thirty-five years later in Tomorrow Never Dies. Just a man in a chair with his drink and his gun, waiting for danger to arrive.

It was a longer wait than I expected.

I was driving a ‘50s T-bird convertible down the Las Vegas Strip. I made a left turn at the Desert Inn, and drove around back to my place.

I drove into the garage, which was also my living room and my office. You’d think a private eye living and working out of his garage would be pathetic, but it was actually very cool.

One of things that made it cool was my assistant Carol, who had breasts the size of watermelons, really big watermelons, and was waiting for me with a tropical drink.

I climbed over the door of my car instead of opening it. It was a lot more trouble, but it was one of the carefree, cool things I did that made me irresistible to women.

“The casino called for you, Dan. They’ve got trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

She showed me a picture of Lauren.

“They say she’s gonna jump, unless you can help her,” Carol said.

I took the drink and downed it in one gulp and suddenly I was on the roof of the Desert Inn, standing a few feet behind Lauren, who stood on the edge, her back to me, the wind whipping her dress.

I approached her slowly. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Arlo is back. He going to tell them everything.”

“I’ll find him,” I said. “I’ll stop him.”

“That’s not going to change anything.”

“Your secret will be safe,” I said. “No one will know anything.”

She turned her head and looked right at me. Her gaze was blinding.

“I will,” she said. “I can never forget it now.”

And then she jumped.

Chapter Eighteen

I’m not sure exactly which sound woke me up. It was either Lauren’s body hitting the pavement or the explosion from the motel across the highway.

I whipped open my blinds and saw flames engulfing the room I’d rented at the Sno-Inn Motel and licking the hood of my rented LeSabre, which I’d parked right out front.

It was a huge fire, so hot I could feel it from fifty yards away, behind a pane of glass. And I could hear it, howling in the night, embers snapping in the cold air like cicadas on PCP.

Even so, I still had a hard time believing it. This didn’t happen in real life. This didn’t happen to me. But that was my room and my car on fire. And once the reality sunk it, I was angry at myself, because I’d slept through it.

I’d missed my chance to catch Arlo by surprise when he came to hurt me. I’d missed the moment of glorious satisfaction when Arlo realized how I’d tricked him, and how much smarter I was than he’d ever be.

I’d missed my sweet victory.

I should have been looking out the window when Arlo sped by and lobbed his Molotov cocktail through the window of my empty motel room.

I should have been out there in the street firing my gun at his Lumina as he sped off. I should have shot out his tires and sent his car careening out of control. I should have dragged him from the wreckage, made a citizen’s arrest, and been a hero.

But that wasn’t what happened, because I was asleep, dreaming I was Dan Tana in Vega$. Dan wouldn’t have let this happen.

I looked out the window at the frightened people running out of their motel rooms in their underwear, and the flames igniting the Sno-Inn’s wood-shake roof, and I realized something else.

The flames were meant for me.

Jolene told Arlo where I was staying and he went there to kill me. No one had ever wanted to do that before.

I’d assumed that Arlo would try to scare me off with a good beating. My plan was to catch him when he snuck into my room across the street. When he came out, I was going to smack him on the head with my gun, then kick him once or twice after he hit the ground, just so he’d know what it felt like.

I didn’t expect Arlo to toss a bomb into my room.

And if I’d been awake when it happened, I know I would have run out in the street without thinking and started shooting BBs at his car. And he probably would have made a U-turn, mowed me down with his Lumina, and laughed about it all the way back to his mobile home.

So, maybe it was a good thing I slept through it.

I took a sip of my flat Diet Coke and watched the motel burn and my rental car get scorched and listened to the sirens in the distance.

Actually, it was kind of cool.

This was the kind of thing that happened to Matt Houston and Jim Rockford and Dan Tana all the time. And now it was happening to me.

The only thing left was to be knocked unconscious and get shot in the arm, and then I’d really be one of the guys; though, to be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to either experience.

All in all, this turn of events wasn’t so bad. In fact, I decided I should be pleased with myself and my cleverness. The trick I played by renting two motel rooms, and sticking my car in front of the vacant one, had actually worked. I wasn’t in the room that was on fire. I was alive and unscathed. I’d outwitted my adversary.

I also knew for certain that I was really onto something, that Arlo Pelz was afraid of what I might know, what I’d detected.

Then I realized the most important thing of all.

Now Arlo Pelz thought I was dead.

***

I took my ice bucket and went outside to join the frightened Sno-Inn guests as they watched their rooms and their belongings burn.

No one noticed me blending in to the crowd; they were all busy watching the flames devour the motel. I moved among them, eavesdropping as they shared their stories with one another about what they heard and what they saw.

A couple people heard a car peeling out just before the fire. One guy actually saw what he thought was a Pontiac or a Chevy speeding away, but no one got a license number. No one saw anything that would lead the police to Arlo Pelz.

The gnomish manager of the Sno-Inn was the biggest help of all in distracting people from the real perpetrator. He was marching in front of the inferno in his underwear, screaming that the asshole motel-owner across the highway was responsible for the blaze. In fact, the enraged gnome had to be restrained by two men from beating up his competitor, a spindly old man who made the mistake of coming over to offer his condolences.

By the time the fire engines showed up, the motel had all but burned to the ground and the fire had spread to the trees, transforming them into enormous torches. While the firefighters battled to keep the fire from spreading into the surrounding forest, and sheriff’s deputies moved through the crowd taking statements, I worked on my story.

The ice bucket I’d grabbed on impulse turned out to be an inspiration. Just by carrying it around with me, I looked like a guy in shock. And it made a nice prop for my story, which was that I left my room to get some ice, heard a screech of tires, and then saw my room ablaze.

The deputy asked what I was doing in Snohomish, and if there was any reason someone might want to do me harm. I told him I was here on vacation and that I was a night-shift security guard in a gated community in Southern California. Why would anyone give a damn about me?

I didn’t have to sell him too hard on that one.

I could have told him I was investigating the blackmail and subsequent suicide of Lauren Parkus, and that I suspected ex-convict Arlo Pelz, a dark memory from her druggie past, was responsible for this. But like any half-decent private eye, I didn’t do that. I wanted Arlo Pelz for myself.

So, for the second time that week, I lied to the law and was surprised how easy it was for me.

I told the deputy I wouldn’t be in the Snohomish area very long and gave him my number in LA. He asked if there was anything he could do to help me. I said I still had my wallet in my pocket when I went to get the ice, so I was in decent shape. In fact, I explained, I’d already reserved a room across the street for the night, so they wouldn’t have to worry about me. Which was fine by him. He had plenty of other guests a lot worse off than me to deal with.