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.But he didn't act like a trapped killer--there was an effete arrogance that cut through even his fear.He had sailed on his good looks and charm for some thirty years and obviously considered himself a naturally superior being.His self-sufficient masquerade was about to end, and I wondered if he knew.Dudley got the proceedings started, banging his huge hands on the little wooden table that held Mike's stenographic pads.Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html"Mr.Engels," he said, "you are probably wondering exactly who we are, and why we brought you here." He paused and poured gin and Coca-Cola, mixed half and half, into a paper cup and handed it to Engels, who took it and sipped dutifully, dark intelligent eyes glancing around at the four of us.Dudley cleared his throat and continued."Let me introduce my colleagues," he said, "Mr.Carlisle, Los Angeles Police Department; Mr.Breuning, of the district attorney's office; I am Lieutenant Dudley Smith of the L.A.P.D.; and this gentleman"--he paused and inclined his head toward me--"is Inspector Underhill of the F.B.I." I almost laughed at my big new promotion, but kept a straight face."If you have any legal questions, you ask the inspector.He's an attorney, he'll be glad to answer them."I butted in, somehow wanting to calm Engels before the onslaught of brutality I knew would be coming."Mr.Engels, you may not know it, but you are acquainted with some people who exist on the edges of the L.A.crime world.We want to question you about these people.Our methods are roundabout, but they work.Just answer our questions and I assure you everything will be all right."It was a well-informed, ambiguous stab in the dark, and it hit home.Engels believed me.His features relaxed and he gulped the rest of his drink in relief.Dudley poured him another immediately, this one a good two-thirds gin.Eddie took two healthy slugs of it and when he spoke, his voice had gone down considerably, almost to the baritone range."What do you want to know?" he asked."Tell us about yourself, lad," Dudley said."What about me?""Your life, lad, past and present.""Exactly what do you mean, Lieutenant?""I mean _everything_, lad."Engels seemed to consider this.He seemed to draw into his memory, and guzzled his gin and Coke to speed his thought processes.I looked at my watch.It was 7:00 and already getting hot in the sordid little room.I took off my suit coat and rolled up my shirtsleeves.I felt tired, having gone more than twenty-four hours without sleep.Almost as if in answer, Mike Breuning switched on a portable fan and handed me a cup of lukewarm coffee.Dudley poured Engels a cupful of pure gin."Your life story, lad," he said."We're all dying to hear it.""Mom and Dad were good people," Eddie began, his voice taking on the stentorian tone of one explaining profound intrinsic truth."They still are, I guess.I'm from Seattle.Mom and Dad were born in Germany.They came here before the First World War.They--""Were you a happy youngster, Eddie?" Dudley interrupted.Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.htmlEngels sipped his gin, wincing slightly at the full-strength bitterness."Sure, sure, I was a happy kid.A good sport.An ace gent.I had a dog, I had a treehouse, I had a bike.Dad was a good guy.He never hit me.He was a pharmacist.He never sent Ma or me to the doctor.He fixed us up with this stuff from the pharmacy.Sometimes it had dope in it.Once Ma took some and had these religious hallucinations.She said she saw Jesus walking Miffy-- that's another dog we had who got run over.She said Miffy could talk and wanted her to become a Catholic and work at this pet cemetery outside of town.Dad never gave Ma any more of the stuff after that; he hated Catholics.Dad was an ace guy with me but he was tough as nails with my sister, Lillian.He wouldn't let her date guys, he was always prowling around this flower shop where she worked to make sure no mashers were trying to date her.Dad was an old-fashioned Kraut.He hated guys who chased tail.He didn't want me to chase tail, he wanted me to marry some Kraut bimbo and go to pharmacist school."Engels paused and downed the rest of his gin.His body shook and I could see that he was getting drunk, smiling crookedly, his face glazing over with sentiment.Dudley refilled his cup."But you wanted to chase tail, right, Eddie?" I said.Engels laughed and guzzled gin."Right," he slurred, "and I wanted out of that fucking dead-dog town, Seattle.Nothing but rain and dead dogs and pharmacies and ugly tail.U-u-u-gly! Woo! I had the best tail Seattle had to offer and it was worse than the lowest piece of Hollywood ass.U-u-ugly!""So you moved to L.A.?" Mike interjected."Fuck, no! The fucking Japs bombed Pearl Harbor and I got drafted.The navy.Dad said I looked like Donald Duck in my uniform.I said he looked like Mickey Mouse in that smock he wore at the pharmacy.He didn't want me to go.He tried to fix it so I could stay in Seattle.He tried to hand the appeals board this hardship caper, but it didn't work.But Dad got poetic justice.They made me a pharmacist's mate.He called me Doctor Duck."Eddie Engels doubled over with laughter on the mattress, then jolted up and vomited on the floor, his head between his knees, his hands hanging limply by his sides.He had knocked over his glass of gin, and when he looked up he banged a drunken hand all over the mattress looking for it.He found the glass on the floor in a pool of vomit, picked it up and waved it at Dudley."Gimme a refill, Lieutenant.Pharmacist's Mate Engels, 416-8395 requests a fucking drink on the double!"Dudley gladly obliged him, this time filling the glass half-full.Engels grabbed it and bolted the liquid, falling back onto the mattress and muttering, "Lotsa tail, lotsa tail," before he passed out.Eddie Engels woke up some six hours later, panicked and dehydrated to the bone [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]