Angel of Death. Christian Russell

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СКАЧАТЬ everything OK with you?” they asked.

      “Yes,” Mark answered. “Take care of the wounded guy inside. And watch out, he might be dangerous! But I want him alive. Maybe he’ll tell us a story about what’s happened here.”

      “Done,” the two police officers said entering the box.

      “Come, Sean. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

      By the time they reached the box all of its occupants, frightened, had already left. The sniper’s body alone was lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

      “You’re good, Mark,” Sean whispered admiringly looking at the red spot in the middle of the attacker’s forehead.

      Mark dismissed it with a wave. “Does his face ring a bell to you?” he asked.

      “Not a thing. He’s not a famous hitman. Probably a second hand one.”

      Meanwhile a couple of policemen had come for the body. The man’s bloody face didn’t ring any bell to them either. “He might be a foreigner,” one of them suggested.

      The two agents returned to the senator’s box. While they were gone the police had taken the wounded killer away.

      “Where did they take him?” Mark inquired.

      “The Bellevue,” Arty answered.

      Down below the stalls had almost emptied. Obviously the show was ruined and it was unlikely they would resume it. The senator moved toward the agent with open arms.

      “Mark, my son, it’s the second time you’ve saved my life,” he said.

      The other two men thanked him too.

      “Actually, you should be thanking Paulardis,” Mark tried to direct their gratitude to his injured partner and looked at Dorothy Wheller. She still seemed to be in a state of shock. However, she managed to give the three men a faint grateful smile. “Right. Let’s see what we’ve got to do now,” Mark finally decided. “Sean, you go to the hospital right away. Me and Arty are taking the senator to his South Orange villa.”

      ‘Oh, no, Mark. I’m on a tight schedule here and I’m not changing it for something like this. I’ve got to be at the University at 7:00 p.m. Quite a number of students are waiting for me there and I intend to keep my promise. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ll keep Steimberg and the other police officers for my own protection. I hope you’ll do me a favor and take Dorothy home. Look how frightened she is! I want her safe, so, please, go with her.”

      Mark sighed in apparent resignation. “OK. So be it. But apart from Steimberg, I want four more police officers for Henry Wheller,” he said.

      “Yes, sir,” said the sergeant who was waiting outside the box.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Tuesday, October 13

      They were walking shoulder to shoulder. Dorothy couldn’t help squinting at her companion. This guy who was walking quietly next to her, with his penetrating eyes, looking over his shoulders from time from time, well, this guy had just shot two men. And she had expected to see him stoop under the burden of guilt, really suffer. Nothing of the kind, though. He was quiet and serene and probably thinking of how to spend the evening. Strangely enough, she wasn’t appalled at all by that attitude. He even managed to pass some of that confidence on to her, making her feel protected.

      But Mark wasn’t thinking of how to spend the evening at all. How could he? He was walking next to one of God’s gifts to men. He was no longer himself. The woman was extremely beautiful but acted as if she didn’t know it. Her exotic appearance somehow contrasted with her big kind eyes. She seemed a fortunate combination of Aphrodite and the next-door neighbor. All of a sudden, the agent rushed into the street and waved to a taxi. The actress took him gently by the arm.

      “Listen, Mr. Du Nancy, I’d rather take a few steps to calm down. Do you mind?”

      “No!” Mark answered and he was by no means lying. It was the first time he heard her voice somewhere other than on the screen. He realized that, with those sensuous modulations, it could make the perfect soundtrack to any man’s dreams. And yet he couldn’t understand how someone could regain peace of mind on Eighth Avenue. “I’m sorry about your bodyguard,” he tried to strike a conversation.

      “Actually, he wasn’t my bodyguard. Those at the Kaufman Astoria studios sent him to me two days ago. We only exchanged a couple of words. I only know his name was Dejan Mutic, he was a Croat, recently married. Poor woman! I’ll have to find her address and send her a couple of thousand dollars.”

      She still had that look of a rabbit caught between the headlights and Mark tried to reassure her. “Don’t be afraid! This ugly story is over!”

      “I’m not that scared any more, you know,” she tried to smile. “Although a drop of brandy would do me good.”

      “I know a French place near here, on 43rd Street. It’s not exactly Fashion Club but it’s clean and the food’s pretty good. The owner’s a friend of mine,” he boasted.

      Several minutes later Mark pointed to a restaurant sign. The words CHEZ NANCY were written with neon letters on a thistle leaf. The actress was puzzled. “Do I get it that your friend’s named his restaurant after you?”

      “No,” Mark answered modestly. “The thistle leaf’s the symbol of the city of Nancy in Lorene where his ancestors came from. That city, though, I must admit, was named after me.”

      Dorothy smiled, honestly this time. Then with as much swiftness as long practice could provide, she took out a pair of dark glasses and put them on. “OK, let’s go in.”

      It was nice inside. It looked like a country club: big flower bunches on the tables, everything spick and span. Even the light was diffuse and relaxing. From an old jukebox in a corner Nick Cave was singing in a deep voice to anyone about some strange story that had happened where the wild roses grew.

      Paul, the owner, came up immediately to greet Mark and his companion. He led them to a snug mahogany-panelled booth. When they had settled comfortably a waitress dressed in a traditional Lorene costume came to take their order.

      “Are you new here?” Mark asked.

      “Yes, sir. I’ve only been here two days,” the girl said, eager to make herself pleasant.

      “Would you like something to eat?” Mark asked the actress.

      “I haven’t had the chance to try the food from that part of France yet. But there’s always a start, eh? Anything light would do.”

      “Well, Napoleon brandy, ice tea, and two champignons à la parure,” the man ordered.

      When the girl left the actress told him, “I’d like some brandy too.”

      “Never mind, the tea’s for me.”

      Trying to avoid her wondering eyes Mark looked around. At the other end of the room the people were in raptures. At two joint tables a large group of men and women were having a great time. Among them Mark recognized Rudolph Weiss, one of Ernest Montevecchi’s lieutenants. Probably the others belonged to СКАЧАТЬ