[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Thetrouble was she didn t care.The intimacy that had once united them had died throughinattention.Where once she had been full of love there was now just stone boredom.There wasn t even a sense of loss.Or maybe just maybe there was a sense of loss, for alove that had never been real.She had to ask herself, if a love can die like this, was it ever real? She remembered thelong happiness of the past, the happiness that had seemed so eternal.When they hadgone sleigh riding up in the Catskills five Christmases ago, the love they shared had beenreal.And in the hard times before she was a cop, that love had been very real indeed.Itwasn t just that Dick was a good lover, it was that he was a partner and friend of a deepand special kind. You re beautiful, he would say, you re wonderful. And it had meantmore than the physical.Maybe the waning of his enthusiasm was inevitable as shereached middle age.But his enthusiasm wasn t the problem, it was hers.Try as she mightshe could not love Dick Neff anymore.Wilson waited five minutes to be certain she wouldn t call back.The phone didn t ringagain.His rudeness had evidently made her mad enough to ignore him for the rest of thenightFine.He went into his bedroom and unlocked a chest he kept in his closet.Inside werea number of highly illegal weapons a sawed-off shotgun, a WWII vintage BAR in workingorder, and an Ingram M-11 Automatic Pistol.He pulled the automatic pistol from its caseand got a box of shells.Carefully he worked the pistol s action, then hefted it in his hand.Its balance was a pleasure to feel.It was unquestionably the finest automatic handgunever designed, lightweight, sound-suppressed, with a 20-round-a-second punch.It wasnot designed to frighten, slow down, or confuse, but purely and simply to kill.One bulletwould blow a man s head apart.The best automatic weapon ever made.The fastest.The most murderous.He opened the ammo box and snapped a clip of the special.380subsonic velocity bullets into the gun.Now it was heavier but the balance hadn t changed.Only three and a half pounds of weapon, it could be hefted nicely.And aimed.The sightswere precise.For a handgun, its range was almost incredible.You could shoot a man at ahundred and fifty yards with this weapon.A burst of three or four bullets would get himeven if he was on the run.He laid the pistol on his bed and put on an overcoat he rarely wore.When it was on hedropped the M-11 into a pocket which had been especially tailored to fit the nine-inchpistol.Wilson had had the coat modified when he had acquired the pistol.The pocketcarried the M-11 almost invisibly.Despite the size and weight of the pistol only a carefulobserver would note that he was carrying a piece at all.His hand felt the weapon in hispocket, his thumb triggering the lever that moved the mechanism from safe to fire.Asingle press of the trigger could now deliver from one bullet to a full clip in a matter ofseconds.Good enough.Now he got out his winter hat, old, wrinkled, perfect for bothprotecting the head and hiding the face.Next the shoes black sneakers, surprisinglywarm with two pair of socks, surprisingly agile even in the snow.They had beenwinterized with a polyurethane coating, and the soles scored to provide traction.Thesneakers gave him the advantages of quiet and quick movement, most useful on an icywinter night.The last item was a pair of gloves.These were made of the finest Moroccanleather, softer and thinner than kid.Through them he could feel the M-11 perfectly,almost as if the gloves weren t there at all.As a final precaution he took out the pistol and removed fingerprints.Not even a goldshield policeman goes around printing up a weapon like the Ingram.There isn t anythingin the rule book about policemen carrying machine pistols, but that s only because theredoesn t need to be.You need a special permit to own one, and permission to move it fromone premises to another.As far as carrying one around in the street fully loaded, that isillegal for policeman and civilian alike.He replaced the M-11 in its pocket and stood for a short time in the middle of theroom.Mentally he checked himself out.He was ready to move.Too bad his plan tode-scent himself had been wishful thinking.Now the M-11 was really his only advantage.That and the fact that hunters aren t used to being hunted.Or at least he hoped theyweren t.His logic seemed strong how suspecting would a human hunter be if the deersuddenly turned on him, or a lion if it was attacked by a gazelle?While he saw the danger of what he was doing he nevertheless felt that he had to act togive Becky some kind of a chance of survival.She deserved to live, she was young andstrong; as for him he could take a few chances.And it was a hell of a long chance he wastaking.The thought of being killed by things made clammy sweat break out.But he knew that he and Becky had to have help if either of them was going to livemuch longer.And to get the kind of support they needed, they had to have a specimen.Irrefutable, undeniable evidence that would force Underwood to act, to assign thisproblem the kind of manpower it demanded.Wilson was going to get that evidence if he could
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]