Chapter Six
In one hour, Crumley called.
But didn’t call me William.
He said, “Crud, crap, crapola. You really know how to hook a guy. What is it with these goddamn Books of the Dead?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Hell, I was born in a mortuary, raised in a graveyard, matriculated in the Valley of the Kings outside Karnak in upper, or was it lower, Egypt? Some nights I dream I’m wrapped in creosote. Who wouldn’t know a book that’s dead when it’s served with his beer?”
“Same old Crumley,” I said.
“I wish it wasn’t. When I hang up I’m calling your wife!”
“Don’t!”
“Why not?”
“Because—” I stopped, gasped, and then blurted out, “I need you!”
“Crud.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I heard,” he muttered. “Christ.”
And at last, “Meet you down by Rattigan’s. Around sunset. When things come out of the surf to get you.”
“Rattigan’s.”
He hung up before I could.
ТЕЛЕГРАМКанал с обзорами, анонсами новинок и книжными подборками
Книжный Вестник
Бот для удобного поиска и скачивания книг
Книжный Бот
Свежие любовные романы в удобных форматах
Любовные романы
О психологии, саморазвитии и личностном росте
Саморазвитие
Детективы и триллеры, все новинки
Детективы
Фантастика и фэнтези, все новинки
Фантастика
ВКОНТАКТЕ