• Пожаловаться

Bill Pronzini: Shackles

Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «Bill Pronzini: Shackles» весь текст электронной книги совершенно бесплатно (целиком полную версию). В некоторых случаях присутствует краткое содержание. категория: Детектив / на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале. Библиотека «Либ Кат» — LibCat.ru создана для любителей полистать хорошую книжку и предлагает широкий выбор жанров:

любовные романы фантастика и фэнтези приключения детективы и триллеры эротика документальные научные юмористические анекдоты о бизнесе проза детские сказки о религиии новинки православные старинные про компьютеры программирование на английском домоводство поэзия

Выбрав категорию по душе Вы сможете найти действительно стоящие книги и насладиться погружением в мир воображения, прочувствовать переживания героев или узнать для себя что-то новое, совершить внутреннее открытие. Подробная информация для ознакомления по текущему запросу представлена ниже:

Bill Pronzini Shackles

Shackles: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «Shackles»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.

Abducted by a shadowy figure he never sees, chloroformed and taken to a remote mountain cabin, the Nameless Detective is told by that figure before he is deserted, that the mission is one of revenge. Nameless has destroyed his mysterious abductor’s life and now his life in turn will be destroyed. Chained with a limited supply of food and water and just enough room in the shackles to allow him to feed himself, Nameless knows that the abductor must be a component of one of his old cases… someone who he has tracked and caught for the police, someone who has served prison time and, released, wants Nameless to suffer in turn. But the detective cannot deduce who that abductor may be and, as his ordeal begins, he understands that his efforts must be more directed toward survival and escape; if he does not find a way free of the shackles he will die. Freeing himself of the shackles will involve more than an act of physical escape; Nameless must come to understand the entirety of his own life and the nature of a profession which has caused him and those he loves risk at the highest level. Through the Walpurgisnacht of that confinement and escape, Nameless does indeed come to understand himself and in a shocking, complex, surprising but inevitable ending, Nameless comes to understand as well the nature of entrapment and purgation, and how a rite of passage must crucially take place internally as well as externally. The denouement of the novel is resonant and shattering: it is unforgettable.

Bill Pronzini: другие книги автора


Кто написал Shackles? Узнайте фамилию, как зовут автора книги и список всех его произведений по сериям.

Shackles — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком

Ниже представлен текст книги, разбитый по страницам. Система сохранения места последней прочитанной страницы, позволяет с удобством читать онлайн бесплатно книгу «Shackles», без необходимости каждый раз заново искать на чём Вы остановились. Поставьте закладку, и сможете в любой момент перейти на страницу, на которой закончили чтение.

Шрифт:

Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

“Not the details, no. The end result.”

“And that is?”

“My death.” The words were as bitter in my mouth as the vomit taste.

“You think I intend to murder you?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it.”

“Not to me. You’re wrong, you see. I’m not a murderer. When you die it will be of natural causes. Or by your own hand. You may want to commit suicide after a while-but if so it will be your decision, not mine.”

That last sentence frightened and repulsed me more than anything else he’d said. You may want to commit suicide after a while… My mind cast up all sorts of nightmare visions. Sweat broke out on my body again and my skin crawled and prickled with it. This was what it was like for the helpless victims of psychotic serial killers. This was what it was like when hell opened up and you saw what lay in the Pit.

For a few seconds a kind of wildness took hold of me, a mixture of hatred and fear and impotent rage. I thought of trying to work my hands under my buttocks, down around my shoes and up in front of me; of rising up, throwing them around his neck, throttling him with his own handcuffs-and take my chances on surviving the wrecking of the car. But it was a crazy idea, even if it were possible. And it wasn’t. My arms and lower body were so cramped it would take long, agonizing minutes to make the switch, if I could do it at all. And there was no way I could manage it without making noise, without having to rise up on the seat. Once he heard or saw me he would realize what I intended to do and stop the car and either shoot me or administer another dose of chloroform.

The wildness went out of me all at once, leaving me limp and shaken. Neither panic nor rash action was going to get me out of this. It would have to be guile, cunning, my wits against his. Now, trapped here in transit, there was nothing to do but wait it out until we got to wherever we were going. And not let my imagination create any more horror-film scenarios. Reality was never quite as hideous as anything you could dredge up from the depths of your subconscious.

He seemed disinclined to talk anymore for the time being, and that was to my benefit. The less I heard of that calm, whispery, goading voice, the better off I would be. I lay still, emptying my mind, concentrating on what I could see of the night outside.

Clouds obscured some of the stars now, fast-moving and thick. Rain clouds? Thunderheads? I couldn’t tell. Couldn’t tell anything about our surroundings, either, except that the lower part of the sky and the underbellies of the clouds were stained with a faint shimmery glow. City lights created a sky glow like that. But so did densely populated smaller towns and suburbs.

Time passed in silence broken only by the sporadic swish of passing cars. Hardly any traffic at all now; must be very late, after three at least. Almost one when he abducted me… that would put us two to three hours away from San Francisco. But there was nothing much in that. Several highways led out of the city, to all sorts of connecting roads. We could be just about anywhere.

The silence began to get to me after a while. I did not want to start him talking again, but I wished he would turn on the radio. No chance. More miles, more silence. And then a rhythmic snicking sound filled the car: He’d flipped on one of the directional signals. We slowed, swung off to the right. Secondary road this time, one that ran straight for several miles. There was virtually no traffic here. The darkness outside was clotted, with more of the gathering clouds cutting off the starshine altogether.

We came into some kind of town, lights at intervals on the outskirts, a chain of lights as we got into the center of it, then flashing signal lights where we made a left turn onto still another road. This one was a little bumpy, not quite as straight; the jouncing motion began to affect my stomach, start it churning again. I shut my eyes, rolled onto my side. It was an effort of will to keep from throwing up.

A long time later lights came into the car, and when I glanced up I saw that we were passing through some kind of village: streetlamps, the silhouetted tops of old-fashioned buildings pressing in close on both sides. Then we were out of it, into darkness again. And more miles of silence, and tortuous curves, and the constant struggle to keep from emptying what was left in my stomach.

He slowed again, without putting on the directional signal this time, then pulled off onto the side of the road and stopped. He put on the emergency brake but did not shut off the engine or the lights. Outside, there was nothing to see except dark and a spot of reflected light somewhere in the distance. I thought: End of the line?

But it wasn’t. He said, “Have you figured out yet who I am?”

“No.”

“Good. Then roll onto your belly and turn your head toward the seatback. Don’t look around. I’m going to get out and make sure you’re covered with the blanket.”

“Why?”

“There’s a service station up ahead and we need gas. When we drive in there I want you to lie perfectly still and make no sound. If you do anything to alert the attendant I’ll shoot both of you. Is that clear?”

“Clear enough.”

“On your belly, then. Face toward the seatback.”

I did as I was told. He must have leaned up to watch me because he didn’t get out until I had finished moving. The rear door opened, letting in a gust of icy air scented with pine and fir and tinged with snow. Mountain country, I thought. Somewhere to the northeast, east, or south of San Francisco: You weren’t likely to find mountainous pine and fir forests and the threat of snow in any other direction.

He leaned in, arranged the blanket over me, leaned back out. Pretty soon we were under way again, but only for about a minute. Then we turned off the road, came to a stop: the service station. He got out, shut the door, but I could hear him unscrewing the gas cap, getting the hose off the pump, inserting it into the tank opening. A voice came from somewhere, asking a question I couldn’t make out. He said from close by the rear window, in that same disguised voice, “Cash. I’ll bring it over when I’m done.” I could feel him looking in at me as he filled the tank. I lay motionless, sweating a little, waiting.

It seemed to take a long time before he finished. I heard the hose nozzle rattle as he extracted it, heard the gas cap rattle as he replaced that. He went away, came back, got into the car. Then we were moving again, out of the light into heavy darkness.

“Very good.” he said. “You didn’t even twitch.”

“Yeah.”

“You can come out from under the blanket now. But don’t try to sit up. I wouldn’t like that.”

I squirmed around on the seat, pulled the blanket down, got my body turned so that I could look out through the window. We passed occasional lighted buildings, and in the glow from them I could see the tops of evergreens. And a thin sifting of snow, slanting down from the direction in which we were heading.

I said, “How much farther?”

“Oh, not far now. Another forty-five minutes or so. Unless I have to stop and put on chains, but I don’t think that will be necessary. There hasn’t been much snow here lately.”

“We’re up in the mountains.”

“Yes, we are. You’re such a good detective.”

“Which mountains?”

“Not relevant,” he said.

“I’d like to know.”

“Be quiet now. You’ll know all you need to soon enough.”

We made a right turn, drove on an even surface for ten minutes, made a couple more turns. Then we were on a road with a rougher surface, and climbing before long through a series of endless turns that grew sharper, now and then became hairpins and switchbacks. Sickness simmered up into the back of my throat; I closed my eyes again, swiveled my head downward toward the floorboards. Gagged once but didn’t let anything come up.

Читать дальше

Шрифт:

Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

Похожие книги на «Shackles»

Представляем Вашему вниманию похожие книги на «Shackles» списком для выбора. Мы отобрали схожую по названию и смыслу литературу в надежде предоставить читателям больше вариантов отыскать новые, интересные, ещё не прочитанные произведения.


Maurus Jokai: The Nameless Castle
The Nameless Castle
Maurus Jokai
Paul Johnson: The nameless dead
The nameless dead
Paul Johnson
Bruce Blake: Yardwork
Yardwork
Bruce Blake
Bill Pronzini: Spook
Spook
Bill Pronzini
Bill Pronzini: Zigzag
Zigzag
Bill Pronzini
Отзывы о книге «Shackles»

Обсуждение, отзывы о книге «Shackles» и просто собственные мнения читателей. Оставьте ваши комментарии, напишите, что Вы думаете о произведении, его смысле или главных героях. Укажите что конкретно понравилось, а что нет, и почему Вы так считаете.