Рауль Уитфилд - The Virgin Kills

I stopped. Mick was looking very stupid. He pointed along the deck, and I saw Tim Burke and Sonia moving very close together. Burke had his right arm around the girl; their heads touched.

Mick said huskily: “Jees, Al—ain't romance swell!”

We halted near the port rail. I said quietly:

“You didn't fire any shot at anybody in the water. You weren't in the saloon when the lights—”

Mick said: “In the good old summer time—”

I looked toward Tim Burke and Sonia. I spoke softly:

“Tim did swim out because he was worried about Vennell's betting. And he had broken with Vennell—refusing to do what Vennell wanted. Sonia was sure he'd try to come out. She waited for him. She knew what he'd be thinking.”

The big fellow said: “And you still think I would have taken a chance with Vennell, if—”

There was a peculiar smile in his eyes; his scar twitched a little. I said:

“Mick—I think you're wonderful—”

I half sang it. He said cheerfully:

“But you may —be wrong.”

I nodded. I looked out toward the boathouses, then let my eyes go toward the bridges and the water running beneath them. After a little while I said:

“You fired that shot to pull people out on deck, Mick—you were going in after Vennell.”

Mick O'Rourke's eyes got large and filled with horror.

“Jees, Al!” he breathed in a husky tone. “You don't think I'd have done anything like that?”

I smiled at him. “Yeah,” I said. “I kind of do.”

Mick sighed. I watched Tim Burke and Sonia vanish into the shadows, forward, and I sighed, too. I said:

“Those two have been through a lot—I hope they get a break and there's a moon tonight.” Mick looked at me and groaned. He shook his big head slowly.

“You got a swell idea of a break!” he muttered.

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