John Lutz - Urge to Kill
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- Название:Urge to Kill
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- Год:неизвестен
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Quinn explained to her about the plan to lure the killer into the open by agreeing to what he, the killer, regarded as a hunt.
Zoe listened carefully, then took a sip of beer. The foam left a slight mustache, and Quinn resisted the impulse to reach across the table and touch it, touch her lips.
“So the sport is that the two hunters are evenly matched,” she said. “Sometimes one is stalking the other; sometimes it’s vice versa.”
“That’s pretty much it,” Quinn said. “Usually the participants are accustomed to hunting in the wild. I suppose the urban setting is supposed to negate any advantage one might have over the other because of familiarity with certain types of terrain.”
Zoe gave him a slight smile. “At least the prey gets to shoot back. That’s what the anti-hunting movement has always dreamed of.”
“Are you part of that movement?”
“I’m not terribly zealous about either side of the argument,” Zoe said. “But two human beings stalking each other, and then one of them dying-that’s something different from hunting.”
“I’m not so sure it is,” Quinn said.
“This is a male thing. Is that why it appeals to you?”
“I don’t know that it appeals to me,” Quinn said.
Zoe smiled at him. “But it does.”
Quinn regarded his oversized beer mug. “Yeah, I guess on a certain level it does.”
Zoe reached across the table and touched his hand. “I do understand, Quinn.”
“And you approve?”
“If it’s something you feel you have to do, I’m behind your decision.”
“A friend of mine described it as…what did she say…‘mano-a-mano bullshit.’”
Zoe leaned back. “Well, it is in a way. But your friend simply doesn’t have a great enough understanding or appreciation of the compulsion to adhere to the male code. If she knew you at all, she’d know that you have to do this. Not only do you see it as your job, but you see it as your destiny. You are what you are. It’s a challenge between your ego and your id, and you must accept it to retain your manhood.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Quinn said. He hadn’t really thought it out. He’d simply known within seconds that to accept the killer’s challenge, to play the game by his rules, was the honorable thing to do. “Honor,” he muttered.
“That’s exactly what it is,” Zoe said. “Your honor. That is not a small thing, Quinn. And I think it’s important that you know I appreciate that and I stand behind you.”
“The classic male and female roles,” Quinn said.
“That’s true. They’re roles that are ancient and deeply rooted in human experience. Remember all those medieval tales about dragon slaying and rescuing the princess?”
“Enough of them,” Quinn said. “So you’re my princess?”
“Sure am,” Zoe said. “After dinner I’ll show you.”
For her birthday dinner, Rob took Mitzi to Mephisto’s, a marvelous restaurant in Lower Manhattan. It wasn’t where you’d go to dine economically. Mitzi was impressed by the fact that Rob would spend so much simply because she was turning twenty-five. She sampled her marinated mushroom appetizer and glanced around. Of course she knew no one. This wasn’t the kind of place her friends from the club would frequent.
Mitzi smiled across the white tablecloth and glittering crystal at Rob. It was obvious that he wanted to make this an occasion. He’d worn a perfectly tailored blue suit, a white shirt, and a silky floral pattern red tie with a gold tie clasp. There was a gold pin in the form of a soaring bird on his suit coat’s left lapel. Mitzi had to admit she’d never expected to dine in this kind of place with a man so perfect for her on her birthday. And he’d brought a gift for her. At least he’d intimated that it was a gift. It was in a blue carry-on bag that sat beneath the table. She’d tried to pry out of him what the bag contained, but he wouldn’t say anything other than that he wanted it to be a surprise. Men liked to play games. They made games out of just about everything they did. Mitzi had an entire routine about it.
Rob raised his champagne glass to her and fixed her with a smile that dazzled like the crystal. She reached across the table and clinked her glass against his, but not hard. The thing must cost a fortune.
“To Mitzi at twenty-five,” he said. “May you always remain so young.”
She grinned and sipped champagne from the delicate stemmed glass. “If only that were possible.”
“Maybe it is,” he said, “if you believe hard enough.”
“No,” Mitzi said. “Mother Nature’s a joker, just like me.”
“Then you and Mother Nature should be friends.”
“We are,” Mitzi said, “but she’s a bitch sometimes. Like most of my other friends. She seems to get a laugh out of women growing old and men getting tired of them. Look around. You see it happen all the time.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with me, Mitzi. I promise.”
She stared hard into his deep dark eyes and rested her hand gently on his. “For some reason,” she said, “I believe you. More importantly, I think you believe you. But don’t you see that’s the joke? You’ll change your mind. Lovers do. They honestly think they won’t, but they do.”
“Not me,” Rob said. “I’ll love you for the rest of your life.”
With the polished toe of his wingtip shoe he nudged the blue canvas bag beneath the table.
Mitzi sipped champagne and continued gazing into his eyes. Despite the mystery there she decided to believe him with every beating cell of her heart, at least for tonight. If he wanted to make tonight her night-their night-it was fine with her.
How many Robs were there?
How many nights like this were there?
Carpe diem. Seize the day. Like in the Robin Williams movie. How would you say seize the night in Latin?
There had to be a joke in there somewhere. Maybe even in Latin. Latin could be a terrifically funny language.
71
When they left the restaurant after dinner, Mitzi knew she was a little drunk. During the coziness of the cab ride to her apartment, she tried to tease Rob, get him to reveal what was in the blue bag.
Instead of telling her, he teased back, sitting close and keeping the bag well on the other side of him on the back seat. Some of the teasing became sexual, but Mitzi didn’t mind. The cabbie was from some Middle Eastern country, listening to low-volume but insistent Arabic music. He seemed uninterested in what his passengers were doing and might not understand much English.
Rob didn’t direct the cabbie to stop in front of her building. Instead, they got out at the corner, leaving a short walk. That was okay. The night was still warm, but pleasant because of a slight breeze. As the cab drove away, Mitzi hoped she’d be able to walk all right after all the mixed drinks and wine she’d consumed.
She leaned in close to Rob and he put his arm around her, supporting her. Her legs felt all right, but there was an alcohol-induced numbness in her cheeks. And the sidewalk seemed to be moving around a bit on her, like a funhouse floor. She wasn’t sure if she could navigate a straight line without his help. Mitzi walked with her head resting against his shoulder until they had to climb the steps to her building’s entrance.
No one had passed them on the sidewalk, and they rode the elevator by themselves up to her floor. Just before the door slid open, he leaned over and kissed the side of her neck.
Mitzi did have trouble finding her apartment key in her purse, and when she did finally close her fingers on the key chain, it slipped from her grasp. Maybe she was drunker than she thought.
Rob helped her, fishing the key from her purse and placing it in her hand so she had a firm grip on it. He was smiling down at her as she fumbled to insert the key in the lock.
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