Sue Grafton - L is for Lawless

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L is for Lawless: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Amazon.com Review
Both new readers and old fans will welcome this 12th Kinsey Milhone adventure in the "A" is for Alibi series by Sue Grafton. In this case, Kinsey agrees to do a favor for a friend of a friend and gets herself into so much trouble that she promises at the outset never to do such a thing again without careful consideration.
Henry Pitt, her longtime landlord asks her to help a fellow neighbor find evidence that his grandfather served in the military during the Second World War. With such proof, the man can be decently buried, courtesy of the U.S. government. It seems such a simple thing, but with Kinsey, it rarely is. Before long she finds herself entangled with an eccentric and quarrelsome family as well as a long lost buddy who has turned up just in time to get himself beaten up in a robbery attempt of the alleged veteran's apartment. It seems there is a reason the Armed Services have no record of the dead man's service. Kinsey sets out to determine what he might have been doing instead of fighting against the Japanese and why someone might think his shabby apartment worth a burgle.
Typical of the series, the mystery is not the central point of the story, but rather a starting point for Kinsey to become embroiled in a suspenseful (and delightful) search-and-rescue operation, usually against her better judgement. In this case, a gun-toting, arthritic octogenarian and revelations of the inner workings of bargain-rate motels are all part of the adventure. This is an easy and enjoyable read, and a solid addition to Grafton's string of alphabetical hits

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"Jesus Christ. You called her?"

"She's my mother. Of course I called. I didn't want her to worry in case Gilbert showed up on her doorstep. So what?"

"If Gilbert shows up, she'll tell him where you are."

"She will not."

"Of course she will. You think Gilbert won't charm the socks off her? Hell, forget charm. He'll beat the shit outta her. Of course she'll tell him. I did. Once he started breaking fingers, I couldn't wait to unload. Did you at least warn her?"

"Warn her of what?"

"Oh, jeez," Ray said. He rubbed his palm down his face, pulling his features out of shape.

"Look, Ray. You don't need to treat me like a nincompoop."

"You still don't get it, do you? That guy's going to kill me. He's going to kill you, too. He'll kill Kinsey, your grandmother, and anybody else who gets in his way. He wants the money. You're just the means to an end as far as he's concerned."

"How's he going to find us? He won't find us," she said.

"We gotta get out of here." Ray got up and threw his napkin down, giving me a look. I knew as well as he did that once Gilbert got confirmation of our whereabouts, he'd be here within the hour.

"I'm with you," I said as I pushed my chair back.

Laura was aghast. "We haven't even finished eating. What's the matter with you?"

He turned to me. "Get your clothes on. Ma, you need a coat. Turn the stove off. Just leave this. We can take care of it later."

His panic was contagious. Helen's gaze was drifting around the room, her voice was tremulous. "What's happening, son? I don't understand what's going on. Why would we leave? We haven't ate our ice cream yet."

"Just do what I say and get going," he snapped, hauling her out of her chair. He started turning off burners. He turned off the oven. I was not dressed for flight. All I had on were my Reeboks and Helen's chenille bathrobe. I crossed to the utility room, nearly knocking his chair over in my haste to reach the dryer. Laura protested vigorously, but I noticed she was moving as fast as the rest of us. I pulled the dryer open, grabbed an armload of hot clothes, and headed for the bedroom. I flipped my shoes off, pulled on socks, bra, and underpants, pulled on my turtleneck and jeans, and shoved my feet back into my Reeboks, breaking down the backs. God, here I was again, going for the gold at the Throwing Clothes On Olympics. I put on my blazer and started jamming personal items in the pockets: cash, credit cards, house keys, pills, picks. From the kitchen Laura let out a shriek, followed by the sound of a bowl smashing on the floor. I moved into the kitchen while I crammed the last of the odds and ends in my jeans pockets.

The room was dead still, Helen, Ray, and Laura unmoving. The bowl of mashed yams lay on the floor in an orange splat of puree and broken china. It didn't matter at this point because Gilbert was standing in the door to the dining room with a gun aimed right at me.

17

Gilbert no longer wore the Stetson. His hair was disheveled, still bearing the faint indentation where the hat had rested. His pale blue denim jacket was lined with sheepskin, the fabric saturated in places and stiff with dark red. "Maria sends greetings. She would have come with me only she wasn't feeling that good."

At the reference to her mother, Laura started to weep. She made no sound at all, but her face got patchy and red and tears welled in her eyes. She made a barely suppressed squeaking noise at the back of her throat. She sank into a chair.

"Hey. Get up and get your hands up where I can see 'em."

The gun in his hand encouraged compliance. I certainly wasn't going to argue. Laura rose slowly, not looking at him. She let out a breath with an audible sound and tears ran down her cheeks. She'd brought this down on us with every poor choice she'd made. She'd taken the risk and now the rest of us would pay. I saw everyone in the room with such clarity: Ray had his jacket on, his car keys in hand. He'd managed to hustle his mother into her coat. She stood close to her place at the table, hands up, bundled up in her woollies like a kid on a snowy day. Five minutes more and we might have been gone. Gilbert must have been eavesdropping for some time, of course, so it probably didn't matter. The fact that all of us now had our hands in the air gave the scene a slightly comical air. It looked as if we'd been caught in the middle of a spiritual, with our hands waving toward heaven. In a western, somebody would have jumped Gilbert and grappled for the gun. Not here. I kept my gaze pinned on his face, trying to gauge his intent. Helen's gaze wandered the room, eyes unfocused, settling nowhere, roaming across the gray haze with its motionless dark shapes. I thought she'd be confused or upset, but she said nothing, sensing perhaps that the situation wouldn't be served by questions. She did quiver almost imperceptibly, the way a dog trembles standing on the groomer's table.

The air still smelled of fried pork chops and milk gravy. The remnants of the meal remained on the plates, cooking pots piled in the kitchen sink. Maybe Freida Green would come in and clean up in a few days… after the crime scene tape had been removed and the premises unsealed.

Gilbert held the gun in his right hand, using his left to reach into his jacket pocket. He took out a roll of duct tape. "Here's what let's do," he said conversationally. "Ray, why don't you just take a seat in that chair. Laura here is going to wrap you up in duct tape. Hey, hey, hey, babe.

Goddamn it. Quit with the crying. Nothing's happened yet. I'm just trying to keep everything under control. I don't want anybody jumping out at me. Don't want this gun going off or somebody might get hurt. Grammy's not going to look so hot with a hole in her head, brains all spilling out, Ray with a big old hole in his chest. Come on, now. Help out, just to show you still care."

He tossed the roll of silver duct tape to Laura, who caught it on the fly. She seemed frozen, standing immobile as the seconds went by. "Gilbert, I beg you -"

"Tape him up!"

I flinched at his sudden screaming. Laura didn't bat an eye, but I noticed she was now in motion, crossing the room to Ray. Slowly, hands still lifted, Ray eased himself into the chair Gilbert had indicated. Laura was weeping so hard I'm not even sure she could see what she was doing. Tears washed the makeup from her cheeks, exposing the old bruises like an undercoat of paint. Tendrils of red hair had come loose, trailing around her face.

Gilbert's focus moved to Ray. "Make any trouble, I'll kill her," he said.

Ray said, "Don't do that. Be cool. I'll cooperate."

Gilbert flicked a look at me. "Why don't you pass me the keys? I'd appreciate it," he said.

I reached for the keys still sitting on the kitchen table. I hated to let go of them, but I couldn't think what else to do. I placed them in Gilbert's left palm. He glanced at them briefly and then tucked them in his jacket pocket.

Ray said, "Listen, Gilbert. This is an old score. It's got nothing to do with these three. You can do anything you want with me, but keep them out of it."

"I know I can do anything I want. I'm already doing it. I don't care about them two, the old bag and this one," he said, indicating me. "But I got accounts to settle with her. She ran out on me." He looked over at her, frowning. "Could you get busy with that tape like I said?"

"Gilbert, please don't do this. Please."

"Would you knock it off? I'm not doing anything," he said peevishly. "What am I doing? I'm just standing here talking to your dad. Go on now and do what I told you. Ray's not going to pull any funny business."

"Can't we just leave? Get in the car and go, just the two of us?"

"You're not done. You haven't even started" Gilbert said. He was beginning to sound exasperated, not a good sign.

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