Маргрейв — крохотный идеальный городок. Настолько идеальный, что это пугает.
Бывший военный полицейский Джек Ричер, ведущий кочевой образ жизни, приходит в Маргрейв, намереваясь покинуть город через пару дней. Однако в этот момент в Маргрейве происходит первое убийство за тридцать лет. Его вешают на Ричера, единственного чужака в городе. И для него начинается кошмар... первым действием которого становятся выходные в тюрьме, на этаже смерти, в обществе заключенных, отбывающих пожизненное заключение.
По мере того, как начинают просачиваться отвратительные тайны смертельного заговора, поглотившего весь город, растет счет трупам. И смерть становится эпидемией.
Предуведомление.
Данная книга из серии «Джек Ричер», сделана из двух: «Killing Floor» и «Этаж смерти», автор Ли Чайлд.
В данном файле - первая половина книги (17 глав).
Причины такого "образания" следующие:
1. Лень, плюс знание о двух последующимх пунктах.
2. Файл из двух книг будет слишком "тяжел" (в некоторых читалках, открываться будет плохо).
1
[
1
] I WAS ARRESTED IN ENO’S DINER. AT TWELVE O’CLOCK. I was eating eggs and drinking coffee. A late breakfast, not lunch. I was wet and tired after a long walk in heavy rain. All the way from the highway to the edge of town.
[
2
] The diner was small, but bright and clean. Brand-new, built to resemble a converted railroad car. Narrow, with a long lunch counter on one side and a kitchen bumped out back. Booths lining the opposite wall. A doorway where the center booth would be.
[
3
] I was in a booth, at a window, reading somebody’s abandoned newspaper about the campaign for a president I didn’t vote for last time and wasn’t going to vote for this time. Outside, the rain had stopped but the glass was still pebbled with bright drops. I saw the police cruisers pull into the gravel lot. They were moving fast and crunched to a stop. Light bars flashing and popping. Red and blue light in the raindrops on my window. Doors burst open, policemen jumped out. Two from each car, weapons ready. Two revolvers, two shotguns. This was heavy stuff. One revolver and one shotgun ran to the back. One of each rushed the door.
[
4
] I just sat and watched them. I knew who was in the diner. A cook in back. Two waitresses. Two old men. And me. This operation was for me. I had been in town less than a half hour. The other five had probably been here all their lives. Any problem with any of them and an embarrassed sergeant would have shuffled in. He would be apologetic. He would mumble to them. He would ask them to come down to the station house. So the heavy weapons and the rush weren’t for any of them. They were for me. I crammed egg into my mouth and trapped a five under the plate. Folded the abandoned newspaper into a square and shoved it into my coat pocket. Kept my hands above the table and drained my cup.
[
5
] The guy with the revolver stayed at the door. He went into a crouch and pointed the weapon two-handed. At my head. The guy with the shotgun approached close. These were fit lean boys. Neat and tidy. Textbook moves. The revolver at the door could cover the room with a degree of accuracy. The shotgun up close could splatter me all over the window. The other way around would be a mistake. The revolver could miss in a close-quarters struggle and a long-range shotgun blast from the door would kill the arresting officer and the old guy in the rear booth as well as me. So far, they were doing it right. No doubt about that. They had the advantage. No doubt about that, either. The tight booth trapped me. I was too hemmed in to do much. I spread my hands on the table. The officer with the shotgun came near.