Manhattan Is My Beat

Начало книги

He believed he was safe.

For the first time in six months.

Two identities and three residences behind him, he finally believed he was safe.

An odd feeling came over him-comfort, he finally decided. Yeah, that was it. A feeling he hadn't experienced for a long time, and he sat on the bed in this fair-to-middling hotel, overlooking that weird silver arch that crowned the riverfront in St. Louis. Smelling the mid-western spring air.

An old movie was on television. He loved old movies. This was Touch of Evil. Orson Welles directing. Charlton Heston playing a Mexican. The actor didn't look like a Mexican. But then, he probably didn't look like Moses either.

Arnold Gittleman laughed to himself at his little joke and told it to a sullen man sitting nearby, reading a Guns & Ammo magazine. The man glanced at the screen.

"Mexican?" he asked. Stared at the screen for a minute. "Oh." He went back to his magazine.

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