Quiller Barracuda

Начало книги

'Then they started to -' Fisher began.

We waited.

He sat there like a schoolboy, legs together, head down.

I should have said no, I was busy or something. This wasn't my field.

It was very quiet. Tilson wasn't looking at me while we waited; he was looking at the ceiling, angled back on the chair with his thumbs hooked into his pockets. He didn't want to -

'Why the hell should I tell you?'

In a muted scream and we jerked our heads to look at Fisher and I said, 'You don't have to. We didn't -'

'You want to drag everything out of me -' near tears, his voice stifled, his knuckles white and spittle on his chin. Christ, what was he, twenty-two, twenty-three? 'You want me to go over the whole fucking thing for you -'

'No,' I said, 'we don't,' and I went over to him and sat on my haunches, so that I was lower and less threatening and he could concentrate on me and forget Tilson was in here, two against one. 'All we want to know,' I said, 'is how you feel now, now that it's over and you're back safe and sound. Just how you feel, that's all, about the future.'

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