The Glory Punch

Начало книги

Klees followed Harvey “The Doctor” Westa down between the rows of booths and Harv picked one in the back corner where he could see who was coming in.

Harv watched Klees wedge himself in on the other side of the booth. “You saw him?” Harv asked.

Klees smiled wanly. “Yeah. Every time I see him he looks stronger. How he can come in on the weight with those shoulders...”

“Just a strong boy, Joe. And you always worry. Cheese blintz for you too?”

“On me it shows, but I’ll take it. Maybe you ought to have more than one, Harv. You’re giving him three pounds.”

They ate in silence for a few moments, two men who had learned to know each other over seven years. Klees was small and pot-bellied and asthmatic, with the face of a worried owl.

The Doctor always looked the same. Blue-white skin, heavy planes in his face, abrupt angles. He had always looked as though he’d cut easily, but his skin was amazingly tough. The ring years hadn’t coarsened or brutalized his face. They had just thickened a few of the lines. His voice was a soft rasp — had been ever since Curtis had hooked him in the throat in Cleveland.

Читать дальше →