Shout at the Devil - Smith Wilbur (лучшие книги .TXT) 📗
Who?" asked Sebastian.
"The elephant, you idiot. For the first time I had him cold. And then... Yeow! What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm trying to get the thorn out, Flynn."
"Feels like you're trying to knock it in with a hammer."
"I can't get a grip on it."
"Use your teeth. That's the only way," Flynn instructed, and Sebastian paled a little at the thought. He considered Flynn's foot. It was a large foot; corns on the toes, flakes of loose skin and other darker matter between them. Sebastian could smell it at a range of three feet. "Couldn't you reach it with your own teeth, Flynn?"he hedged.
"You think I'm a goddamned contortionist?"
"Mohammed?" Sebastian's eyes lit up with relief as he turned on the little gun-bearer. In answer to. the question Mohammed drew back his lips in a death's head grin, exposing his smooth, pink toothless gums. "Yes," agreed
180 Sebastian. "I see what you mean." He returned his gaze to the foot, and studied it with sickened fascination His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
"Get on with it," said Flynn, and Sebastian stooped.
There was a howl from Flynn, and Sebastian straightened up with the wet Thorn gripped in his teeth. He spat it out explosively, and Mohammed handed him the gin bottle.
Sebastian took a big swallow and as he brought the bottle to his lips again, Flynn laid a restraining hand on his forearm. "Now don't overdo it, Bassie boy," he remonstrated mildly, retrieved the bottle and placed it to his own mouth.
It seemed to refuel Flynn's anger, for when he removed the bottle his voice had fire in it. "That goddamn sneaking, sausage-eating slug. He spoiled the only chance I've ever had at that elephant." He paused to breathe heavily. "I'd like to do something really nasty to him, like... like..
he searched for some atrocity to commit upon Herman Fleischer, and suddenly he found one. "My God!" he said, and his scowl changed to a lovely smile. "That's it!"
"What?" Sebastian was alarmed. He was certain that he would be selected as the vehicle of Flynn's revenge. "What?"
he repeated.
"We will go..." said Flynn, to Mahenge!"
"Good Lord, that's the German headquarters!"
"Yes," said Flynn. "With no Commissioner and no Askari to guard it! They've just passed us, heading in the opposite direction."
"They hit Mahenge two hours before dawn, in that time of utter darkness when mankind's vitality is at its lowest ebb. The defence put up by the corporal and five Askari whom Fleischer had left to guard his headquarters was hardly heroic. In fact, they were only half awakened by the lusty and indiscriminate use of Flynn's boot, and by the time they were fully conscious, they found themselves securely locked behind the bars of the jail-house.
There was only one casualty. It was, of course, Sebastian Oldsmith, who, in the excitement, ran into a half-open door. It was fortunate, as Flynn pointed out, that he struck the door with his head, otherwise he might have done himself injury. But as it was, he had recovered sufficiently by sunrise to watch the orgy of looting and vandalism in which Flynn and his gun-bearers indulged themselves.
They began in the office of the Commissioner. Built into the thick adobe wall of the room was an enormous iron safe.
"We will open that first," decreed Flynn as he eyed it greedily. "See if you can find some tools."
Sebastian remembered the blacksmith shop at the end of the parade ground. He returned from there laden with sledge-hammers and crow-bars.
Two hours later they were sweating and swearing in an atmosphere heavy with plaster dust. They had torn the safe from the wall, and it lay in the centre of the floor. Three of Flynn's gun-boys were beating on it with sledge-hammers in a steadily diminishing display of enthusiasm, while Sebastian worked with a crow-bar at the hinge joints. He had succeeded in inflicting a few bright scratches upon the metal. Flynn was seated on the Commissioner's desk, steadily working himself into a fury of frustration; for the last hour his contribution to the assault on the safe had been limited to consuming half a bottle of schnapps that he had found in a drawer of the desk.
"It's no use, Flynn." Sebastian's curls were slick with perspiration, and he licked at the blisters on the palms of his hands. "We will just have to forget about it."
"Stand back!" roared Flynn. "I'll shoot the goddamned thing open." He rose from the desk wild-eyed, his double-barrelled Gibbs clutched in his hands.
"Wait!" shouted Sebastian and he and the gun-bearers scattered for cover.
The detonations of the heavy rifle were thunderous in the confined space of the office; gun-smoke mingled with the plaster dust, and the bullets ricocheted off the metal of the safe, leaving long smears of lead upon it, before whining away to embed themselves in the floor, wall and furniture.
This act of violence seemed to placate Flynn. He lost interest in the safe. "Let's go and find something to eat," he said mildly, and they trooped through to the kitchens.
Once Flynn had shot away the lock, Herman Fleischer's larder proved to be an Aladdin's cave of delight. The roof was hung with hams and polonies and sausages, there were barrels of pickled meats, stacks of fat round cheeses, cases of Hansa beer, cases of cognac, pyramids of canned truffles, asparagus tips, shrimps, mushrooms, olives in oil, and other rarities.
They stared at this profusion in awe, and then moved forward together. Each man to his own particular tastes, they fell upon Herman Fleischer's treasure house. The gun boys rolled out a cask of pickled pork, Sebastian started with his hunting knife on the cans, while Flynn devoted himself to the case of Steinhager in the corner.
