Cocaine Nights - Ballard James Graham - Страница 69
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Cabrera reached the wire door and stepped into the tennis court. He walked through the scattered balls and halted by the net, watching me with his pensive, seminar gaze. I knelt beside the body, the pistol in my hand, covered with Crawford's blood. Cabrera raised his hands to calm me, aware from my face and posture that I was ready to defend the dead man.
Did he already know, as he walked towards me, that I would take responsibility for the death? Crawford's mission would endure, and the festivals of the Residencia Costasol would continue to fill the sky with their petals and balloons, as the syndicates of guilt sustained their dream.
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