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Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 132 из 425I had never been served with a process before,and I didn’t care for it. He went back to his car, started to swing in, then stopped with one hairy arm hung over the top of the open door. His Rolex gleamed in the hazy sunlight. “Let me give you a piece of advice,” he said, and that was enough to tell me anything else I needed to know about the guy. “Don’t fuck with Mr. Devore.”
“Or he’ll squash me like a bug,” I said. “Huh?”
“Your actual lines are, “Let me give you a piece of advice—don’t fuck with Mr. Devore or he’ll squash you like a bug.’” I could see by his expression—half past perplexed, going on angry—that he had meant to say something very much like that. Obviously we’d seen the same movies, including all those in which Robert De Niro plays a psycho. Then his face cleared. “Oh sure, you’re the writer,” he said. “That’s what they tell me.”
“You can say stuff like that ’cause you’re a writer.”
“Well, it’s a free country, isn’t it?”
“Ain’t you a smartass, now.”
“How long have you been working for Max Devore, Deputy? And does the County Sheriffs office know you’re moonlighting?”
“They know. It’s not a problem. Ybu’re the one that might have the problem, Mr. Smartass Writer.” I decided it was time to quit this before we descended to the kaka-poopie stage of name-calling. “Get out of my driveway, please, Deputy.” He looked at me a moment longer, obviously searching for that perfect capper line and not finding it. He needed a Mr. Smartass Writer to help him, that was all. “I’ll be looking for you on Friday,” he said. “Does that mean you’re going to buy me lunch? Don’t worry, I’m a fairly cheap date.”
His reddish cheeks darkened a degree further, and I could see what they were going to look like when he was sixty, if he didn’t lay off the firewater in the meantime. He got back into his Ford and reversed up my driveway hard enough to make his tires holler. I stood where I was, watching him go. Once he was headed back out Lane Forty-two to the highway, I went into the house. It occurred to me that Deputy Footman’s extracurricular job must pay well, if he could afford a Rolex. On the other hand, maybe it was a knockoff. Settle down, Michael, Jo’s voice advised. The red rag is gone now, no one’s waving anything in front of you, so just settle-I shut her voice out. I didn’t want to settle down;
I wanted to settle up. I had been interjred with.
“Or he’ll squash me like a bug,” I said. “Huh?”
“Your actual lines are, “Let me give you a piece of advice—don’t fuck with Mr. Devore or he’ll squash you like a bug.’” I could see by his expression—half past perplexed, going on angry—that he had meant to say something very much like that. Obviously we’d seen the same movies, including all those in which Robert De Niro plays a psycho. Then his face cleared. “Oh sure, you’re the writer,” he said. “That’s what they tell me.”
“You can say stuff like that ’cause you’re a writer.”
“Well, it’s a free country, isn’t it?”
“Ain’t you a smartass, now.”
“How long have you been working for Max Devore, Deputy? And does the County Sheriffs office know you’re moonlighting?”
“They know. It’s not a problem. Ybu’re the one that might have the problem, Mr. Smartass Writer.” I decided it was time to quit this before we descended to the kaka-poopie stage of name-calling. “Get out of my driveway, please, Deputy.” He looked at me a moment longer, obviously searching for that perfect capper line and not finding it. He needed a Mr. Smartass Writer to help him, that was all. “I’ll be looking for you on Friday,” he said. “Does that mean you’re going to buy me lunch? Don’t worry, I’m a fairly cheap date.”
His reddish cheeks darkened a degree further, and I could see what they were going to look like when he was sixty, if he didn’t lay off the firewater in the meantime. He got back into his Ford and reversed up my driveway hard enough to make his tires holler. I stood where I was, watching him go. Once he was headed back out Lane Forty-two to the highway, I went into the house. It occurred to me that Deputy Footman’s extracurricular job must pay well, if he could afford a Rolex. On the other hand, maybe it was a knockoff. Settle down, Michael, Jo’s voice advised. The red rag is gone now, no one’s waving anything in front of you, so just settle-I shut her voice out. I didn’t want to settle down;
I wanted to settle up. I had been interjred with.