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Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 195 из 425Durgin?” I asked and Romeo Bissonette delivered a light, practiced chip to my ankle. I didn’t need to look at him to know it wasn’t an accident.
Durgin pursed lips so smooth and damp that he looked as if he were wearing a clear gloss on them. On his shining pate, roughly two dozen strands of hair were combed in smooth little arcs. He gave me a patient, measuring look. Behind it was all the intransigent ugliness of an Evil Little Fat Folk. The pleasantries were over, all right. I was sure of it. “No, Mr. Noonan, that was not a question. I simply thought you might like to know why we’ve had to ask you to come away from your lovely lake on such a pleasant morning. Perhaps I was wrong. Now, if” There was a peremptory knock on the door, followed by your friend and his, George Footman. Today Cleveland Casual had been replaced by a khaki Deputy Sheriff’s uniform, complete with Sam Browne belt and sidearm. He helped himself to a good look at the assistant’s bustline, displayed in a blue silk blouse, then handed her a folder and a cassette tape recorder. He gave me one brief gander before leaving. I remember you, buddy, that glance said. The smartass writer, the cheap date. Romeo Bissonette tipped his head toward me. He used the side of his hand to bridge the gap between his mouth and my ear. “Devore’s tape,” he said. I nodded to show I understood, then turned to Durgin again. “Mr. Noonan, you’ve met Kyra Devore and her mother, Mary Devore, haven’t you?” How did you get Mattie out of Mary, I wondered… and then knew, just as I had known about the white shorts and halter top. Mattie was how Ki had first tried to say Mary. “Mr. Noonan, are we keeping you up?”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic, is there?” Bissonette asked. His tone was mild, but Elmer Durgin gave him a look which suggested that, should the ELFFS succeed in their goal of world domination, Bissonette would be aboard the first gulag-bound boxcar. “I’m sorry,” I said before Durgin could reply. “I just got derailed there for a second or two.”
“New story idea?” Durgin asked, smiling his glossy smile. He looked like a swamp-toad in a sportcoat. He turned to the old jet pilot, told him to strike that last, then repeated his question about Kyra and Mattie. Yes, I said, I had met them. “Once or more than once?”
“More than once.”
“How many times have you met them?”
“Twice.”
“Have you also spoken to Mary Devore on the phone?” Already these questions were moving in a direction that made me uncomfortable. “Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Three times.
Durgin pursed lips so smooth and damp that he looked as if he were wearing a clear gloss on them. On his shining pate, roughly two dozen strands of hair were combed in smooth little arcs. He gave me a patient, measuring look. Behind it was all the intransigent ugliness of an Evil Little Fat Folk. The pleasantries were over, all right. I was sure of it. “No, Mr. Noonan, that was not a question. I simply thought you might like to know why we’ve had to ask you to come away from your lovely lake on such a pleasant morning. Perhaps I was wrong. Now, if” There was a peremptory knock on the door, followed by your friend and his, George Footman. Today Cleveland Casual had been replaced by a khaki Deputy Sheriff’s uniform, complete with Sam Browne belt and sidearm. He helped himself to a good look at the assistant’s bustline, displayed in a blue silk blouse, then handed her a folder and a cassette tape recorder. He gave me one brief gander before leaving. I remember you, buddy, that glance said. The smartass writer, the cheap date. Romeo Bissonette tipped his head toward me. He used the side of his hand to bridge the gap between his mouth and my ear. “Devore’s tape,” he said. I nodded to show I understood, then turned to Durgin again. “Mr. Noonan, you’ve met Kyra Devore and her mother, Mary Devore, haven’t you?” How did you get Mattie out of Mary, I wondered… and then knew, just as I had known about the white shorts and halter top. Mattie was how Ki had first tried to say Mary. “Mr. Noonan, are we keeping you up?”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic, is there?” Bissonette asked. His tone was mild, but Elmer Durgin gave him a look which suggested that, should the ELFFS succeed in their goal of world domination, Bissonette would be aboard the first gulag-bound boxcar. “I’m sorry,” I said before Durgin could reply. “I just got derailed there for a second or two.”
“New story idea?” Durgin asked, smiling his glossy smile. He looked like a swamp-toad in a sportcoat. He turned to the old jet pilot, told him to strike that last, then repeated his question about Kyra and Mattie. Yes, I said, I had met them. “Once or more than once?”
“More than once.”
“How many times have you met them?”
“Twice.”
“Have you also spoken to Mary Devore on the phone?” Already these questions were moving in a direction that made me uncomfortable. “Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Three times.