JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 202 из 425If you want to break here for awhile so we can make a conference call to Judge Rancourt, get his opinion—”
“I withdraw the question,” Durgin said. He looked at me with a kind of helpless, surly rage. “Mr. Noonan, do you want to help me do my job?”
“I want to help Kyra Devore if I can,” I said. “Very well.” He nodded as if no distinction had been made. “Then please tell me what you and Maxwell Devote talked about.”
“I can’t recall.” I caught his eyes and held them.
“Perhaps,” I said, “you can refresh my recollection.” There was a moment of silence, like that which sometimes strikes a high-stakes poker game just after the last of the bets have been made and just before the players show their hands. Even the old fighter-pilot was quiet, his eyes unblinking above the mask. Then Durgin pushed the cassette player aside with the heel of his hand (the set of his mouth said he felt about it just then as I often felt about the telephone) and went back to the morning of July Fourth. He never asked about my dinner with Mattie and Ki on Tuesday night, and never returned to my telephone conversation with Devore—the one where I had said all those awkward and easily disprovable things. I went on answering questions until eleven-thirty, but the interview really ended when Durgin pushed the tape-player away with the heel of his hand. I knew it, and I’m pretty sure he did, too.
“Mike! Mike, over here!” Mattie was waving from one of the tables in the picnic area behind the town common’s bandstand. She looked vibrant and happy. I waved back and made my way in that direction, weaving between little kids playing tag, skirting a couple of teenagers making out on the grass, and ducking a Frisbee which a leaping German shepherd caught smartly. There was a tall, skinny redhead with her, but I barely got a chance to notice him. Mattie met me while I was still on the gravel path, put her arms around me, hugged me—it was no prudey little ass-poking-out hug, either—and then kissed me on the mouth hard enough to push my lips against my teeth. There was a hearty smack when she disengaged. She pulled back and looked at me with undisguised delight. “Was it the biggest kiss you’ve ever had?”
“The biggest in at least four years,” I said. “Will you settle for that?” And if she didn’t step away from me in the next few seconds, she was going to have physical proof of how much I had enjoyed it.
“I guess I’ll have to.” She turned to the redheaded guy with a funny kind of defiance.
“I withdraw the question,” Durgin said. He looked at me with a kind of helpless, surly rage. “Mr. Noonan, do you want to help me do my job?”
“I want to help Kyra Devore if I can,” I said. “Very well.” He nodded as if no distinction had been made. “Then please tell me what you and Maxwell Devote talked about.”
“I can’t recall.” I caught his eyes and held them.
“Perhaps,” I said, “you can refresh my recollection.” There was a moment of silence, like that which sometimes strikes a high-stakes poker game just after the last of the bets have been made and just before the players show their hands. Even the old fighter-pilot was quiet, his eyes unblinking above the mask. Then Durgin pushed the cassette player aside with the heel of his hand (the set of his mouth said he felt about it just then as I often felt about the telephone) and went back to the morning of July Fourth. He never asked about my dinner with Mattie and Ki on Tuesday night, and never returned to my telephone conversation with Devore—the one where I had said all those awkward and easily disprovable things. I went on answering questions until eleven-thirty, but the interview really ended when Durgin pushed the tape-player away with the heel of his hand. I knew it, and I’m pretty sure he did, too.
“Mike! Mike, over here!” Mattie was waving from one of the tables in the picnic area behind the town common’s bandstand. She looked vibrant and happy. I waved back and made my way in that direction, weaving between little kids playing tag, skirting a couple of teenagers making out on the grass, and ducking a Frisbee which a leaping German shepherd caught smartly. There was a tall, skinny redhead with her, but I barely got a chance to notice him. Mattie met me while I was still on the gravel path, put her arms around me, hugged me—it was no prudey little ass-poking-out hug, either—and then kissed me on the mouth hard enough to push my lips against my teeth. There was a hearty smack when she disengaged. She pulled back and looked at me with undisguised delight. “Was it the biggest kiss you’ve ever had?”
“The biggest in at least four years,” I said. “Will you settle for that?” And if she didn’t step away from me in the next few seconds, she was going to have physical proof of how much I had enjoyed it.
“I guess I’ll have to.” She turned to the redheaded guy with a funny kind of defiance.