JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 204 из 425Of course nothing that tastes that good can be healthy; that’s a given. I suppose one could formulate a similar postulate about full-body hugs from young girls in legal trouble.
“Very interesting,” John said. “Very interesting indeed.” He took a mozzarella stick from its grease-stained bag, broke it open, and looked with a kind of fascinated horror at the clotted white gunk inside.
“People up here eat this?” he asked.
“People in New York eat fish-bladders,” I said. “Raw.”
“Touch&” He dipped a piece into the plastic container of spaghetti sauce (in this context it is called “cheese-dip” in western Maine), then ate it.
“Well?” I asked.
“Not bad. They ought to be a lot hotter, though.”
Yes, he was right about that. Eating cold mozzarella sticks is a little like eating cold snot, an observation I thought I would keep to myself on this beautiful midsummer Friday.
“If Durgin had the tape, why wouldn’t he play it?” Mattie asked. “I don’t understand.”
25o John stretched his arms out, cracked his knuckles, and looked at her benignly. “We’ll probably never know for sure,” he said. He thought Devore was going to drop the suit—it was in every line of his body-language and every inflection of his voice. That was hopeful, but it would be good if Mattie didn’t allow herself to become too hopeful.
John Storrow wasn’t as young as he looked, and probably not as guileless, either (or so I fervently hoped), but he was young. And neither he nor Mattie knew the story of Scooter Larribee’s sled. Or had seen Bill Dean’s face when he told it. “Want to hear some possibilities?”
“Sure,” I said. John put down his sandwich, wiped his fingers, and then began to tick off points. “First, he made the call.
Taped conversations have a highly dubious value under those circumstances. Second, he didn’t exactly come off like Captain Kangaroo, did he?”
“No.’
“Third, your fabrication impugns you, Mike, but not really very much, and it doesn’t impugn Mattie at all. And by the way, that thing about Mattie pushing bubbles in Kyra’s face, I love that. If that’s the best they can do, they better give it up right now. Last—and this is where the truth probably lies—I think Devore’s got Nixon’s Disease.”
“Nixon’s Disease?” Mattie asked. “The tape Durgin had isn’t the only tape. Can’t be. And your father-in-law is afraid that if he introduces one tape made by whatever system he’s got in Warrington’s, we might subpoena all of them.
“Very interesting,” John said. “Very interesting indeed.” He took a mozzarella stick from its grease-stained bag, broke it open, and looked with a kind of fascinated horror at the clotted white gunk inside.
“People up here eat this?” he asked.
“People in New York eat fish-bladders,” I said. “Raw.”
“Touch&” He dipped a piece into the plastic container of spaghetti sauce (in this context it is called “cheese-dip” in western Maine), then ate it.
“Well?” I asked.
“Not bad. They ought to be a lot hotter, though.”
Yes, he was right about that. Eating cold mozzarella sticks is a little like eating cold snot, an observation I thought I would keep to myself on this beautiful midsummer Friday.
“If Durgin had the tape, why wouldn’t he play it?” Mattie asked. “I don’t understand.”
25o John stretched his arms out, cracked his knuckles, and looked at her benignly. “We’ll probably never know for sure,” he said. He thought Devore was going to drop the suit—it was in every line of his body-language and every inflection of his voice. That was hopeful, but it would be good if Mattie didn’t allow herself to become too hopeful.
John Storrow wasn’t as young as he looked, and probably not as guileless, either (or so I fervently hoped), but he was young. And neither he nor Mattie knew the story of Scooter Larribee’s sled. Or had seen Bill Dean’s face when he told it. “Want to hear some possibilities?”
“Sure,” I said. John put down his sandwich, wiped his fingers, and then began to tick off points. “First, he made the call.
Taped conversations have a highly dubious value under those circumstances. Second, he didn’t exactly come off like Captain Kangaroo, did he?”
“No.’
“Third, your fabrication impugns you, Mike, but not really very much, and it doesn’t impugn Mattie at all. And by the way, that thing about Mattie pushing bubbles in Kyra’s face, I love that. If that’s the best they can do, they better give it up right now. Last—and this is where the truth probably lies—I think Devore’s got Nixon’s Disease.”
“Nixon’s Disease?” Mattie asked. “The tape Durgin had isn’t the only tape. Can’t be. And your father-in-law is afraid that if he introduces one tape made by whatever system he’s got in Warrington’s, we might subpoena all of them.