JК
Desperation :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 14 из 422Plastered on the front—was a round yellow sticker. Mr. Smiley-Smile. The perfect emblem for potheads like his sister, whose adven-tures in life could have been titled Through Darkest America with Bong and Roach-Clip. She had gotten preg-nant while storied, had undoubtedly decided to marry Roger Finney while stoned, and Peter knew for a fact that she had left Reed (carrying a one-point-forget-it grade average) because there was too much dope floating around and she just couldn’t say no to it. She’d been up front about that part, at least, and he had actually looked—through the Acura for stashes—it would be stuff she’d forgotten about rather than stuff she’d actually hidden, most likely—before they left Portland. He’d looked under the Hefty bags her clothes were stored in, and Mary had thumbed through the clothes themselves (neither admitting out loud what they were looking for, both knowing), but neither of them had thought to look under—the doughnut.
The goddam doughnut.
The cop squeezed the Baggie with one oversized thumb as if it were a tomato. He reached into his pocket and produced a Swiss Army knife. He plucked out the smallest—blade.
“Officer,” Peter said in a weak voice. “Officer, I don’t know how that—”
“Shhh,” the big cop said, and cut a tiny slit in the Baggie.
Peter felt Mary’s hand tugging at his sleeve. He took her hand, this time folding his fingers over hers. All at once he could see Deirdre’s pale, pretty face floating just behind his eyes. Her blond hair, which still fell to her shoulders in natural Stevie Nicks ringlets.
Her eyes, which were always a bit confused.
You stupid little bitch, he thought. You ought to be very grateful that you’re not where I can get my hands on you right now.
“Officer—” Mary tried.
The cop raised his hand to her, palm out, then put the tiny slit in the Baggie against his nose and sniffed. His — eyes drifted closed. After a moment he opened them again—and lowered the Baggie. He held out his other band, palm up. “Give me your keys, sir,” he said.
“Officer, I can explain this—”
“Give me your keys.”
“If you just—”
“Are you deaf. Give me your keys.”
He only raised his voice a little, but it was enough to start Mary crying. Feeling like someone who is having an out-of-body experience, Peter dropped Deirdre’s car-keys i—tto the cop’s waiting hand and then put his arm around his wife’s shaking shoulders.
The goddam doughnut.
The cop squeezed the Baggie with one oversized thumb as if it were a tomato. He reached into his pocket and produced a Swiss Army knife. He plucked out the smallest—blade.
“Officer,” Peter said in a weak voice. “Officer, I don’t know how that—”
“Shhh,” the big cop said, and cut a tiny slit in the Baggie.
Peter felt Mary’s hand tugging at his sleeve. He took her hand, this time folding his fingers over hers. All at once he could see Deirdre’s pale, pretty face floating just behind his eyes. Her blond hair, which still fell to her shoulders in natural Stevie Nicks ringlets.
Her eyes, which were always a bit confused.
You stupid little bitch, he thought. You ought to be very grateful that you’re not where I can get my hands on you right now.
“Officer—” Mary tried.
The cop raised his hand to her, palm out, then put the tiny slit in the Baggie against his nose and sniffed. His — eyes drifted closed. After a moment he opened them again—and lowered the Baggie. He held out his other band, palm up. “Give me your keys, sir,” he said.
“Officer, I can explain this—”
“Give me your keys.”
“If you just—”
“Are you deaf. Give me your keys.”
He only raised his voice a little, but it was enough to start Mary crying. Feeling like someone who is having an out-of-body experience, Peter dropped Deirdre’s car-keys i—tto the cop’s waiting hand and then put his arm around his wife’s shaking shoulders.