JК
Desperation :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 17 из 422Whatyou found under the spare tire probably is dope, you’re probably right about that, but not our dope! Can’t you see that.”
The thing up ahead, off the road with its tinted wind-shield pointed in the direction of Fallon and Carson City and Lake Tahoe, wasn’t a truck after all; it was an RV. Not one of the real dinosaurs, but still pretty big. Cream—colored, with a dark green stripe running along the side. The words FOUR HAPPY WANDERERS were printed in the same dark green on the RV’s blunt nose. The vehicle was road-dusty and canted over in an awkward, unnatu-ral way.
As they neared it, Peter saw an odd thing: all the tires in his view appeared to be flat. He thought maybe the double set of back tires on the passenger side was flat, — too, although he only caught the briefest glimpse of them. That many flat shoes would account for the land-cruisers funny, canted look, but how did you get that many fla—shoes all at once.
Nails in the road. A strew of glass.
He looked at Mary. but Mary was still looking passion ately up into the rearview minor.
“If we’d put that bag o dope under the tire,” she was saying, “if it was ours, then why in God’s name would Peter have taken the spare out so you could see it. I mean, he could have reached around the spare and gotten the toolkit, it would have been a little awkward but there was room.”
They went past the RV. The side door was closed but unlatched. The steps were down.
There was a doll lying in the dirt at the foot of them. The dress it was wearing flut tered in the wind.
Peter’s eyes closed. He didn’t know for sure if he had closed them or if they had closed on their own. Didn t much care. All he knew was that Officer Friendly had blown by the disabled RV as if he hadn’t even seen it.
Or as if he already knew all about it.
Words from an old song, floating in his head: Somethin happenin here… what it is ain’t exactly clear…
“Do we impress you as stupid people.” Mary was ask ing as the disabled RV began to dwindle behind them—to dwindle as Deirdre’s Acura had done. “Or stoned. Do you think we’re—”
“Shut up,” the cop said. He spoke softly, but there was no way to miss the venom in his voice.
Mary had been sitting forward with her fingers curled into the mesh between the front and back seats. Now her hands dropped away from it, and she turned her shocked face toward Peter.
The thing up ahead, off the road with its tinted wind-shield pointed in the direction of Fallon and Carson City and Lake Tahoe, wasn’t a truck after all; it was an RV. Not one of the real dinosaurs, but still pretty big. Cream—colored, with a dark green stripe running along the side. The words FOUR HAPPY WANDERERS were printed in the same dark green on the RV’s blunt nose. The vehicle was road-dusty and canted over in an awkward, unnatu-ral way.
As they neared it, Peter saw an odd thing: all the tires in his view appeared to be flat. He thought maybe the double set of back tires on the passenger side was flat, — too, although he only caught the briefest glimpse of them. That many flat shoes would account for the land-cruisers funny, canted look, but how did you get that many fla—shoes all at once.
Nails in the road. A strew of glass.
He looked at Mary. but Mary was still looking passion ately up into the rearview minor.
“If we’d put that bag o dope under the tire,” she was saying, “if it was ours, then why in God’s name would Peter have taken the spare out so you could see it. I mean, he could have reached around the spare and gotten the toolkit, it would have been a little awkward but there was room.”
They went past the RV. The side door was closed but unlatched. The steps were down.
There was a doll lying in the dirt at the foot of them. The dress it was wearing flut tered in the wind.
Peter’s eyes closed. He didn’t know for sure if he had closed them or if they had closed on their own. Didn t much care. All he knew was that Officer Friendly had blown by the disabled RV as if he hadn’t even seen it.
Or as if he already knew all about it.
Words from an old song, floating in his head: Somethin happenin here… what it is ain’t exactly clear…
“Do we impress you as stupid people.” Mary was ask ing as the disabled RV began to dwindle behind them—to dwindle as Deirdre’s Acura had done. “Or stoned. Do you think we’re—”
“Shut up,” the cop said. He spoke softly, but there was no way to miss the venom in his voice.
Mary had been sitting forward with her fingers curled into the mesh between the front and back seats. Now her hands dropped away from it, and she turned her shocked face toward Peter.