JК
Desperation :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 395 из 422”
“The fuck there ain’t,” Cynthia said morosely, but she went with the others, each of them carrying a bagof ANFO.
Before Johnny could say anything, David slipped back inside. There were still traces of dried soap on his cheeks, and his lids were tinged purple. Steve had once dated a girl who’d worn eyeshadow that exact same color. On David it looked like shock instead of glamour.
“is everything okay.” David asked. He glanced briefly at Steve, but it was Johnny he was talking to.
“Yes. Steve, give David a bag of ANFO.”
David stood a moment longer, holding the bag Steve handed him, looking down at it, lost in thought. Abruptly he looked up at Johnny and said, “Turn out your pockets. All of them.”
“What-” Steve began.
Johnny shushed him, smiling oddly. It was the smile of someone who has bitten into something which tastes both bitter and compelling. “David knows what he’s doing.”
He unbuckled the chaps, turned out the pockets of his jeans underneath, handing Steve his goods-the famous wallet, his keys, the hammer which had been stuck in his belt-to hold as he did. He bowed forward so David could look into his shirt pocket. Then he unbuckled his pants and pushed them down. Underneath be was wearing blue bikini briefs. His not inconsiderable gut hung over them. I–Ic looked to Steve like one of those rich older guys you saw strolling along the beach sometimes. You knew they were rich not just because they always wore Rolexes and Oakley sunglasses, but because they dared walk along in those tiny spandex ballhuggers in the first place. As if, once your income passed a certain figure, your gut became another asset.
The boss wasn’t wearing spandex, at least. Plain old COttOn.
He did a three-sixty, arms slightly raised, giving David ill the angles and bruises, then pulled up his jeans again.
The chaps followed. “Satisfied. I’ll take off my boots, if you’re not.”
“No,” David said, but be poked a hand into the pockets of the chaps before stepping back.
His face was troubled, but not exactly worried. “Go on and have your talk. But hurry it up.”
And he was gone, leaving Steve and Johnny alone.
The boss moved to the rear of the powder magazine, as far from the door as possible.
Steve followed. Now he could smell the corpse in the dynamite chest under the stronger fuel-oil aroma of the place, and he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.
“He wanted to make sure you didn’t have a few of those can tahs on you, didn’t he. Like Audrey.”
Johnny nodded. “He’s a wise child.”
“I guess he is.
“The fuck there ain’t,” Cynthia said morosely, but she went with the others, each of them carrying a bagof ANFO.
Before Johnny could say anything, David slipped back inside. There were still traces of dried soap on his cheeks, and his lids were tinged purple. Steve had once dated a girl who’d worn eyeshadow that exact same color. On David it looked like shock instead of glamour.
“is everything okay.” David asked. He glanced briefly at Steve, but it was Johnny he was talking to.
“Yes. Steve, give David a bag of ANFO.”
David stood a moment longer, holding the bag Steve handed him, looking down at it, lost in thought. Abruptly he looked up at Johnny and said, “Turn out your pockets. All of them.”
“What-” Steve began.
Johnny shushed him, smiling oddly. It was the smile of someone who has bitten into something which tastes both bitter and compelling. “David knows what he’s doing.”
He unbuckled the chaps, turned out the pockets of his jeans underneath, handing Steve his goods-the famous wallet, his keys, the hammer which had been stuck in his belt-to hold as he did. He bowed forward so David could look into his shirt pocket. Then he unbuckled his pants and pushed them down. Underneath be was wearing blue bikini briefs. His not inconsiderable gut hung over them. I–Ic looked to Steve like one of those rich older guys you saw strolling along the beach sometimes. You knew they were rich not just because they always wore Rolexes and Oakley sunglasses, but because they dared walk along in those tiny spandex ballhuggers in the first place. As if, once your income passed a certain figure, your gut became another asset.
The boss wasn’t wearing spandex, at least. Plain old COttOn.
He did a three-sixty, arms slightly raised, giving David ill the angles and bruises, then pulled up his jeans again.
The chaps followed. “Satisfied. I’ll take off my boots, if you’re not.”
“No,” David said, but be poked a hand into the pockets of the chaps before stepping back.
His face was troubled, but not exactly worried. “Go on and have your talk. But hurry it up.”
And he was gone, leaving Steve and Johnny alone.
The boss moved to the rear of the powder magazine, as far from the door as possible.
Steve followed. Now he could smell the corpse in the dynamite chest under the stronger fuel-oil aroma of the place, and he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.
“He wanted to make sure you didn’t have a few of those can tahs on you, didn’t he. Like Audrey.”
Johnny nodded. “He’s a wise child.”
“I guess he is.