"Barker, Clive - Books of Blood 02" - читать интересную книгу автора (Barker Clive)

СWell...Т
СSounds like you had a good vacation.Т
The embarrassment was surmounted by something else.

СIТve got some wonderful photographs,Т Quaid said.
СWhat of?Т
СHoliday snaps.Т
Steve couldnТt believe his ears. Had C. Fromm tamed the Quaid? Holiday snaps?
СYou wonТt believe some of them.Т
There was something of the Arab selling dirty postcards about QuaidТs manner. What the hell were these photo-graphs? Split beaver shots of Cheryl, caught reading Kant?
СI donТt think of you as being a photographer.Т
СItТs become a passion of mine.Т
He grinned as he said СpassionТ. There was a barely-suppressed excitement in his manner. He was positively gleaming with pleasure.
СYouТve got to come and see them.Т
СI-Т
СTonight. And pick up the Bentham at the same time.Т
СThanks.Т
СIТve got a house for myself these days. Round the corner from the Maternity Hospital, in Pilgrim Street. Number sixty-four. Some time after nine?Т
СRight. Thanks. Pilgrim Street.Т Quaid nodded.
СI didnТt know there were any habitable houses in Pilgrim Street.Т
СNumber sixty-four.Т
Pilgrim Street was on its knees. Most of the houses were already rubble. A few were in the process of being knocked down. Their inside walls were unnaturally exposed; pink and pale green wallpapers, fireplaces on upper storeys

hanging over chasms of smoking brick. Stairs leading from nowhere to nowhere, and back again.
Number sixty-four stood on its own. The houses in the terrace to either side had been demolished and bull-dozed away, leaving a desert of impacted brick-dust which a few hardy, and fool-hardy, weeds had tried to populate.
A three-legged white dog was patrolling its territory along the side of sixty-four, leaving little piss-marks at regular intervals as signs of its ownership.
QuaidТs house, though scarcely palatial, was more welcoming than the surrounding wasteland.
They drank some bad red wine together, which Steve had brought with him, and they smoked some grass. Quaid was far more mellow than Steve had ever seen him before, quite happy to talk trivia instead of dread; laughing occasionally; even telling a dirty joke. The interior of the house was bare to the point of being spartan. No pictures on the walls; no decoration of any kind. QuaidТs books, and there were literally hundreds of them, were piled on the floor in no particular sequence that Steve could make out. The kitchen and bathroom were primitive. The whole atmosphere was almost monastic.
After a couple of easy hours, SteveТs curiosity got the better of him.
СWhereТs the holiday snaps, then?Т he said, aware that he was slurring his words a little, and no longer giving a shit.
СOh yes. My experiment.Т
СExperiment?Т
СTell you the truth, Steve, IТm not so sure I should show them to you.Т
СWhy not?Т
СIТm into serious stuff, Steve.Т

СAnd IТm not ready for serious stuff, is that what youТre saying?Т
Steve could feel QuaidТs technique working on him, even though it was transparently obvious what he was doing.
СI didnТt say you werenТt ready -, СWhat the hell is this stuff?Т СPictures.Т
СOf?Т
СYou remember Cheryl.Т Pictures of Cheryl. Ha. СHow could I forget?Т
СShe wonТt be coming back this term.Т СOh.Т
СShe had a revelation.Т QuaidТs stare was basilisk-like. СWhat do you mean?Т
СShe was always so calm, wasnТt she?Т Quaid was talking about her as though she were dead. СCalm, cool and collected.Т
СYes, I suppose she was.Т
СPoor bitch. All she wanted was a good fuck.Т
Steve smirked like a kid at QuaidТs dirty talk. It was a little shocking; like seeing teacher with his dick hanging out of his trousers.
СShe spent some of the vacation here.Т
СHere?Т
СIn this house.Т