"Donnelly, Marcos - El Hijo De Hernez" - читать интересную книгу автора (Donnelly Marcos)

of us wanted to resist. Behind Zane Gerard, Tyque Raymond was thumb-upping me.

"Course, I didn't count leap years," I said. The man from the Mayor's office
didn't seem to know what to say to that. I watched Mama digging through her big
wicker purse. She pulled out two quarters, walked over to the Mayor's man, and
pressed them into his palm. "You can have today's investment back. You haven't
done anything for me today."

That broke the crowd's quiet. People hooted, yelled insults, even tossed
quarters, dimes, and pennies up on stage at the man's feet. The seventh grade
class of Saint Malachy's school sat still, doing nothing shouting nothing,
tossing nothing. I glanced at Zane, at Tyque, at Lucinda, Marialuz, Jamal,
Manuel, Bobby, Tamara. They were all remembering it, just like me: the pipe song
for quiet, for staying calm and not joining in trouble. I looked back toward Mr.
Pietr; the fingers of his right hand tapped restless on his left forearm, like
he was anxious, real anxious, to play.

The meeting broke up. Mama, the Save-Our-Cities lady, and Mr. Pietr talked
together on stage in a tight huddle, while Father Galloway hurried all anxious
through the crowd, blessing everybody and wishing them goodnight. Me and Zane
and Tyque stood by the hall doors. Zane had his arms crossed and looked mean.
Tyque jittered and bounced on his toes. Tyque was always touching things --
walls, light switches, people's arms, like if he didn't keep some contact going
he might zoom away off the face of the Earth.

When most everybody was blessed and leaving, Zane asked, "We going out?"

"Gotta tell La Viuda."

"He's gonna tell La Viuda first," Tyque told Zane. Zane smirked.

Before I could walk over to the stage, the Mayor's man stepped in front of us.
This close, he was a hell of a lot bigger. I didn't know he'd stayed around. He
was all by himself, no huddles like Mama's and no blessings from Father
Galloway. "Hello, boys," he said.

"Yuh," said Zane.

"I'm Mr. Curtis." Tyque jiggled in his direction. "Hi, Mr. Curtis."

"Are the three of you friends?"

Zane scowled, and I thought it was a stupid question, too. "Yuh," Zane snapped,
"cause we sure as hell ain't blood."

We laughed, and even Zane smiled. Tyque pounded my shoulder four or five times.
"We bad, we beat, but we ain't blood! We bad, we beat, but we ain't blood!"

Our motto.