"Clayton Emery - Tyger Blake - Totaled" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

lied, "I went through a car windshield. The Firebird's yonder."

......"Uh, right."

......The guy clutched a clipboard to his chest like a Bible and winced as sharp grass jabbed his ankles
through nylon socks. Without touching anything, he noted the car's mileage, position of the steering
wheel, wear and tear on the seat belt, other factors.

......"How's the kid?" I rubbed my face. I don't mind dirt.

......"He's leaking blood out of every normal orifice and a few new ones. Three teams worked for eleven
hours. They're not even sure he'll ever move his head again, let alone get out of bed. Boy, he sure isn't
going to drive this thing anywhere." He made a checkmark.

......"But the car's not totaled, is it?" I sniped.

......He squinted at me, then dusted his hands. "It's totaled."

***

......After lunch Police Chief Utmeyer came down and looked the car over. He never touched the wreck,
just scribbled on a form. I stayed on my knees twisting and turning a catalytic converter trying to shake
out a rattle. New Hampshire isn't noted for its summers, but in the sun the converter was getting too hot
to hold.

......The chief ambled over, hitched his shiny black belt full of gadgets. "Morning, Sue."

......"Susan."

......"No. I'm Ron, you're Susan." He grinned. I didn't. The chief wanted to talk cop. I was a cop once,
before. Now the state of New Hampshire says I'm a private investigator. He asked, "How's business?"

......"Busy as hell fixing cars. How's the kid doing?"

......The chief pulled off his hat, wiped his bald head, tugged the hat back on. I turned and swore and
upended and swore. The rattle sounded merrier all the time. "He's still alive. Looks like a spaceship
hanging in mid-air. He'll be thirty pounds heavier with artificial knees and hips and whatnot. Maybe they'll
use him in a seatbelt ad. Claims he swerved to avoid a dog. Chuck St. Amour. Know him?"

......"I don't know anyone in town." Rattle rattle. "C'mon out, you motherfuckin' whore!"

......"Join the Library Committee. Good way to meet people." He rubbed his head again. "Poor Chuck. I
don't wish that disaster on anyone, but on the other hand, there'll be a lot less drag-racin' and hell-raisin'
for a while."

......A final rattle, then a plop. A hickory nut bounced in the dirt.

......"Squirrels," said the chief. And ambled off.

***