"Eliot Fintushel - Izzy and the Father of Terror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fintushel Eliot)

Thoughts smoked from my skin.

"Is he a werewolf, Izzy?" Sarvaduhka
whispered.

Izzy said, "Let me snooze."

I squeezed MelтАЩs eyes shut to keep from
slashing too brutally the delicate inner
membrane, with my light. Rising open-armed
before SarvaduhkaтАЩs VW Squareback heading
east out of Albuquerque, I bathed them,
squinting in the munificence and splendor,
till Izzy yanked down the visors.

"Snooze, he wants to snooze!" Sarvaduhka
said. "Snooze, Izzy, but when do I get my
female action? Everything you want to do,
we do. Now we have the boy and you are
satisfied. But I still have no female
action. I never should have left my
videos." He pinched a cone of incense from
a slot under the ashtray, stuffed it into
a compartment in GaneshaтАЩs back, and lit
it clumsily with a cheap butane lighter.
Smoke spouted from GaneshaтАЩs trunk.

"You horny bastard," Izzy grumbled,
"didnтАЩt I tell you, you get some nooky in
Memphis? We gotta finish with the kid
first, but IтАЩm too tired now. I gotta cop

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some ZтАЩs, Sergeant Ducky. Can you clam
it?"

I was terrified. A slug in the kill
jar?the sting of jasmine like carbon
tetrachloride?I curled away from IzzyтАЩs
body, my skin electric with loathing. He
yawned and stretched. His arm looped
across my shoulders. His head lolled
against my chin. The feel of that clammy
bald spot. I tried to be the sun, huge,
distant, omnipotent.

Through the hole in my mind images
stuttered: Mayan priest pederasts;