"David Garnett - Off The Track" - читать интересную книгу автора (Garnett David)

direction, one of them a pickup truck, the other a battered old saloon.
The driver of the first stared, the driver of the second raised a hand in
greeting. Michael started to wave back, but he was too late.
He noticed two petrol pumps on the other side of the road, and he took his
foot off the accelerator.
"Is that garage open?" he asked.
"It looks deserted."
"That might not mean anything. They won't get many customers."
As he drove past, he saw the open door of what might have been a workshop.

"There!" said Angela. "Someone's inside."
"We'll give it a try."
He checked the mirror. There was nothing behind. There had been nothing
behind since the border. He did a U-turn and pulled into the forecourt. A
huge black and white dog was lying in the shade on one side of the petrol
pumps. It didn't move when Michael halted on the other side.
"Got any petrol?" Michael said to the dog
It opened its eyes, then closed them again.
"Maybe it's self-service," said Angela.
"I'm not going to risk it. Are you?"
He stretched back in his seat, trying to see into the workshop. One
vehicle was up on a ramp inside. There were a number of others nearby, but
all of them were on flat tyres or without wheels. In such a climate, it
would take a long time for them to rust.
He heard a chatter of voices and leaned back. There were three or four
children at Angela's door, their hands thrust in through the window. Two
more appeared next to him, begging.
"Ignore them," he said.
Angela opened her purse and started handing out coins.
"Alright, ignore me," muttered Michael, as the two children at his window
ran around to join the others.
He straightened his tie, opened the door and stepped out of the car. Then
he noticed a shadow on the ground, and he turned around quickly, taking a
step back when he saw the man only two yards away from him.
"Petrol?" he said. "Have you any petrol?"
The man was tall and lean, wearing an oily vest and stained denim
trousers. He stared at Michael, then looked at the car. He touched the
shiny new metal with his grimy fingers. When he drew back, there were
greasy fingerprints on the wheel arch. He bent down and started to wipe
the paintwork with the rag he was holding. His hand became still when he
noticed Angela in the passenger seat. He stared at her for a few seconds,
then finished cleaning the dirt and stood up. He walked around car,
studying it, then looked at the number plate at the front.
Michael wondered if the man had understood him. Carefully, he repeated:
"Have you any petrol?"
"Gas," Angela told him.
"Have you any gasoline?"
"Nice car," said the man.
"It's hired," Michael said quickly.
"Where you folks from?"