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

"Authentic American souvenirs, you mean," she told him.
"Exactly. You're welcome to take a look around."
Angela's eyes widened. "What's for sale?" she asked.
"Everything. Even Duke."
She looked at him sharply.
"Except Duke," he amended.
Michael knew he couldn't win. He sipped at his coffee н- and he didn't
like that, either.
Angela gazed around the kitchen, at the old crockery and the dented pots,
but Michael was certain there was nothing here that she wanted. Even if
there were, he would throw it out as soon as she wasn't looking. He didn't
want any of this stuff in his house, and Angela certainly couldn't give
any of it as presents.
"We can't take anything bulky," he told her. "It's only a small car,
remember. And we have to think of our luggage allowance on the flight."
"Take your time." Somehow the man had managed to finish his scalding
coffee. "I'll be out front if there's anything you find." He left the
kitchen.
"Angela," said Michael, "you can't be serious. There's nothing here you
can possibly want."
"Probably not, but I want to look around. Give me your wallet."
Michael did as he was asked. "Hurry up," he said.
He poured his coffee down the sink and picked up one of the magazines from
the stack on the floor. It was a motoring magazine, quarter of a century
old. He wondered if they were worth much. Even if they were, they were too
heavy to take back to Britain.
It was too hot to remain in the room, and Michael let the magazine fall
back, then left the kitchen. He turned right into the hallway. There was
another door at the end, and he pushed it open.
The room was filled with junk, real junk, all kinds of obsolete household
electrical equipment, most of it dusty and dismantled. There was a pile of
old paperbacks on top of a doorless refrigerator. Michael picked up a few
and glanced at the covers. They were all Westerns. He put them back, but
the top one fell to the floor. Bending down to retrieve it, he saw
something narrow wedged between a vacuum cleaner and the blade of a broken
fan. He didn't recognise the object, so he pulled it free. It was only an
old record, he realised, as he brushed the dust from his sleeve.
There couldn't have been anything of value in the house. House? It was
more like a shack. If there were anything, the man wouldn't have left them
alone in the place. Or maybe that was the whole idea. What if he claimed
Michael and Angela were trying to rob him? He probably had a gun
somewhere. All Americans had guns. He might have gone for it now so he
could threaten them. It was time to get out of here.
"Angela!" he yelled, and turned to leave the room. "Angela!"
The man was standing in the hallway.
"What you got there?" he asked.
"Nothing," said Michael, then he noticed he was still holding the record.
"Is that what you want?"
"Er...yes."
"What is it?"