"01 - Malice In Maggody" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hess Joan)

1



"It's shit--pure and simple shit, no matter what they call it in those goddamn reports," Jim Bob Buchanon said, slamming his fist down on the counter of the Kwik-нStoppe Shoppe, hard enough to rustle the cellophane wrappers of the beef jerkies. "Just 'cause some fish-нbrained bureaucrat at the EPA office in Dallas calls it 'suspended solids' doesn't mean it ain't shit!"

" 'Course it's shit," Larry Joe Lambertino said soothingly, "and they know it, too. But the EPA is supposed to know what they're doing, and they swear it won't affect the water quality in Boone Creek. According to them, the water from the new sewage treatment plant will be cleaner than what we've got now."

"Bunch of fish-brained bureaucrats," Jim Bob snarled. The box of beef jerkies again rustled in their plastic wrappers as his fist hit the Formica. "No, I take that back. I know a lot of fish smarter than those old boys in Dallas. The other day I caught sight of this old granddaddy catfish that must've weighed fifty pounds. He was in that pool down back of Raz's dog pen, just twitching his whiskers and watching me watch him."

"Did you try a wad of chicken liver?"

"Yeah, but that old fish didn't even blink. I swear I could hear him thinking what a goddamn fool I was to even try. But I'll be damned if I don't get him one of these days." Jim Bob paused to contemplate his chances with the venerable fish, then went to the refrigeration unit and pulled out a can of beer from the dark recesses. "Want one?"

Larry Joe shook his head. "Naw, I gotta get back to the high school. There's some PT of A crap tonight, and I need to mop the halls so the juvenile delinquents' parents can track mud all over 'em. Then I got to rush home and change clothes so that I can stand around the shop room telling them what fine potential Little Johnny has as a welder. I don't tell them he'll most likely work in a chop shop over in Platte County."

Jim Bob ran his fingers through the short stubbles of hair on the top of his head, hissing "shit" under his breath as if an unseen puncture was allowing a steady escape of air. A flash of light outside caught his attention. His eyes narrowed as he gazed through the plate-glass door at the gas pumps, and his lips pursed thoughtfully. "Look, Larry Joe, there's some damned state car out there. Wonder who it is?"

Obediently Larry Joe looked, as he always did when instructed to do so by anyone with more strength of character. It happened too often to keep track of. "Appears to be someone too stupid to figure out how to put gas in his car. You'd better send Kevin out to help him before he puts two or three gallons of unleaded down his trousers."

"Kevin!" Jim Bob roared. "Get your ass out to the pump and help that customer!" Despite his volume, he continued to gaze with a pensive frown at the scene outside.

Kevin Buchanon stumbled out of the store room, his face flushed and his prominent adam's apple bouncing in his throat like a red rubber ball. At the last second, he managed to avoid the artful pyramid of paper towels at the end of the narrow aisle. "Gee, Jim Bob, he's at the self-service," he protested in a pubescent squeak. "He's supposed to do it hisself. If he were at the full-service, then I'd be supposed to put the gas in--"

"Get out there before I rip your ears off the side of your head," Jim Bob said without anger. "God knows it wouldn't be hard--they're almost bigger than Dahlia's jugs."

Larry Joe waited until Kevin stumbled out the door, tripped on a black air hose, recovered, and approached the white sedan with the telltale circle on the door. "That boy is a walking disaster," he said. "Him and Dahlia still playing doctor in the storeroom half their waking hours? I hope he don't put a bun in her warmer."

"The boy's a day late and a dollar short, and he doesn't have the sense to zip his fly in a tornado. Dahlia's been trying to tutor him in the manly art of screwing, but I don't know if she's actually convinced him to stick it in her yet."

Dahlia O'Neill, the girl under discussion, sauntered out of the storeroom, a half-eaten candy bar in one hand and a rolled magazine in the other. The dark blue tent draped over the three hundred pounds of flesh was dusty and wrinkled, but her face was as serene as that of any madonna who had recently submitted to immaculate conception. "How you doing, Mr. Lambertino?" she said in greeting as she went behind the counter.

"Go check the soda pop supply," Jim Bob said.

"Checked it this morning." She popped the late bit of chocolate into her mouth and daintily sucked her fingertips. Her bovine eyes remained on Larry Joe.

"Check it again. There's lots of kids in on Friday afternoon," Jim Bob said, turning back to the door. "Now that's a car from the interagency motor pool. Sure ain't the governor, sure ain't the highway commissioner or no tax man from the state revenue office. Just who do you reckon it might be?"

Larry Joe shrugged, his bony shoulders hunched as though he were taking the shape of a long-range missile. He did not, however, look nearly as lethal. "I don't know why you're so all-fired interested in that car and that fellow. He looks real ordinary to me, Jim Bob. He's probably some fool paper pusher from Little Rock."

Before Jim Bob could offer his thoughts, Hobert ("call me 'Ho'") Middleton pulled up, his flashy black Cadillac shuddering as he slammed on the brakes inches short of the leaded, regular, full-service. It took a few seconds for him to extricate his plump body from behind the steering wheel, managing during the process to leave his lush gray hair unscathed. He tugged at the crotch of his plaid trousers as he entered the Kwik-Stoppe Shoppe.

"Hey, Ho," Jim Bob said. "You look more worn out than Dahlia's public access ramp. Want a beer?"

Hobert flapped a newspaper under Jim Bob's nose. "Did you have a chance to look at the Starley City paper this morning?" Hobert demanded in a melodious voice that rippled with indignation. "On the front page, just under the story about the Miss Starley City beauty pageant."

"A story about the beauty pageant?" Larry Joe said, leaning over Jim Bob's shoulder to look at the newspaper. "Joyce and I almost decided to go, but one of the boys upchucked on the middle of the living room carpet and she had to stay home so she could clean it up. It liked to never come out of the green shag. Is there a photo from the swimsuit competition?"