"Carl Hiaasen - Hoot" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hiaasen Carl)

door. When the bus turned onto the street where he had seen the running boy, Roy
slipped his backpack over his shoulders and scouted out the window, waiting.
Seven rows back, Dana Matherson was tormenting a sixth grader named Louis. Louis
was from Haiti and Dana was merciless.
As the bus came to a stop at the intersection, Roy poked his head out the window
and checked up and down the street. Nobody was running. Seven kids boarded the
bus, but the strange shoeless boy was not among them.
It was the same story the next day, and the day after that. By Friday, Roy had
pretty much given up. He was sitting ten rows from the door, reading an X-Man
comic, as the bus turned the familiar corner and began to slow down. A movement
at the corner of his eye made Roy glance up from his comic bookЧand there he was
on the sidewalk, running again! Same basketball jersey, same grimy shorts, same
black-soled feet.
As the brakes of the school bus wheezed, Roy grabbed his backpack off the floor
and stood up. At that instant, two big sweaty hands closed around his neck.
"Where ya goin', cowgirl?"
"Lemme go," Roy rasped, squirming to break free.
The grip on his throat tightened. He felt Dana's ashtray breath on his right
ear: "How come you don't got your boots on today? Who ever heard of a cowgirl
wearing Air Jordans?"
"They're Reeboks," Roy squeaked.
The bus had stopped, and the students were starting to board. Roy was furious.
He had to get to the door fast, before the driver closed it and the bus began to
roll.
But Dana wouldn't let go, digging his fingers into Roy's windpipe. Roy was
having trouble getting air, and struggling only made it worse.
"Look at you," Dana chortled from behind, "red as a tomato!"
Roy knew the rules against fighting on the bus, but he couldn't think of
anything else to do. He clenched his right fist and brought it up blindly over
his shoulder, as hard as he could. The punch landed on something moist and
rubbery.
There was a gargled cry; then Dana's hands fell away from Roy's neck. Panting,
Roy bolted for the door of the bus just as the last student, a tall girl with
curly blond hair and red-framed eyeglasses, came up the steps. Roy clumsily
edged past her and jumped to the ground.
"Where do you think you're going?" the girl demanded.
"Hey, wait!" the bus driver shouted, but Roy was already a blur.
The running boy was way ahead of him, but Roy figured he could stay close enough
to keep him in sight. He knew the kid couldn't go at full speed forever.
He followed him for several blocksЧover fences, through shrubbery, weaving
through yapping dogs and lawn sprinklers and hot tubs. Eventually Roy felt
himself tiring. This kid is amazing, he thought. Maybe he's practicing for the
track team.
Once Roy thought he saw the boy glance over his shoulder, as if he knew he was
being pursued, but Roy couldn't be certain. The boy was still far ahead of him,
and Roy was gulping like a beached trout. His shirt was soaked and perspiration
poured off his forehead, stinging his eyes.
The last house in the subdivision was still under construction, but the shoeless
boy dashed heedlessly through the lumber and loose nails. Three men hanging
drywall stopped to holler at him, but the boy never broke stride. One of the