"Marc Laidlaw - Flight Risk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laidlaw Marc)

television with poor reception, volume almost inaudibleтАФthe source of the muted voices, probably.

There was another door on the far side of the room, frosted glass pane in its upper half. It was ajar, and
through the gap he saw a mattress laid flat on the floor. On it lay small thin legs in parachute pants, bony
feet in frayed socks.

The giant saw him looking, gave a shrug in that direction. "Go ahead. Look him over."

The boy glanced up as Foster entered, wary and unsurprised, as if he had already seen many strangers
come and go, Foster just another. A movement in the corner startled Foster. A second man stood up, tall
and thin, so pale his face might have been a streak of light cast by headlights, sliding along the wall.

"Thank Christ," the man said. "I can get the hell out of here."

"He's not your replacement, Gaunt," said the giant, coming in behind Foster. "This is the doctor."

"Doctor? So when do I get a break?"

"When this is all over."

"WhenтАФ" Gaunt cut himself short, glaring at Foster. "What does he know?"

"I don't know or care about your business," Foster said. "I am here for the boy."

The pale man laughed. "You're not the only one. Wish the others were as prompt, though."

"Shut up," said the giant. "You need to learn patience."

"That's the doctor's department. Go ahead with him, Doc. I think he needs a good worming myself.
Where he comes from, they've got all kinds of crud. Little brat doesn't know how good he's got it here.
No appreciation. All the toys we bought him, he just sits there."

"Please," Foster said.

"All right. I'm going out for some swill. Since the doctor's here. If that's okay with you."

"Be quick," the giant said.

The two men stepped out into the other room, leaving Foster and the boy all the privacy they were likely
to have. The lock had been removed from the inner door. Foster knelt down next to the mattress.

The boy watched him carefully.

"I am a doctor," Foster said. "Do you know that word? Do you speak English?"

The boy just stared. His hair was as much gray as brown, like the fur of a mangy wolf Foster had seen in
the zoo. His eyes were almost as feral, and far more aware of being caged. Foster tried to smile, but felt
it might be misinterpreted. A smile could just as easily have foreshadowed cruelties in the boy's recent
past.