"Lipinski, Thomas - Home Office" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lipinski Thomas)

The interior of the trailer was less than Dorsey had expected. There was a cramped sink and range for a kitchen, a couple of lawn chairs pointed at a small television screen, ashtrays and bags of trash scattered across the floor. Near the center of the trailer was a plywood partition with a doorway cut through the center. A blanket hung by nails served as a curtain.

"Ellie, you back there?" The deputy called. "You back there alone? Get out here. It's me, Jimmy."

Dorsey heard a rustling sound and then a hand with painted fingernails slowly pushed the blanket aside. Her face looked tired, worn out, and Dorsey had to recalculate her age into the mid-fifties. She stepped out wearing the same robe, already working on a smoke. She gave Dorsey a glance and then turned her attention to the deputy.

"What'd I tell you about the smokes?" The deputy said. "Be careful, you'll start another fire. Next time you might not be so lucky."

"I'm careful," Ellie said. "Never smoke in bed anymore. And I keep the ashtrays clean."

The deputy shook his head. "You live like a pig. You never change. Go back inside."

Ellie went into the back room and secured the blanket back in place. The deputy settled into one of the lawn chairs and directed Dorsey into the other. Dorsey slipped off his backpack and carefully lowered himself into the chair.

"She's an idiot," The deputy said, gesturing toward the rear of the trailer. "I mean really, an idiot. Special ed schools when she was a kid, IQ tests that put her right at the bottom of the barrel. I think she can sign her name, she seems to do it okay on the compensation checks."

Dorsey sat forward, resting elbows on knees. "You know that's what I'm here about, right? She can't do this sort of thing and still get the checks. Doesn't make much difference how smart she is, or isn't."

"Her checks come to the post office and she takes them right across the road, cashes them at a bar there." The deputy sounded wistful, as if he hadn't heard Dorsey speak. "The bartender who cashes the checks, he's the one who pimps her off to the hunters. He's got some other girls, younger ones, but they cost more. Ellie, she's cut rate. I told the guy before, his name's Carl. I told Carl not to sent any of his business this way. Guess I'll have to talk to him again."

Dorsey watched the deputy as he went from examining his fingernails to looking at the ceiling, apparently searching for his next words. As he watched, he thought of all the things he might say. How he might apologize for not checking in with the sheriff's office as a professional courtesy. He could give the guy the facts of life about whores and insurance money, really lay it out for him, city boy to country cousin. But Dorsey found himself more intrigued than worried. "You want to tell me something," Dorsey said. "You want to ask me something."

The deputy settled his gaze on Dorsey. "Ellie, she's my sister. She's also the sheriff's niece, if you're the type who needs to be pressured first. But for now let's just say she's my idiot sister who was married to a guy almost as stupid as she is, at least until the dump truck he worked on dropped a couple tons of gravel over his head. She's just my idiot sister who I try to keep from being a whore."

"You could shut down Carl all together," Dorsey suggested.

"My uncle the sheriff wouldn't like that. They got an arrangement for some things. That's how it works everywhere I guess. Just because we got more trees than people around here, it don't change things much."

There was a moment's silence that no one seemed interested in breaking. Dorsey mentally ran through the file material he had been given and found himself focused on the amount of that bi-weekly check that was sent out to Ellie by Blackwell. The amount was little more than loose change six years ago when the award had been made. Now it was a joke, just enough to live in a tin box in the woods. And then a home office big shot gets a bug up his ass and makes Corso send Dorsey out. To help make the world safe for insurance companies.

"So," Dorsey asked, "how do we go about fixing this thing we got here?"

The deputy shrugged. "First off, I guess I need to go beat the shit out of Carl. Sheriff won't mind, not after he hears what it's all about. Once Carl and a couple of other guys around here get the point, Ellie won't be a whore no more. Then she'll be entitled to her check again."

"You can do that?" Dorsey asked. "Sounds like you tried before."

"I never tried so hard before. This time I'll make more of an impression."

"So," Dorsey said, "Now it's up to me."

The deputy nodded in agreement. "You're right. You're the man on the spot. If it means anything, I'll owe you a favor. So will the sheriff. That's got to be worth something to a guy in your business."

Dorsey held his gaze. "Yeah, yeah. It means something."

******************

The pay phone hung on the wall inside a diner along U.S. Route 219. Behind the counter, crowded with customers, was a banner welcoming deer hunters from around the state. Dorsey held the receiver in close, plunging the opposite ear with a finger.

"So there's nothing to it then?" Corso asked over the line.