"MacDonald, John - Travis McGee 06 - Bright Orange for the Shroud" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacDonald John D)

"The thunder woke me up," she said. "Then I heard you."

"And didn't know it was me, and came blundering out. Without the pistol."

She sprawled into a chair, yawned, combed her hair back with her fingers. "So those things spook me, Trav. And it isn't going to get that rough anyway." 95!

"I'm so glad to hear the reassurances of a qualified expert." "Are you serious?"

"If somebody put neat little holes in our three heads, took the Flush out into that pass, headed her west, set the pilot, opened the sea cocks, dived overboard and swam back, then they could stop being nervous about a quarter of a million dollars. Some people just as alive as you, dear girl, implausible though that may seem, were probably killed today somewhere in the world for the price of a bowl of rice. If I come aboard at night again, and there's no gun in your pretty paw, I'm going to welt you pretty good, enough to keep you on your feet for a few days."

"Man enough?" "Try me."

She made a face. "Okay. I'm sorry." She jumped at the next white flash of lightning, and the rain came with the thunder, roaring against the deck overhead, hissing into the bay waters around us.

"Have a happy day?" I asked. "Nice, Trav. Nice." "How is he?"

She gave me a wicked grin. "I think if you hung him by his heels in a barrel of ice water, he might start to wake up a little." "Don't overdo a good thing, girl."

"And does that happen to be any of your damned business?" "Don't flare up at me. It's a reasonable suggestion. You've got ten times his vitality. If I have to use him, I don't want some damned zombie."

"You won't have. You'll have a man. Something you wouldn't have had before. Who set you up to know everything about everything, you silly bastard? It's up to him every time. He deals every hand. So who's pushing him into more than he can handle? I want him to strut a little. To take charge. With her, you know what he got? When the cupboard was locked, nothing. Other times, she took charge. Until there just wasn't any response possible, and then she'd tell him he was a damned poor excuse for a man. That was poisonous, Trav. Poisonous. Merciless. Any woman can accept more than any one man can give. It's a question of mechanics. She can make him feel inad-

equate, and once she gets him really worrying about whether he can or he can't, then more often he can't.

"I tell the poor guy he's too much, that he's ruining me. Here is a great triumph. We were walking on the beach there, making dumb jokes. All of a sudden he gave me a great wallop across the fanny with the flat of his hand, laughed like a maniac, and ran like a kid with me chasing him and cursing him, just because, you see, all of a sudden he felt good. It made me want to cry. That sweet guy, he's a sexual convalescent. I don't demand. I take it as it comes and fake it when it doesn't, because right at this stage he has to feel that he's terrific. And another thing, that's the same for man or woman. When it's good, it doesn't drag you down. It refreshes. When it's a bad thing between people, bad in their heads and bad in their hearts, maybe hating a little, that's when it makes you drag around afterward, feeling sour and old. This way, you have a little nap, you wake up starved, you go around humming and whistling. So don't give me this quack about zombies, Trav. Maybe I'm being a damn fool. I don't know. I don't love him. He just isn't... quick enough, maybe, the way he thinks, and we don't really laugh the same way at the same things. But I am terribly fond of him. He's so decent. Now it's like watching a kid grow up. Maybe it's penance for me. I've bitched up some guys, sometimes meaning to, sometimes not."

She gave me a rueful smile and shook her head. "Oh, hell. I sound as if I was making such a big fat sacrifice, huh? Yes sir, old girl, it's a terrible chore, isn't it? Such dull work. McGee, if you've earned one of those beautiful Mexican beers for yourself, I'll open one for each of us. And you can tell me your adventures. Believe me, we did worry about you."

"Every minute. Get the beers."

As she came back with them, the rain moved on away from us as quickly as it had come, making the night silence more intense. She listened intently, her face still, as I recounted events, facts and the resultant guesses.

She shook her head. "That club part. You've got a lot of gall, you know that?"

"People take you at the value you put on yourself. That makes it easy for them. All you do is blend in. Accept the

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customs of every new tribe. And you try not to say too much because then you sound as if you were selling something. And you might contradict yourself. Sweetie, everybody in this wide world is so constantly, continuously concerned with the impact he's making, he just doesn't have the time to wonder too much about the next guy."

She frowned. "You want to move fast, and find out as much as you can in a hurry. Right?"

"Right."

"Then I think this Boone Waxwell might be more up my alley."

"You have just one job, and you're doing it nicely." "Do you want to be efficient? Or protective?" "Both, Chook."

"But you've got no approach to Waxwell." "I didn't until this moment." "Like what?"