"Christopher Moore - Coyote Blue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore Christopher)

"But it's just a flat tire. You can't manifest a flat tire. I saw the guy that did this. It was. . ." Sam
stopped himself. The Indian in black had triggered his fears of being found out, of going to prison. He
didn't want to relive the shock. "It was probably some glass you picked up. You can't avoid that sort of
thing."

"Why would I manifest glass in my tire?" The question was in earnest; she searched Sam's face
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for an answer. If he had one, he lost it in her eyes. He couldn't get a grip on how to react to any of this.

He said, "The Indian --"

"Do you have a phone?" she interrupted. "I have to call work and tell them I'll be late. I don't
have a spare."

"I can give you a ride," Sam said, feeling stupidly proud of himself for being able to speak at all.
"I was just leaving for an appointment. My car's around the corner."

"Would you do that? I have to go all the way to upper State Street."

Sam looked at his watch, out of habit only; he'd have driven her to Alaska if she had asked. "No
problem," he said. "Follow me."

The girl grabbed a bundle of clothes from the Datsun and Sam led her around the corner to his
Mercedes. He opened the door for her and tried not to watch her get in. Whenever he looked at her his
mind went blank and he had to thrash around looking for what to do next. As he got in the car he caught
a glimpse of her brown legs against the black leather seat and forgot for a moment where the ignition slot
was. He stared at the dashboard and tried to calm himself, even as he was thinking,This is an accident
waiting to happen.

The girl said, "Do you think that the Germans make such good cars to atone for the Holocaust?"

"What?" He started to look at her, but instead turned his attention to the road. "No, I don't think
so. Why do you ask?"

"It doesn't matter, I guess. I just thought it might bother them. I have a leather jacket that I can't
wear anymore because when I have it on I have to drive miles out of my way to avoid going by cow
pastures. Not that the cows would want it back -- zippers are hard for them -- but they have such
beautiful eyes, it makes me feel bad. These seats are leather, aren't they?"

"Vinyl," Sam said. "A new kind of vinyl." He could smell her scent, a mix of jasmine and citrus,
and it was making driving as difficult as following her conversation. He turned the air-conditioning on full
and concentrated on timing the lights.

"I wish I had calf eyes -- those long lashes." She pulled down the visor and looked in the vanity
mirror, then bent over until her head was almost at the steering wheel and looked at Sam. He glanced at
her and felt his breath catch in his throat as she smiled.