"Yvonne Navarro - I Know What to Do2" - читать интересную книгу автора (Navarro Yvonne)

still
make out Chanci's gangly black shape with her head poked into the bathroom.
"What the hell is she doing?" I asked.
The dog made the mistake of stepping into the bathroom and Maggie was down
the
hall instantly to plant a solid whack on Chanci's rump. "Out!" The animal
backpedalled and ran for the living room, nails slipping on the linoleum. For
a
second I thought she was going to trip and fall flat and I groaned inside;
the
dog was so clumsy it was embarrassing.
Maggie glanced into the bathroom and looked around, muttering to herself
about
dog hairs. It was still early, so I decided to keep my opinion about white
throw
rugs to myself.
"What was she looking at?" I asked, reaching down to tie my boots.
"I don't know," she said, flipping on the light. "There's nothing in here --
wait! Oh Jesus." She sounded disgusted.
"Now what?" I looked at the boots doubtfully. There was some serious wear
around
the backs; I figured by the end of the week I'd need a new pair and wondered
if
we had the money. Out of that same paycheck would have to come Dolly's
alimony
payment. With a name like that you'd think I would have known better.
"I think we've got cockroaches."
I got up and went to the bathroom door. "Where? Did you see one?" The room
looked clean to me -- too clean. That's the effect when you use too much
white,
like in a hospital. Personally I always went for blue.
"I think so -- I mean I saw something. It ran under the bathtub."
We had one of those old-fashioned clawfoot tubs, the kind with about four or
five inches of space under it. I got down on my knees and peered underneath,
but
it was too dark to see anything. That was another thing that went against the
place: one stupid fluorescent light in the bathroom. I hated fluorescent
lights
and my list of grievances was growing longer. There was something way in the
back, but I wasn't sure; maybe just a hole in the plaster around the
baseboard
-- the building wasn't exactly in great shape. I stuck an arm under the tub
and
groped around for a few seconds, knowing that no cockroach on this earth is
going to let me catch it. I've lived in worse places and roaches were old
territory to me.
Something bit me on the forefinger.
I mean really bit me -- fire spread up my finger and through the palm even
before I could yank my arm out from beneath the tub. "Son of a bitch!" I
screamed, jerking up from the floor and grabbing for the faucet. Garbled