"park_9781436290630_oeb_c43_r1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robert B Parker- [Spenser 36] - Rough Weather)

RoughWeather
43
I went to see Van Meer. We sat in the same room we’d sat in last time. He offered me a drink. I declined. He made one for himself. It appeared that he’d started early today. He was already a little glassy-eyed at two in the afternoon.
I couldn’t think of a way to ease in, so I just went.
“You in financial difficulty?” I said.
“No,” he said, “not at all.”
“The bank’s foreclosing on this place,” I said.
“Oh, the banks are always doing something,” he said. “I don’t pay any attention.”
“You’ve cashed out your life insurance,” I said.
Van Meer smiled happily.
“Had better things to do with it,” he said.
“What about your daughter? She was the beneficiary.”
“She was marrying into one of the richest families in the country,” he said. “She didn’t need it.”
I nodded. I wondered if he remembered that his daughter was missing.
“So the reports of your financial vulnerability are greatly exaggerated.”
Van Meer nodded several times.
“You bet,” he said. “I’m rich.”
“In the early 1980s,” I said, “while she was married to you, Heidi was in Bucharest, Romania, with Harden Bradshaw.”
“I know,” Van Meer said.
“Talk about that,” I said.
“We had a big fight,” he said. “She went to Bucharest. When she came back, we made up. In fact, that’s when Adelaide was conceived.”
He sipped his drink. He was sedate. No guzzling.
“What was the fight about?”
“Oh, God,” he said. “I don’t know. We had fights all the time.”
“You know she was cheating on you?”
“Yes.”
“With Bradshaw?”
“Yes.”
“Might it have been a fight about that?” I said.
“Coulda been,” Van Meer said.
“How’d you feel about that?” I said.
Van Meer shrugged.
“Hell, she cheated on me all the time, with anybody available,” he said, and sipped again.
“How’d you feel about that?” I said.
He laughed.
“You sound like all of my many shrinks,” he said. “Why do you want to know all this?”
“If I knew ahead of time what was important to know and what was not . . .” I said.
He nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.”
He had another swallow. Like a lot of experienced boozers, he could go a long time before he began to slur his words. He held his glass up a little and looked at his drink.
“Not too long after we got married, we had some wiring done at our new house,” he said. “She fucked the electrician.”
I nodded.
“She needed sex, and she needed variety,” Van Meer said. “She was fucking me while she was married to that art professor. She was fucking Bradshaw when she was married to me.”
“Busy,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Looking for Mr. Right?” I said.
“Mr. Feels Good,” Van Meer said. “As far as I could tell, she fucked plumbers and limo drivers and delivery men, and for all I know doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs.”
“One man would never be enough,” I said.
“That is correct.”
“And you could live with that?” I said.
“Better than I could live without her,” Van Meer said.
“And now you have to do both,” I said.
Van Meer nodded and took another sip.
“Yup,” he said.

RoughWeather
43
I went to see Van Meer. We sat in the same room we’d sat in last time. He offered me a drink. I declined. He made one for himself. It appeared that he’d started early today. He was already a little glassy-eyed at two in the afternoon.
I couldn’t think of a way to ease in, so I just went.
“You in financial difficulty?” I said.
“No,” he said, “not at all.”
“The bank’s foreclosing on this place,” I said.
“Oh, the banks are always doing something,” he said. “I don’t pay any attention.”
“You’ve cashed out your life insurance,” I said.
Van Meer smiled happily.
“Had better things to do with it,” he said.
“What about your daughter? She was the beneficiary.”
“She was marrying into one of the richest families in the country,” he said. “She didn’t need it.”
I nodded. I wondered if he remembered that his daughter was missing.
“So the reports of your financial vulnerability are greatly exaggerated.”
Van Meer nodded several times.
“You bet,” he said. “I’m rich.”
“In the early 1980s,” I said, “while she was married to you, Heidi was in Bucharest, Romania, with Harden Bradshaw.”
“I know,” Van Meer said.
“Talk about that,” I said.
“We had a big fight,” he said. “She went to Bucharest. When she came back, we made up. In fact, that’s when Adelaide was conceived.”
He sipped his drink. He was sedate. No guzzling.
“What was the fight about?”
“Oh, God,” he said. “I don’t know. We had fights all the time.”
“You know she was cheating on you?”
“Yes.”
“With Bradshaw?”
“Yes.”
“Might it have been a fight about that?” I said.
“Coulda been,” Van Meer said.
“How’d you feel about that?” I said.
Van Meer shrugged.
“Hell, she cheated on me all the time, with anybody available,” he said, and sipped again.
“How’d you feel about that?” I said.
He laughed.
“You sound like all of my many shrinks,” he said. “Why do you want to know all this?”
“If I knew ahead of time what was important to know and what was not . . .” I said.
He nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.”
He had another swallow. Like a lot of experienced boozers, he could go a long time before he began to slur his words. He held his glass up a little and looked at his drink.
“Not too long after we got married, we had some wiring done at our new house,” he said. “She fucked the electrician.”
I nodded.
“She needed sex, and she needed variety,” Van Meer said. “She was fucking me while she was married to that art professor. She was fucking Bradshaw when she was married to me.”
“Busy,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Looking for Mr. Right?” I said.
“Mr. Feels Good,” Van Meer said. “As far as I could tell, she fucked plumbers and limo drivers and delivery men, and for all I know doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs.”
“One man would never be enough,” I said.
“That is correct.”
“And you could live with that?” I said.
“Better than I could live without her,” Van Meer said.
“And now you have to do both,” I said.
Van Meer nodded and took another sip.
“Yup,” he said.