"Kim Stanley Robinson - Forty Signs of Rain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robinson Kim Stanley)

with his plan. He cursed the driver of a car cutting uselessly in front of him.

Then he was coming on Route 66, and impulsively he decided to get on it going east, even though at this
hour it was restricted to High Occupancy Vehicles only. Normally Frank obeyed this rule, but feeling a
little desperate, he took the turn and curved onto 66, where traffic was indeed moving faster. Every
vehicle was occupied by at least two people, of course, and Frank stayed in the right lane and drove as
unobtrusively as possible, counting on the generally inward attention of multiply occupied vehicles to keep
too many people from noticing his transgression. Of course there were highway patrol cars on the
lookout for lawbreakers like Frank, so he was taking a risk that he didnтАЩt like to take, but it seemed to
him a lower risk than staying on the Beltway as far as arriving late was concerned.

He drove in great suspense, therefore, until finally he could signal to get off at Fairfax. Then as he
approached he saw a police car parked beside the exit, its officers walking back toward their car after
dealing with another miscreant. They might easily look up and see him.
 A big old pickup truck was slowing down to exit before him, and again without pausing to consider his
actions, Frank floored the accelerator, swerved around the truck on its left side, using it to block the
policemenтАЩs view, then cut back across in front of the truck, accelerating so as not to bother it. Room to
spare and no one the wiser. He curved to the right down the exit lane, slowing for the light around the
turn.

Suddenly there was loud honking from behind, and his rearview mirror had been entirely filled by the
front grille of the pickup truck, its headlights at about the same height as the roof of his car. Frank
speeded up. Then, closing on the car in front of him, he had to slow down. Suddenly the truck was now
passing him on the left, as he had passed it earlier, even though this took the truck up onto the exit laneтАЩs
tilted shoulder. Frank looked and glimpsed the infuriated face of the driver, leaning over to shout down at
him. Long stringy hair, mustache, red skin, furious anger.

Frank looked over again and shrugged, making a face and gesture that saidWhat? He slowed down so
that the truck could cut in front of him, a good thing as it slammed into the lane so hard it missed FrankтАЩs
left headlight by an inch. He would have struck Frank for sure if Frank hadnтАЩt slowed down. What a
jerk!

Then the guy hit his brakes so hard that Frank nearly rear-ended him, which could have been a disaster
given how high the truck was jacked up: Frank would have hit windshield first.

тАЬWhat thefuck !тАЭ Frank said, shocked. тАЬFuck you! I didnтАЩt come anywhere near you!тАЭ

The truck came to a full stop, right there on the exit.

тАЬJesus, you fucking idiot!тАЭ Frank shouted.

Maybe Frank had cut closer to this guy than he thought he had. Or maybe the guy was hounding him for
driving solo on 66, even though he had been doing the same thing himself. Now his door flew open and
out he jumped, swaggering back toward Frank. He caught sight of Frank still shouting, stopped and
pointed a quivering finger, reached into the bed of his truck and pulled out a crowbar.

Frank reversed gear, backed up and braked, shifted into drive and spun his steering wheel as he
accelerated around the pickup truckтАЩs right side. People behind them were honking, but they didnтАЩt know
the half of it. Frank zoomed down the now empty exit lane, shouting triumphant abuse at the crazy guy.