"Anthony Neil Smith - A Good Summer Job" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Anthony Neil)

"Name's Walt, like my dad." Walt held the tag out for Ray to read. Ray kept looking ahead. "And turn that noise off. Unless you can find a country station."

Walt was too loud. Ray kept his hands on the wheel and said, "We're not far now. Another half hour."

Walt reached for the volume knob and spun it down until the click. Silence in the van for a mile.

Then, Walt said, "What size are you? Your shoes. What size do you wear?"

Ray shifted in his seat, glanced in all the mirrors. The brown car was still holding up traffic. It was keeping pace. Ray thought, Friends of Walt?

"Eleven," Ray said.

"Big, but I can do big. Better than too small. You're a little skinny, but it'll work for a while. I've got some money waiting. I'll go shopping."

"They let you keep money?"

"Old bank account, different name. Got five years interest built up by now, ought to keep me for a week or two." Walt coughed, loud and wet. "So, this guard, I started talking to him sometimes, got friendly. He tells me he wants some good cocaine, and I give him some names. I promise him a slice if he thinks he can get me out. Couple of weeks later, he comes back with a plan.

"He gave me some drug to slow my pulse down, and told me if I played dead good enough, I was free to go. He had it all set up to get around the doctors and the warden. It happened pretty fast, man." He laughed, closed his eyes and rubbed his nose.

Ray wanted to go faster, but figured he didn't have a destination anymore. Walt wasn't armed, but neither was Ray. And this was a big weightlifting murderer who did not want to get caught again. What made Ray sick was the part about a guard helping Walt out. The road was straight there, and cars passed on the left. The brown one was still hanging back, though.

Walt pointed to his right out the windshield. "See that road, the paved one? Pull off there."

"Why? You know, I could just drop you somewhere, and, uh, then..."

"Exactly. How could you explain showing up at the funeral home without me?" Walt laughed, clapped his hands, then tapped Ray on the shoulder with his knuckles. Ray pulled back against his door.

"What are you going to do? I mean, now that you're out, you don't want another murder hanging over you."

Walt stared at Ray, said, "You do know what I did. Okay. I killed that girl because I had to. Because there wasn't any way to let her go after what I did to her and what she knew about me. Now that I've been in prison, in hell, I will kill, maim, rob, lie, cheat, and anything else to keep from going back. I will sell enough dope to buy loyalty, buy friends and protection, and I'd kill them, too, if one even looked like they'd rat me out." Walt eased back in his seat. "It's your bad luck you got this trip. You're going to die, because I need your clothes."

Ray turned off and followed the road, which was rough, the edges crumbling away, growing slimmer with each passing car. They passed houses on one side, train tracks running with them on the other. Walt looked out the window, shaking his head like an adrenaline rush: Pumped, pumped. Patted his hands on his lap.

Ray thought about jumping out, but would have to undo the seatbelt, wouldn't have time before Walt would grab him. If he could break loose, he might be able to outrun the guy. But then Ray couldn't think straight for too long, and he prayed for one of those lightning strike miracles that he'd heard about but never seen. He remembered in the Bible, Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, and Ray thought that was a funny way for God to work because right then he wished the dead would have just stayed dead. If it was your time to go, what could you do?

"You scared to die, Ray?" Walt said.

"Not scared of actually being dead, I guess. But no one wants to die, no one wants to see it coming."

"What's it for you, heaven or hell?"

"Heaven," Ray said, but didn't believe it, which scared him even more. He was sweating and trying to stop his whole life from flashing in his mind.

The road curved to the right and they were passing an abandoned gas station; two rusted chrome pumps out front under the skeleton of an awning, and a small building with a large front window that had FOR RENT painted across it with a phone number underneath.

"Pull in here, behind the store," Walt said.

Ray turned into the parking lot and stirred a cloud of orange dust as he eased the van to a stop at the back of the store. The bathroom door was open, nothing but an old toilet, sink, and leaves inside.