"John E. Stith - Manhattan Transfer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stith John E)

utter the one word traditionally heard as black box recordings
terminate.
#
Matt Sheehan had heard little more than the roar of the
A-train subway since it sped away from the Jay Street station in
Brooklyn and lurched under the East River. He'd taken a small
detour through Brooklyn after landing at JFK and taking the
subway through Queens.
As he stared out the window into the dark, he saw nothing
except an occasional utility lamp as the car rocked on its rails.
He was aware of snippets of conversation, but paid no attention.
The morning rush hour crowd was so dense, Matt held his small
flight bag in the same hand that gripped the overhead strap. The
woman in front of him faced the door, pretending as he did that
it was comfortable to be as close as lovers. The mass of bodies
rocked with the motion of the car. Through the front of the car,
Matt could see the lead car making small zig-zag motions.
The woman suddenly turned and looked around angrily. She
scanned nearby faces, returning to Matt's. Her eyes were green.
Her skin looked tanned, but the smooth texture said her
complexion came from parents rather than the sun. She said, "I
really don't appreciate that." Matt got a glimpse of even white
teeth.
It took Matt a moment to realize someone in the crowd must
have pinched her or touched her in a way even more intimate than
the close contact necessitated. He almost said, "You sound like
my wife," but instead he hunched up one shoulder and extricated
his free arm from the mass of bodies. He held his hand palm out.
"I didn't touch you," he said calmly. "At least not anywhere
except here." His gaze flicked down to where her shoulder
touched his chest.
The woman, whose hair was shiny black, held his gaze a
moment before she said, "I'm sorry," and started scanning other
faces again.
Me, too, he thought as the subway continued to jostle the
riders, a giant hand rocking the crib too energetically. Matt
felt tired. He hadn't slept well on the flight from Mexico City
to JFK, and wished he had more energy for his detour through
Manhattan.
He let his eyelids droop closed, then popped them open a
second later, when the car lurched violently. The overhead light
went out. In the same instant, a shower of sparks splattered
from somewhere behind him, and the screaming and shouting
started.
A rumbling series of loud explosions sounded, so many of
them separated by so little time that the noise was more a
high-speed rat-a-tat-tat than distinct booms. Matt felt his body
pushed forward into the woman ahead of him as emergency brakes
decelerated the car, and he felt a sudden breeze behind him. The
floor of the car lurched again, and by the time the car jerked to