"Kate Wilhelm - And the Angels Sing" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

All evening he had listened to reports from up and down the coast, expecting storm damage, light
outages, wrecks, something. At midnight, he had decided it was just another Pacific storm and had
wrapped up the paper. Just the usual: Highway 101 under water here and there, a tree down here and
there, a head-on, no deaths...

The wind screamed and let up, caught its breath and screamed again. Like a kid having a tantrum.
And up and down the coast the people were like parents who had seen too many kids having too many
tantrums. Ignore it until it goes away and then get on about your business, that was their
attitude. Eddie was from Indianapolis where a storm with eighty-mile-an-hour winds made news. Six
years on the coast had not changed that. A storm like this, by God, should make news!

Still scowling, he pulled on his own raincoat, a great, black waterproof garment that covered him
to the floor. He added his black, wide-brimmed hat, and was ready for the weather. He knew that
behind his back they called him Mountain Man, when they weren't calling him Fat Eddie. He secretly



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thought he looked more like The Shadow than not.

He drove to Connally's Tavern and had a couple of drinks, sitting alone in glum silence, and then
offered to drive Truman Cox home when the bar closed at two.

The town of Lewisburg was south of Astoria, north of Cannon Beach, population nine hundred eighty-
four. And at two in the morning they were all sleeping, the town blackened out by rain. There were
the flickering night lights at the drug store, and the lights from the newspaper building, and two
traffic lights, although no other traffic moved. Rain pelted the windshield and made a river
through Main Street, cascaded down the side streets on the left, came pouring off the mountain on
the right. Eddie made the turn onto Third and hit the brakes hard when a figure darted across the
street.

"Jesus!" he grunted as the car skidded, then caught and righted itself. "Who was that?"

Truman was peering out into the darkness, nodding. The figure had vanished down the alley behind
Sal's Restaurant. "Bet it was the Boland girl, the young one. Not Norma. Following her sister's
footsteps."

His tone was not condemnatory, even though everyone knew exactly where those footsteps would lead
the kid.

"She sure earned whatever she got tonight," Eddie said with a grunt, and pulled up into the
driveway of Truman's house. "See you around."

"Yep. Probably will. Thanks for the lift." He gathered himself together and made a dash for his
porch.

But he would be soaked anyway, Eddie knew. All it took was a second out in that driving rain. That
poor, stupid kid, he thought again, as he backed out of the drive, retraced his trail for a block