The Fallen
- Автор: Паркер Т. Джефферсон
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: William Morrow
- ISBN: 978-0-06-056238-0
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Fallen». Краткое содержание книги:
I thought about that. “That seems synesthetic to me. But I’ve never heard anybody say that writing music is synesthetic.”
“Nope, me neither.”
Lillian looked back toward the café. The group had dwindled to just three. Bart spread his arms and held forth. Lillian shook her head and looked at me.
“Well,” I said. “That was nice until the end.”
“Yeah,” said Lillian.
“I like what you said to Bart. It was true and funny.”
She shook her head. “Anyway. Well...”
“Have a nice night,” I said. I wasn’t in a hurry to end our conversation but I couldn’t think of anything directly relevant to say.
“You, too,” said Lillian.
“Really nice to... Have you always heard music with certain faces?” I asked. I knew I was just prolonging the good-bye, and she looked at me like she knew it, too. I felt a tug of betrayal of Gina but the words came out anyway. “Or is it new?”
She shook her head. “Yeah, it’s a new thing. All new, all new. I was normal and then my brother was... It’s a long story. Well, I guess I really should go.”
“Drive safely.”
“This thing only goes fifty.”
“Buckle up anyway,” I said. “Had the brakes checked lately?”
“Sure, yes.”
“They’re important.”
“I mean, actually, I was normal until last year when my, well... when my brother, Rich, he was in Saudi with Global Thermal, and they, uh... well, he was one of those guys who— They beheaded him. And when I saw the picture there were these three men in masks and I got this really awful loud ringing in my ears and I kept seeing those three men in the masks over and over in my mind and I couldn’t get them out no matter what I did, awake or sleeping, it was always those three men in the masks with this banner behind them with squiggly writing on it like snakes and this terrible sound of shearing metal and wind and it was so horrible I didn’t sleep for two weeks and ever since then faces give me sounds and music and sometimes the music is really scary and fuck, I’m so sorry I brought this up.”
She swung open the creaky door, slumped into the front seat, swept the elegant old coat onto her lap, then slammed the door shut and stared straight ahead. Six inches of red velvet remained outside the door.
I motioned for her to put the window down but she threw open the creaky door.
“Window’s broke,” she said.
“You can heal up,” I said. I knelt and lifted the creased coattail back inside the doorjamb, then stood. “There’s people you can talk to and things you can do and some prescription drugs that can help. You can’t hold it all in. You could—”
“I’ve done all that.” Lillian stood up and locked her wet blue eyes onto mine. “Look, I’m good now. I’m good. It just catches up with me sometimes. They took Richard, but Richard gave me music. They took Richard, but Richard gave me music. There. See? I know it’s true. I can breathe deeply and control my own emotions. I am in control. In, out. There. Lillian controls Lillian. Masked terrorists do not control her. They bombed the bastards to smithereens a day later so what am I so upset about?”
She stared at me and breathed deeply, in and out, in and out. “I’m good. See?”
“Well, yeah, you’re doing good now, Lillian.”
“I’m a real pro.”
“That’s a wonderful gift your brother gave you.”
“I don’t want the gift,” she said. “I want my brother.”
“I understand.”
“You got a wonderful gift when you hit that awning.”
“I don’t want the gift either,” I said.
“I understand. Bring your wife to the Belly Up in Solana Beach and hear me sing some Sunday. I play evenings from six to seven to warm up the crowd for the stars. Call ahead to make sure I’m on. Sometimes I can’t face a crowd.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Thanks for walking me out.”
I drove down my street just after ten and saw an unusual coupe parked across from my home. I was pretty sure it didn’t belong to anyone in the neighborhood. I recognized it as a 1985 Thunderbird because my mother had driven one back in the early nineties.
I pressed the automatic garage-door opener and watched in my rearview as a woman got out of the T-Bird. She stood, looked around nervously, then started across the street toward me. Her sweater flapped in the glow of the streetlamps. She had something clutched to her chest.
Instead of pulling into my garage, I killed the engine and stepped out.
“Hello, Ms. Buntz,” I said.
“Invite me inside,” she said. She continued past me into the garage.
“Would you like to come in?”
I unlocked the door to the house, flipped on a light, and held the door open for Arliss Buntz. She was carrying a pale yellow tape player that looked old. When she walked past me, she smelled like lilac.
I stepped in behind her. A breeze had come up from the east and the house had cooled down nicely with the windows left open. I glanced at the answering machine but there were no messages. I motioned to the breakfast table and Arliss set her old tape player on it, but she didn’t sit.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
“Ethics Authority phone calls are randomly monitored and recorded,” said Arliss Buntz. “This is done in accordance with our charter from the city. Director Kaven compiles, duplicates, and distributes the recordings on Fridays so that the chief of police, the mayor, the City Council, and other approved individuals can listen to them. As the head of Enforcement, John Van Flyke receives a copy every Wednesday. I catalog and store them. During a slow period this afternoon I listened to last week’s tape and I ran across this conversation. You should hear it.”
The player was old and faded, with oversize controls for the elderly and the function of each button written on it in Braille. She pushed the green “play” button.
I heard this conversation:
MAN: ...me.
WOMAN: Hello, Garrett.
GARRETT: How are you?
WOMAN: Scared.
GARRETT: We’re all set then, for nine?
WOMAN: I’ll be there.
GARRETT: I haven’t looked forward to something like this in... ever.
WOMAN: Let’s please just see how it goes.
GARRETT: I will. I’m going to. I feel like I’m crawling out of the dark.
WOMAN: It’s just a date.
GARRETT: It’s more than that.
WOMAN: I know. I never thought the darkness would break.
GARRETT: I love you, Stell.
STELLA: I love you, Garrett. Please don’t drink tonight.
GARRETT: I haven’t had a drink in two weeks. I’m in control, Stella. I told you I was, and I am. I’m going to the bridge before, just to say a prayer.
STELLA: Include me in it.
GARRETT: I’ll see you soon.
STELLA: Please be careful.
GARRETT: “I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
STELLA: (laughing softly) Okay, Mr. Highwayman.
GARRETT: Okay, Bess, the landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
STELLA: Hardly.
GARRETT: You’ll always be that to me. Bye.
There was a loud click, followed by silence. The recording was weak and had some static, but clear enough to hear. Because of the interrupted greeting at the beginning and the abrupt click at the end, I figured that Arliss had made it herself on the crude old machine, from the copy passed down by Kaven to Van Flyke.