The Best American Mystery Stories 2019
- Автор: Рэш Рон, Козак Харли Джейн
- Год: 2019
- Язык: английский
- Год: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
- ISBN: 978-1-328-63609-6
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Best American Mystery Stories 2019». Краткое содержание книги:
Jonny’s “rich man” was, he said, an infrequent customer, a man who descended from his no-doubt high-rise place in the CeeZee to go slumming in the badlands for some hot sex. I tried to figure out how I could turn him to my advantage.
Actual sex was out, of course, but maybe the lure of sex? Unfortunately, I don’t look much like a street girl. It’s not just that I don’t dress like them. I’m kind of skinny, narrow-hipped and flat-chested for my age. I’m not pretty. And I wear my hair and clothes so that from any distance you’d take me for a boy. Jonny tells me he thinks that’s sexy, but it keeps most of the male predators at bay. Jonny has his own problems.
But Jonny tells me his rich man isn’t looking to sex me. He wants to meet me because Jonny told him I read a lot.
“What is he, some kind of kinky?” I asked.
“He’s smart. And he reads too.”
And, when I met him, he was nothing like what I expected.
We met in an eatery tucked behind a fight club, Jonny introducing us. I was impressed with Jonny, being able to get in touch so quickly with his rich man, and setting things up right away. It was possible I might have a place to sleep tonight. Well, there’s always somewhere to sleep, but I sleep better when there are no rats sniffing around me. But I should have considered the implications of this speedy meeting.
“Don’choo let her looks fool ya, Doc,” Jonny said.
What I wondered was how the looks of this rich guy — Dr. Jones, if you can believe that — would affect me. He was about six and a half tall, somewhere north of his youth, but still very fit, very toned. He looked like a Greek god, or maybe a media star. He had curly blond hair and penetrating blue eyes. I thought he was gorgeous and wondered if that made him a real threat.
We got soy burgers. Jones only had one bite of his, so I finished it off after I’d wolfed mine. I hadn’t eaten since morning.
He said he’d been looking forward to meeting me, ever since Jonny had mentioned me — he didn’t say how or why my name had come up. “I’m really delighted,” he said to me across the tiny table.
“Why?” I asked. “What am I to you?”
“Well, you’re literate, for one thing — you read.”
“Plenty of people read,” I said.
“How many people do you know,” he asked me, “who actually read for pleasure, who enjoy reading?”
I glanced at Jonny. He looked uncomfortable. “Not many,” I admitted. “But how many do you know?”
Jones grinned. “Touché,” he said. “I think it’s a dying art — writing, especially. Literature. Do you write?”
“Me?” I’d never thought of it. I shrugged. “What would I write about?”
“Your life?” he responded. “Anything you know. Anything you care about.”
“I cared about my home,” I said. “They burned it down today.”
A look that might have been real concern passed briefly over his face. “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “Maybe I can help you there.”
I folded my arms and pulled them close, and I think that told him something, so he changed the subject.
“The reason I wanted to meet you — I’d like to give you some tests.”
“Why? What kinda tests?”
“Well, let’s just say that I’ve been in a dispute with some of my colleagues and I think you can help me prove my point.” He picked up a slim case from near his feet. He opened it and removed a large e-tablet. “Just a few basic tests — IQ, aptitude...”
“You want me to take these tests here?”
He looked up and took in his surroundings, maybe for the first time. He shrugged and smiled thinly. “Maybe not,” he said. He turned to Jonny. “You got some place that’s quieter, a little more private?”
Jonny shook his head. “Not less ya wanna try a juice house, hope nobody’s got bad juice, havin’ a fit.”
I frowned and Jones said, “I guess not. Okay, let’s go uptown.” He packed his tab and stood up. He towered over us. Jonny’s not much taller than me.
“Uptown,” I said, “where uptown? How?”
Jones gave me a very boyish grin. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you? I’ve got a car that’ll pick us up. We’ll go to my place.”
“In the CeeZee?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t need me,” Jonny said. I figured he’d collect his payment later, if it hadn’t been up front. He pushed his chair back, one leg catching on the rough-planked floor, and stood. “I’ll see ya, l’il—” he broke off, maybe not wanting to use his pet name for me in front of Jones. “See ya ’round, Nik,” he said, and left me with Jones.
It didn’t bother me. I didn’t need Jonny for protection. I knew I could handle Jones. He still hadn’t told me why he wanted to test me.
When we got out to the street, there was a black car waiting, all polished and gleaming in the scattered lights, the windows mirrored. Nobody was near it, which struck me as odd, until I saw a juicehead wobble up to it and start to lean against it. There was a visible spark and a yelp and the juicehead staggered quickly away from the car.
Jones said, “The car’s protected,” and worked his remote, springing the doors open. “Get in,” he said, gesturing. “It won’t bite.”
As I got into the car he went around to the other side and got in next to me. He touched a button on the dash and the doors closed. The car pulled out from the curb, executed a neat U-turn, and headed for an avenue uptown.
No one could see in, but we could see out. Not easily, though. From the inside the windows looked tinted, darkened, so that only bright lights could really be seen — and there weren’t many of them left on the avenue. Most had been vandalized years ago, the remaining streetlights bunched together along short stretches in “good” neighborhoods. There were few other lights. Shop owners and residents alike were stingy with their electricity.
Fortunately, the car didn’t need light to go where it was programmed to go.
“This is pretty neat,” I said. “I never been in one of these.”
“Really? It’s just a car.”
“To you, maybe.”
He gave me a searching look in the car’s dim interior light, like he couldn’t figure me out. That was all right. I hadn’t figured him out either.
Jones leaned toward me. “Why do you always wear that fierce look? Do you ever smile?”
“What do I have to smile about?” I pressed my back against the door.
He shrugged. “I don’t know, but life has many little pleasures. Riding in this car, perhaps?”
“Okay.” I let my face relax into a small smile. “How’s that? For your car.”
“Much better,” he said. “Makes you look cuter.”
“I don’t want to look cuter.”
“No? You’re a girl. You need to look cuter, be attractive. It’s going to be your stock in trade, when you’re grown up.”
I lost the smile. What kind of advice was that — from a doctor?
He changed the subject. “How old do you think I am?”
“I don’t know. Older than me. What? Forty maybe?” That seemed like a safe and maybe flattering guess. Younger men like to be taken for five to ten years older. But I was wrong.
Jones chuckled. “In a sense, you’re right. That’s the target age for my treatments. Actually, I’m eighty-six. You couldn’t guess, could you?”
“Is this another test?”
He laughed. “I’ve got the body and, um, the stamina of a forty-year-old man.” He seemed to smile and laugh a lot. “And the wisdom and experience of an older man.”