Chuck Logan - After the Rain
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- Название:After the Rain
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After the Rain: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
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Broker leaned forward. “You have a reputation. Some terms got thrown around.”
Nina’s glower was frayed at the edges. She was exhausted. Playing barfly with Ace was eating up her reserves of control.
Broker raised his eyebrows, questioning. “So the sheriff asked me what the Purple Platoon is.”
“There is no Purple Platoon.”
“Of course there isn’t. How can there be? It’s part of Delta and Delta doesn’t exist.”
“Are you through?”
Broker shrugged. “Just saying, you should have gone to these guys, they probably have some real undercover resources-this being their turf and all.”
Nina shook her head and looked out the window. “If we don’t run out this grounder, there could be…” Her voice petered out, exhausted.
It struck Broker that he had not taken the time to really study her face in minute detail since he’d hit town. He did so now and saw that she had acquired the streamline of sheer necessity; hollow, driven, almost like a haggard statue of a woman who had been pretty in real life. But now her human touches did not survive the translation into metal. Not his wife anymore. Not a mother. She’d turned into this fucking iron mask of…courage, duty, sacrifice…
Broker had seen that look on people’s faces before. People who were getting ready to die for something. It made him furious.
“So there it is,” Nina said.
Jesus, Broker, get ahold of yourself. This was serious, he told himself. Not personal. He tried. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Tell Holly something’s staging up with this George guy tonight.” She shivered, hugged herself. “But it’s weird because this Indian guy named Joe Reed made a point of letting me know Ace and George are going to meet at some old missile sight east of town. This Indian is all screwed up-missing fingers, face burned to hell…”
Broker nodded. “I saw him at the equipment dealer across the road from the bar this morning.” And I’m pretty sure he made off with my.45. But I ain’t telling you that.
“He’s real bad news. I get the feeling he’s been…trained. Then there’s Ace’s weird brother, Dale. God knows what he’s into. Gordy’s easy, he’s just a minor thug with delusions of grandeur. Holly needs to check them all out. There’s something about them as a group that doesn’t track,” Nina said.
It was crazy. Broker watched his rising frustration appear like some brain-dead clown dancing in front of his eyes. He couldn’t throttle it. Couldn’t find a way to tell her he was worried sick about her.
He smiled tightly and pointed at the broad back of the highway patrolman, up at the counter. “If I was you I’d ask him to check out your Indian. Probably knows him by his first name.”
Nina scowled. “I can do this, goddammit.”
Broker narrowed his eyes and it jumped up between them-their marriage, their personalities, the whole rolling ball of wax jammed full of razor blades…“No, you can’t. You’re going to screw up. C’mon, Nina. Admit it. You’re not a soldier. Not really. Armies are human systems that depend on cooperation. You’ve always been a prima donna. A lone wolf.”
“Oh, right, and when did you turn into Mr. Cooperation! You spent so long out in the cold that half the cops in Minnesota think you migrated to the other side.”
It was coming apart at lunch, in front of maybe a dozen farmers and one state highway cop.
“Just saying, you should listen to me on this one.” Broker lowered his voice. But it was too late. She was frayed, nothing but bare wires.
She stood up and jammed her finger. “Stop trying to tell me what to do.”
Heads turned in the restaurant as Nina walked out. An older guy in a feed-store cap removed the filter cigarette from between his teeth and said, “Now, that girl was ticked.”
Broker stared at the egg yolk on his plate. When he raised his eyes he saw that the state patrol cop had swiveled in his counter chair and was watching him. Patient, like Yeager. Waiting.
Broker looked out the window, saw Nina striding back up the road. He looked down at the numbers she’d written on the back of the business card. She could easily have made the calls.
But you want me in the middle of this thing.
Chapter Twenty-three
“This is Jane.”
“How you liking that Air Force chow? As I recall, the zoomies always did have the best clubs…”
“Who is this?” Then. “Broker? Where the hell are you?”
“What a bummer. I know where you are. You don’t know where I am. What kind of show you guys running, anyway?”
He was pacing in front of the TV in his motel room hunched over with his cell tucked in the crook of his neck. On the Weather Channel, the green glob of precipitation was breaking up to the east over Minnesota and Wisconsin, still spotty over the Dakotas. Northern Minnesota, Kit’s destination, looked clear. Good flying weather. He clicked the picture off.
“I say again: Where the fuck are you?”
“On the job at the old Motor Inn, girlfriend.” Upbeat Broker. A tad raunchy, ramping up for it.
“This is not good. Where’s Kit?”
“Some friends flew in and collected her this morning. She should be home by now.”
“And you decided to stick around? This is not in the plan. You’re cluttering up the board.”
“Be advised, your plan is made out of Kleenex.” Broker walked to the end of the room, pulled the drape aside, and watched the raindrops start to splatter below, on the asphalt. “And, if you listen carefully, you’ll notice that it’s starting to rain.” He reflected that Jim Yeager’s T-ball game might be rained out.
After an interval of silence, Jane said, “So what do you want?”
“I just had a talk with Nina. She says to tell you it’s getting sticky, like something’s going to happen tonight between Ace and some guy named George. She also wants you guys to take a look at this Indian dude, Joe Reed.”
“Why am I getting this from you? She should call me.”
“But then I wouldn’t be in the loop, huh?”
“Aw, man, look-her Indian will have to wait. We’re more interested in Ace and George Khari. What else?” ”
“I want a meet with Holly. Face-to-face.”
“Holly’s busy.”
“I can imagine. Smoothing things out with the front office, huh?”
No response.
“You’ll do, then,” he said. He could practically hear her hackles snap to attention.
“Why should I?”
“ ’Cause I just went on a scenic tour with one of the indigenous personnel. And he ticked off some items. Like you and Holly hanging at the radar station down the road. And this Black Hawk landing there with a gang of knuckle walkers and some nerdy tech types. Oh, yeah, and he hears there’s this hoop by the hangar and you got a fair hook shot.”
“Shit.”
“Why are you surprised? It’s their turf. And there’s more, girlfriend.”
“Don’t call me that. More what?”
“Let’s meet.”
“Shit. Where?”
“Somewhere midway on the road’s fine. You still driving the Volvo?”
“The Volvo’s been seen in town. I’ll go for a run. I’ll be coming west down 5, toward town.”
“In the rain?”
“I won’t melt.”
“I’m leaving now. I’ll keep an eye out for a moving cloud of steam.”
“Fuck you, Broker.”
“I don’t think so. Your heart’d give out.”
Broker grinned as she abruptly ended the connection. He was getting past the deadlock in the cafe with Nina. Which was what she wanted. Uh-huh. Because he’d do the ground work with the locals. Goddamn her, anyway-playing coach, getting him warmed up and in play.
Broker pushed the Explorer through the light rain, east down Highway 5. The geography had become a fixture: the wall-to-wall slab of sky, the perspective of two-lane blacktop shooting a plumb line through the green flat, thinning down to nothing. The most common things that grew over four feet tall were the telephone poles, power lines, and cell-phone towers.
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