Off the Chart. James Hall

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ one.’

      ‘I’ve lived here all my life,’ Thorn said.

      ‘Yeah, and it’s a small town. But still.’

      ‘Look, I’m no ladies’ man,’ Thorn said.

      ‘What would you call it then?’

      Thorn knew better than to field that one. He poured the rest of his Red Stripe into the stein and watched the foam rise exactly to the brim, not a single trickle running down the side – another of his highly refined, utterly useless motor skills. When he looked up, Alexandra was smiling at him, but her eyes still had a stern edge.

      ‘You heard of Vic Joy?’ he asked her.

      ‘Name sounds familiar.’

      ‘Owns half the upper Keys,’ Thorn said. ‘Not a big favorite with law enforcement. Runs that casino boat behind the Holiday Inn, owns a dozen marinas and waterfront joints from Islamorada to Key Largo. Doesn’t pay a lot of attention to what’s legal, what’s not. Has a whole law firm working for him full-time to keep him out of jail. In the past fifteen, twenty years, there’ve been a half-dozen murders with Vic Joy’s name floating around in the background. Then witnesses change their story, refuse to cooperate, or flat out disappear. That kind of guy. Anne never tells anyone she’s Vic’s sister, but people know.’

      ‘Brother’s a big-shot hoodlum, but she’s still a waitress.’

      ‘There’s some tension between them. Plus Vic spies on her. Checks out her boyfriends, lets them know they’re swimming in serious waters. First week we went out, he stopped by the house, asked me a lot of questions. Took a good look around. Started giving me a list of dos and don’ts.’

      ‘I bet you were very polite.’

      ‘Things started to go wrong when I grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him back to his car and threw him inside.’

      ‘You’re kidding.’

      ‘I lost it,’ he said. ‘This crook lecturing me about good manners.’

      ‘You were willing to risk the gangster’s wrath to keep playing around with his sister.’

      ‘Come on, Alex. Let it go.’

      ‘You have a long and sordid past, Thorn. I’m continually surprised.’

      ‘Point is,’ he said, ‘Anne and I didn’t mesh. And you and I do.’

      ‘Is that what you call it? We’re meshing?’

      ‘I think that’s an accurate description. Yeah, I’ll stand by that.’

      He tried to smile his way past this mess, but Alex wasn’t buying just yet.

      Lawton ambled back to the table and sat down. Alex gave Thorn’s shoulder a quiet stroke. Okay, interrogation over, all forgiven. Sort of.

      Lawton had a sip of his Coke and the three of them gazed over at Sugarman and his daughters. He was Thorn’s oldest and closest friend. Sugarman had stood by Thorn through some blinding shit-storms, even risked his life on more than one occasion when everyone else deserted. Ten years ago Sugar had been a sheriff’s deputy; now he was struggling along as a private investigator.

      This weekend was Sugarman’s monthly visit with his twins. Lunch, a boat ride, a cookout later at Thorn’s house, then Sugar and the girls would make the long trek back to Fort Lauderdale where his ex-wife, Jeannie, lived. The girls were eight. In May they’d turn nine.

      Uncle Thorn, they called him.

      More than likely those two girls were as close as he was ever going to come to having children of his own. Biologically he was probably okay, but he was too damn rigid for kids, too private, too rooted in habit. Still, he loved Sugar’s girls, loved their raucous games, their delight in tiny discoveries – holding a magnifying glass up to a hibiscus bloom while their daddy recited the names of its parts, their functions, showing off his flawless recall of high school biology. Thorn didn’t mind the girls’ pouts, their tantrums that came and went like summer thunderstorms, so quickly replaced by sunshine, it seemed never to have rained at all.

      Twins, but very different. Jackie was devoted to television and was usually clamped inside the headset of her portable CD player, and she had her eye on a BMW convertible for her sixteenth birthday. Janey was fascinated by birds, bugs, frogs, and snakes. An amazing memory for the names of things. Tell her one time, it was there. Janey was constantly testing her dad’s knowledge of natural history. Forcing Sugarman to expand his library, stock up on multiple field guides, which the two of them pored over for hours at a time. Janey was a quiet kid, eyes always following Thorn like she might be working up a crush. She enjoyed watching him tie his bonefish flies. The slow, intricate wrapping and twisting, the bright Mylar threads and gaudy puffs of fur and feathers. A month ago she’d taken a shot at tying one herself and when she was done she snipped the final threads and held up her mangled creation and said, ‘Let’s go catch a lunker.’

      Alexandra and Lawton were fond of the girls, too. When they came over some weekends, Thorn could see Alex soften – squatting down to help them tie a shoe or soothe a scuffed knee. An easy, natural gift for girls that age. Lawton grumbled about their noise, their rambunctiousness, but when they left he grew solemn and introspective, and it was clear the old man felt their absence more strongly than he could admit.

      Thorn might be too damn old for kids, but he wasn’t too old for these.

      Lawton had another deep sip of his Coke and set his glass down on the table and patted his mouth with the paper napkin.

      ‘You two should go over and look at those tarpon. They’re gigantic.’

      ‘We looked at them already, Dad, when we came in.’

      ‘You did?’

      ‘Yeah. Just a minute ago, before we sat down. You were with us.’

      Lawton raised his hands and raked his fingers through his mane of white hair, then laid his hands flat on the table and pressed down as if he meant to levitate it.

      ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘That explains why I don’t remember. Something happens a minute ago, why should I waste my mental faculties on that? Most likely it’s not going to turn out to be worth remembering anyway. All the important stuff happened a long time ago.’

      ‘I don’t know about that,’ Alex said, giving Thorn a brief look. ‘I believe some of the important stuff may still be unfolding.’

      She had a sip of her beer and patted her father’s hand.

      ‘Hey, did either of you see the tarpon?’ Lawton said. ‘Over by the pilings. They’re huge. You should go look.’

      Closing in on seventy-five, Lawton suffered from an evaporating memory and a growing confusion about things great and small. So far, no doctor had given his condition a name. Apparently he was headed down the steep and irreversible slope of dementia. There had been times lately when the old man’s focus narrowed so severely, he seemed to be peering at the world through a pinprick hole. Staring mutely for a solid hour at a blade of grass, water dripping from a faucet, the hairs on the back of his knuckle.

      For СКАЧАТЬ