All the Beautiful Sinners. Stephen Graham Jones
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Название: All the Beautiful Sinners
Автор: Stephen Graham Jones
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Триллеры
isbn: 9781936873449
isbn:
“Not complected like that,” McKirkle said, scooping the dip from his lip, letting the wind have it. “Not on my watch.”
Maines limbered his can out, packed it on his wrist.
“Still,” he said, passing the can across, looking north, “thought we chased all his kind out a hundred years ago?”
McKirkle laughed, said, “Then it’s them broke the treaty, not us,” and with that they climbed back into the king cab. On the way out of town Maines tipped his hat to the sheriff, parked at the city limits sign, exactly where McKirkle had told him to wait.
The sheriff didn’t tip his hat back.
EIGHT1 April 1999, Garden City, Kansas
Jim Doe opened his eyes and nothing changed. The world was still black and painful, and then a bell rang. Of a school? Wait—the gym, yes. Basketball games, they’re at gyms, and gyms are in schools, and schools have bells.
A closet, then. Jim Doe had been stuffed into a supply closet. A janitorial closet.
He tried the door but it was locked, leaned against it but it was solid, kicked it but it was tight. He reached for his pistol, found it minutes later in a gallon can of warm turpentine. He slung it dry, the pistol, patted it down with the tail of his shirt, touched the end of the barrel to the doorknob that wouldn’t turn, backed off two steps; fired. There was a half moon of students waiting for him on the other side. They were all wearing plastic safety goggles. From shop.
The gunpowder was a harsh tang in the air. Everybody half-deaf, now.
“Officer,” one of them said.
“Deputy,” Jim Doe corrected.
He was still blinking, trying to adjust to all this light.
“Is this going to be a shooting?” one of the kids asked.
“That part’s over,” Jim Doe said.
“April Fool’s,” a kid called behind him, as he was following the wall away, still not so sure about his ability to stand.
The first exit he found opened onto a courtyard. There was a girl there, sitting in a windowsill, smoking. He didn’t know what his face looked like. Hopefully not like it felt.
“Who won?” he asked her.
“Not you,” she said, taking him in all at once.
“The game last night.”
She exhaled, watched the smoke. Looked back to him finally. “Who do you think?” she said.
By the time he found the real exit, the law was there, with more screeching up. Because you’re not supposed to fire weapons on school property, on a school day. You’re not supposed to even have them. Or be there if you’re not a student. And especially if you’re not a resident of the state. Being Indian probably wasn’t going to help either.
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