Teaser. Burt Weissbourd

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Star’s efficiency apartment was in a red brick four story building on Regent, a block and a half east of Broadway. The street had small, run-down, wood houses wedged between newer, cheaply-built apartments and older buildings. A spattering of commercial spilled over from Broadway. From her third floor unit Star could see Alden’s Hair Salon and a used bookstore.

      She had one large room with an alcove. Centered on the floor was a king-sized mattress with a baby blue blanket. Beside it there was a Coors lamp and a side table made from two cinder blocks and a piece of plywood. Star kept her bureau against the wall. Her beat-up laptop was on the bureau. In the little kitchen alcove she’d squeezed in a table and two stools. One wide window faced the street.

      An empty wine bottle stood on the side table next to a mirror with two lines of cocaine. A half-smoked joint still smoldered in the ashtray, surrounded by cigarette butts. Star, Aaron, and Maisie were on the mattress, naked. Maisie was on her back. Aaron lay beside her, kissing her. Star’s hands were on Maisie’s thighs, spreading her legs. When Star lowered her head, Maisie gently pushed Aaron away. He watched, flushed, as, moments later, Maisie began to tremble. She seemed to relax as her body rocked in orgasm, her second. It was quiet for a moment, then Maisie put a hand behind Star’s neck. She slowly guided Star’s head toward Aaron. Star took him in her mouth. Aaron closed his eyes, leaning back on his hands. After he reached orgasm Aaron fell back onto the mattress beside Maisie.

      Maisie leaned in, her short, brown hair pasted by sweat to her forehead. She was intense and sensuous, her adolescent breasts still growing. Maisie ran her tongue along her upper lip, not at all self-conscious, savoring her post-coital feelings. This was new for her and she loved it. Gently, she ran her forefinger along Aaron’s eyebrow then across his cheekbone to the stud in his lower lip. He turned toward her. Aaron was Chinese, adopted at birth. His eyes were brown, steady. His features were sharp, chiseled into his round face. A bright red Z zigzagged through his short, black hair down the left side of his head.

      Maisie smiled, sweet and sultry. “We missed family night,” she said.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Corey stood, antsy, raising her binoculars from the window sill. She was waiting to hear back from Luther’s CCO, trying not to think about Annie. Her office was in an older building overlooking Elliot Bay. In its heyday, the stone building had been a hardware emporium. She turned to face the Sound. From her seventh floor window she could just see the southern tip of Bainbridge Island, deep green against the grey sea and sky. When she was fourteen, Corey harvested sea cucumbers off that shore. It was the last innocent time she could remember.

      In 1987 she turned fifteen. While her girlfriends were smoking dope, drinking, and partying, she was canning fish. After her mother died in ‘89, she lived alone on their boat, the Jenny Ann, doing whatever she could for money.

      The phone rang. It was Luther’s CCO. The guy explained that Luther had his own room on Bentley, which she knew, and that he had an alibi, which she already knew, too. His CCO went on, detailing Luther’s post-prison routine.

      “You screwed up,” she interjected, matter of fact.

      “No, lady, you screwed up. That girl wasn’t my responsibility.” He hung up.

      She stared at the phone.

      Yesterday she had filled him in. Even if it was Luther—which he doubted—he had sixty clients; there was only so much he could do.

      Corey took a walk—no place special—over to Madison, up to Broadway. She tried to imagine how frightened Annie must have been to jump through a closed window. Annie had once told Corey how her Uncle Luther was an unhuman. She said he was way dead and full of worms and every time he touched her she died.

      She thought about Annie’s chances. Abe said that when things went badly, she was too hard on herself. She wasn’t sure. Corey sat on a bench in front of Seattle Central Community College, watching the kids drift by.

      “I’m wired,” Maisie said. “Like I can’t slow down.” She wore worn jeans, and a white, hand-woven Mexican blouse.

      Abe sat at his desk, watching her, waiting. Maisie had large, sea blue eyes. Her lips were full and her smile alluring. She was thin, delicate, growing into a sensual woman’s body—an intense, unwieldy business. Abe sensed that she was keenly aware of her nascent sexuality, though unsure how to manage it. Maisie fidgeted, anxious, running a hand through her short, brown hair.

      “Sometimes things start to spin,” she said. “I told Verlaine. The sixties-stoner stepdad wants me to take Prozac.”

      He almost smiled, caught himself. “Do you want to?”

      “Are you like kidding or something?”

      Abe wasn’t sure where this was going. He’d first seen Maisie three years ago when her mother remarried. Her stepfather was fifteen years older than her mom, and he was her boss at Microsoft. Maisie didn’t approve and she withdrew from family life. At that time Abe had prescribed a very low dose of an anti-depressant, and after just a few sessions, Maisie was back at the dinner table. He’d had little or no contact with her until six weeks ago when she called to announce, СКАЧАТЬ