Mississippi Roll. Джордж Р. Р. Мартин

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      ‘Who told you where I live?’ Joey Hebert asked sullenly as Ray stood before the door of her shotgun shack. The picket fence around the front yard was more gray than white and had more gaps in it than a meth head’s dental work. The front porch sagged and the entire building listed uncertainly like a drunken sailor. ‘It was Bubbles, wasn’t it?’

      Ray suppressed a sigh. He’d decided to take this one on alone, leaving the Angel and Moon at the Motel 6 where they were staying. He feared that Hoodoo Mama might remind her even more of Talas. Months of therapy had done little to help the Angel. Sitting around DC hadn’t helped either. He’d hoped that what he thought would be a relatively innocuous assignment might start to shake her out of her depression, but the Angel wasn’t responding at all to being in the field. The shields she’d erected around herself after Talas were still impenetrable. And now Ray had to worry about the twists the mission was taking. Well, one thing at a time.

      ‘Let me in, Joey.’ He decided on the informal approach. ‘We have to talk.’

      Hoodoo Mama glared at him. She was a scrawny, young black woman with an expression that was mostly always angry. Ray knew the feeling.

      ‘We have to talk,’ he repeated flatly.

      After a moment she said, ‘I guess I can’t make you shut your mouth.’ She opened the screen door and stepped aside.

      The front room was a mess. Ray’s sense of neatness was offended. The room was poorly lit by a single forty-watt bulb in a floor lamp that stood next to a dirty, beat-up sofa. The coffee table in front of it was littered with old Chinese food and pizza boxes, the worn carpet was splotched with dried mud and less identifiable stains. The room smelled of dust and decay and death. ‘Jesus,’ Ray said, ‘would it hurt to have one of your zombies run a broom through this place occasionally?’

      Joey shrugged defensively. ‘I just got back into town – right before I heard about the ship of refugees being held up in the harbor. They’re mostly wild carders, you know.’

      ‘Yes, I know,’ Ray said patiently. ‘And you’re not helping—’

      ‘Someone’s got to help them, Mr High-and-Mighty Government Man,’ Joey said, bitterly. ‘Someone’s got to keep them safe from those creepy-ass Liberty Party motherfuckers.’

      ‘That’s my job,’ Ray said.

      ‘Are you going to do it?’

      Ray’s crooked features suddenly froze in a clenched-tooth grin. ‘You ever heard of me shirking my duty?’

      ‘What is your duty, Mr High-and-Mighty Government Man?’ Joey replied.

      ‘Trust me,’ he said, and repeated after her unamused bark of laughter, ‘trust me. If you want, keep an eye on the situation – I know you have a legion of dead pigeons and rats you use as spies. Have an entire division of zombies on hand just in case things go wrong. But for Christ’s sake, keep them out of sight. You’re not helping by having the walking dead show up at every little provocation.’

      Joey eyed him, Ray thought, with more speculation than distrust. ‘You got a plan to save those poor people?’

      ‘I’m working on one,’ Ray said. It almost surprised him to realize that he was. But in her own unsubtle way, he realized that Joey was right.

      She nodded. ‘All right. If you said you had one I wouldn’t believe you, because no one can save them. They’re fucked. But I’ll be damned if I’m just going to let them quietly sail off to their doom.’

      ‘I’ll take your word on that.’ Ray turned to leave, stopped, and looked back. ‘And Bubbles said to call her. Your cell phone isn’t working and she’s worried about you.’

      ‘Damn it!’ Hoodoo Mama said as Ray let the screen door bang shut after him.

      He went down the sagging wooden stairs carefully, fully aware that there could be an army of small dead things with sharp pointy teeth under them that Joey could send after him. But he felt that they had found at least a tiny bit of common ground, and zombies were one less thing he had to worry about, for now. There were plenty of others.

      Like the man sitting in the locked black Escalade he’d left parked up the street from Joey’s shack. There were no working streetlights in Hoodoo Mama’s neighborhood, so Ray could barely discern the silhouette in the front passenger seat. He thought that it was a man, a small man, perhaps a boy. He seemed utterly unconcerned as Ray approached the vehicle, so Ray simply opened the driver’s side door and bent down to look in.

      From close up Ray could see that he was indeed a small, slight white man, probably in his early seventies. He had a pleasant face that had been roughly treated by the passage of time. What hair wasn’t covered by his porkpie hat was white and cut short. Ray suddenly recognized him. ‘You’re the JADL guy from the boat. Robicheaux, right?’

      He smiled. His teeth were even and white. ‘Right, Mr Ray.’

      ‘Can I help you?’

      ‘No, but I want to help you.’ He had a Cajun accent.

      Why not? Ray thought. A small old dude was just who he needed on his side. ‘How?’ Ray slid into the car and closed the door.

      ‘Information, Mr Ray. I know what’s going on among the refugees – and it’s not good.’

      Ray sighed as he pulled into the deserted street. ‘What’s happening?’

      ‘They’re scared, Mr Ray. Tired and hungry. They were hoping for sanctuary and have been turned away—’

      ‘Pretorius says they have a shot—’

      ‘No. Asylum will be granted to a token few – the Handsmith and his son, the ace Tulpar, maybe two dozen passengers in all. Aces and nats, every one.’

      ‘And the jokers?’

      ‘Van Rennsaeler made a deal with the British PM – they’re sending them to Rathlin Island.’

      Ray frowned. ‘That rock off the coast of Northern Ireland?’

      ‘It was once a joker colony. Pretty much abandoned these days.’

      ‘So they’re sending them to some gulag – out of sight and out of mind.’

      ‘That’s the plan.’

      ‘I can hear the but you left unsaid.’

      The old man smiled wryly. ‘Very perceptive, Mr Ray. There are several buts. The Handsmith has refused the deal, as has Tulpar. There’s talk of mutiny aboard the ship – of taking it over and trying for Brazil, Africa, maybe.’

      Ray СКАЧАТЬ