Kitabı oku: «The Racer», sayfa 4

8. Day of bread and shamelessness

Carter Beckran attached special symbolism to the end of each month. For him it was like a flag at the start, like a green traffic light or a command to go ahead. This was the moment when many of his employees seemed to break loose and turn into ancient Romans during an orgy. Considering the fact that his company’s employees received salaries three to four times higher than the average in Heartstone (this is in the off-season), they allowed themselves to forget on payday that they were people and acted like animals; others stocked their refrigerators with the most expensive delicacies; someone went to Gomorrah and preferred to get lost somewhere between alcohol and women’s bodies.

Chief engineer Seth Crawford for the last four years, after each paycheck, he visited the most expensive, most elite and most sought-after whore in Heartstone, which he bought for the night, although for all other clients the payment was hourly.

The economist, accountant, logistician, storekeeper and agronomist finally set aside the necessary amount for Las Vegas so that during a joint vacation they could indulge in sin without knowing any boundaries.

Among Carter’s employees was a security guard who fulfilled his dream and bought an eleven-year-old Porsche 911, and repaid the loan in a year and a half.

The head of the HR department, a lady of forty-seven years old, always bought herself some kind of jewelry at various intervals. Over the course of a couple of years, she accumulated so much jewelry that the work team began to say that it was better to give up the New Year tree at the end of the year, because they had their own walking tree that sparkled from top to bottom. No matter what day she came to work, her neck, earlobes, wrists and fingers were thoroughly hidden under a decent layer of gold and precious stones.

Another lady of mature years, a deputy chief accountant in her fifties, also had her own hobby. She set aside money every six months for her biggest expense item. Every vacation she went to a Mexican resort, which was especially popular with divorcees and wives disillusioned with family life, where they were seduced by dozens of gigolos who were ready, for the money of rich women who were old enough to be their mother, to make any of their fantasies come true.

Every birthday, bachelor party, bachelorette party or any other event requiring a wild celebration, where the culprit is a person working for Carter Beckran, turned into a feast for the stomach and a test of strength for the liver, because in these cases the amount of alcohol and exotic dishes was greatly exceeded usual meanings for Heartstone. The whole town knew what you could achieve by working for Carter Beckran, and so working for the Beckran & Co. was a dream for most Heartstone residents.

In conversations at home with his father, although Carter joked, saying: “I sense that soon they will have to cut their salaries, otherwise they will soon spend all their savings on alcohol and whores”, – he himself was not against indulging in something from time to time. However, what was noteworthy was that all his pranks regarding spending money were either completely insignificant or truly homeric. Sometimes it was a bottle of the most expensive alcohol he could find. But one day Carter bought a Cadillac Commando armored personnel carrier and drove it for six months until he got tired of it, after which he sold it to a private military company.

9. Dancing with death

Leonardo Benetti has already forgotten the last time he had to hold two funeral services in one day. After the coffin with the body of Norman Hughes is taken out of the church, the farewell ceremony for Dana Host will begin. Father Benetti did not sit down from the moment the coffin was carried into the church. He approached each of those who were close to the deceased. Relatives, neighbors, acquaintances, friends, his classmates and school teachers. When Father Benetti came up to express his condolences to Norman’s mother, she hugged the priest tightly and did not let go for about fifteen minutes. Father Benetti stood patiently and patted Martha Hughes on the shoulder, uttering comforting words that few could find in such moments. But Leonardo Benetti knew how to do this and could speak mournful speeches without stopping, trying to alleviate the mental suffering of the mourners. It’s unlikely that anything can comfort the souls of those grieving after the loss of a loved one, but when there is someone whose hugs and words of sympathy give at least a drop of warmth, it becomes very important. It was this kind of warmth that emanated from Father Benetti.

More and more people were arriving at the funeral every few minutes. Norman was buried in a closed coffin. His identity was identified using the results of a genetic examination, comparing the DNA of the corpse with the DNA of Bernard Hughes, Norman’s father. The closed coffin gave some the impression that a ghost was being buried here today.

Desmond, Jenna and Harry crossed the threshold of the church. The sheriff and his deputies arrived in the same car. Each of them had a bouquet left in the car, which was to be laid at the cemetery. In addition to the red carnations, Desmond bought a wreath on which was written: “To the bravest guy in Heartstone from his colleagues”. Although Desmond paid for the wreath entirely out of his own pocket, he nevertheless considered it necessary to present it on behalf of the entire team. Jenna bought ten red roses from herself. Having crossed the threshold of the church, she remembered how she had recently buried Pierce, and this made her feel doubly bad. Harry admitted that he doesn’t understand anything about flowers and asked Jenna to help him choose. She picked out a dozen roses for him in a soft scarlet hue. Leaving the flowers and wreath in the trunk, they entered the church, heading straight to Norman’s family. They shook hands and hugged Bernard, Martha, and Norman’s twenty-nine-year-old sister Sabrina. Martha reacted the same way to hugs from her son’s colleagues, not letting go of each of them for several minutes. Wrapping her arms around Desmond’s neck and pressing herself against his shoulder, Martha’s crying became stronger. Seeing Sabrina’s face pink from endless tears, Jenna fell into an even greater sense of grief and, hugging her, did not let go of her for some time. Next came relatives who came from Austin, Houston and Oklahoma.

The number of people grew faster and faster as the time at which the farewell ceremony was scheduled to begin approached.

Soon Father Benetti began to walk around the arrivals and invite them to sit down so that they could begin.

The first eight rows on both sides were jam-packed. Silence reigned in the church and Father Benetti began his speech:

– Today we have gathered here because there is one less son in this world. There is one less brother. Sometimes life ends suddenly, and the more painful this loss becomes…

Riggan Brooks sat by the phone in the sheriff’s office. When cases arose that neither the sheriff nor any of his deputies were in the office, Desmond asked Riggan to sit on the telephone as the person on duty. In this sense, he enjoyed the trust of the sheriff, which he occasionally allowed himself to show off in front of his acquaintances. The feeling of being alone in the law enforcement office with the approval of the sheriff himself caused him to experience a sharp increase in self-esteem and self-confidence. Now he is in charge here, albeit without official authority.

Before leaving, Desmond warned Riggan not to go into the corridor with the temporary holding cells where Spencer was sitting, who, if he found out that there was a young boy on duty, could blow his brains out, hoping for something there. The sheriff made such warnings all the time, although he did not doubt the guy.

In all this time, Riggan had never had to take any kind of emergency call about an incident, although deep down Riggan felt that this was exactly what he needed to complete the sensations, to realize that he was in a real office of a real sheriff, especially that this time there is also a prisoner in the cell.

That day, Riggan just had a day off. While the sheriff and his deputies were at the funeral, he reclined more comfortably in Harry’s chair, folded his legs on the table and unfolded a magazine dedicated to events in the world of cinema in front of him. Riggan was stuck on an article that described the details of the filming process for “Gone in 60 Seconds”, which had been released a year earlier. Having read it to the end, he once again looked at the photographs from the set and a joint photograph of Dominic Sena and Jerry Bruckheimer. Next was a biography of Clint Eastwood with a dozen photographs in different images in which he was filmed, arranged in chronological order. After it there were articles about new technologies in the field of visual effects, analysis of the film market, articles by film critics, plans of Hollywood studios, and on the back there was a table with a schedule of world premieres of some films in the coming months, which, according to surveys, are the most anticipated. After the article about “Gone in 60 Seconds” Riggan lost interest in the magazine and took the latest issue of Playboy out of his backpack, immediately after which the day ceased to be languid. After half an hour Riggan began to notice that the reaction to naked female bodies was too strong and he decided to return to the film magazine. He ran through the movie schedule and noticing “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring” on the list, thought about taking his girlfriend to the cinema, but when he saw that the premiere was still six months away, his enthusiasm immediately faded.

Suddenly the bell rang. Riggan put the phone to his ear, without taking his eyes off the magazine.

– Good morning. Sheriff’s Office. How can I help?

Riggan listened to the person on the other end of the line for a couple of minutes, then hung up and hurriedly began calling the sheriff’s car over the radio. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the keys to the front doors and ran to the exit.

When Bernard Hughes gave a speech to those present, often wiping the damp skin under his eyes with a handkerchief, the distinct sounds of someone’s footsteps began to be heard inside the church. Despite the fact that Riggan was wearing sneakers, his steps still echoed throughout the entire room, because he no longer bothered about decency and all that. He jogged on his tiptoes and stopped between the rows, looking for the sheriff’s head. Like everyone else, Desmond also looked back when he heard loud footsteps. He saw Riggan’s face, very alarmed by something, who motioned for him to come out for a few words. Desmond was greatly surprised by this. He understood that the guy would not just leave the office and rush here with all his might, as evidenced by his deep and frequent sighs, which were so difficult for him. The sheriff immediately stood up from his seat, heading towards the exit.

Maurice Callaham worked as a security guard at a dance school. At the age of sixty-three he was no longer particularly worried about spasms throughout his body and pain in his knees. It is unlikely that with such a physical form he would be able to repel unauthorized entry into the building. But since he was not guarding gold and foreign exchange reserves, the school management decided not to deprive him of his job. Instead, they paid attention to the conscientiousness with which Maurice approached his work. Even the fact that, with a height of one hundred and sixty-four he already weighed more than eighty, did not cause any concern to the school director or his deputy. They valued the reliability of employees, since a new security guard, like a potential employee for any other position, was perceived by them as a pig in a poke.

Maurice was in the habit of constantly smoothing his mustache in both directions, thereby checking its smoothness and levelness, so that he knew when it was time to cut it. For his age, Maurice had a rare quality: he had a good knowledge of modern musical art. In addition to the fact that the school taught dances to various music, across the street there was a video and music rental store, where an acoustic speaker was installed on the street side, from which some kind of music was constantly playing. Maurice liked most of the compositions, so when he got bored, he went out onto the terrace or opened the entrance doors, after which he began to walk around the nearest rooms and dance, and when the music was already familiar to him, he also began to silently move his lips, as if singing along. These were one of the few times Maurice put stress on his knees, but did not experience absolutely any discomfort. He simply danced and sang, and his soul rejoiced. At the same time, he did not go through any particular genres or styles. He liked pop, retro, blues, jazz, rock, disco and much more.

That morning Maurice started his next shift. He stepped off the bus, holding his lunch bag in his hand, heading towards the dance school, which was a two-minute walk from the bus stop. Every time he got off the bus, Maurice was interested in his sixty-four-year-old colleague Anthony Herb, whom he most often replaced. He wondered how soundly Anthony slept, since only twice in Maurice’s memory had he found Anthony awake when he went on shift. As soon as the noise of the bus died down, music began to reach Maurice’s ears. It was still difficult for him to understand what kind of song it was, but he was already in a hurry to find out. Halfway through, he recognized the notes of “Stop” by Sam Brown. And from that moment on, Maurice’s steps slowed down. He did not walk, but swam in the calm waves of music. At moments he even lowered his eyelids and made more characteristic movements with his hands, moving to the beat of the music. While Maurice walked to school at this pace, Sam Brown had just finished singing. She was replaced by Rammstein, and the eyes of Maurice Callaham saw the body of Gloria Nelson on the main staircase with her face broken and hidden under a layer of dried blood.

10. The shortest path

Darkness has not yet filled the streets of Heartstone, but the last rays of the sun have already dissolved. There was less and less traffic on the roads. The lights of street lamps and advertising signs were already evident, and the light in the windows of houses was clearly visible.

Deborah Minton was bustling around the kitchen like a top, not stopping for a minute. Watching her from the outside, there would hardly be anyone who would believe that this woman was a teacher who taught children the fine arts. In terms of her activity, Deborah was more suitable for the work of an athlete or a courier who, even on her own two feet, would never be late with a delivery. She was almost finishing stuffing the chicken with vegetables when she suddenly decided to check the top shelf on the refrigerator door. Deborah discovered that she had no yeast and called her daughter:

– Ursula.

A twelve-year-old golden-blond girl in a blue long-sleeved T-shirt and garnet breeches came running at her mother’s voice. Ursula had dozens of thin braids on her head. She had been begging for such a hairstyle for a long time, although the parents did not understand where their child saw such a style, because Ursula herself had no idea why it was suddenly happening. Since Deborah was very late at work those days and did not have time to braid her daughter’s hair, she asked Ursula to wait until the end of the week. But the husband, running his hand over his hair, said that it was time for him to get a haircut and it would be better for him to take his daughter with him, so that while he was getting his hair cut, someone would do the girl’s braids at the same time. John Minton owned a local bakery, so he never spared money for his daughter. He told Ursula that her hair should be done by a professional stylist, although he knew that three of the four hairdressers who worked in the salon were self-taught. But it was more important for him to present his daughter with information that would make her feel like a princess.

Ursula ran up to her mother and said, looking at her with a questioning glance:

– What?

Without lowering her head, Deborah took out a few coins from the box, gave them to her daughter and said:

– Bunny, go to the supermarket for yeast.

– I’m already flying – the girl barely said before she immediately rushed off.

– Ursula – Deborah slowed her down. – You don’t fly, you walk. And look both ways when you cross the street.

– Okay – the girl answered on autopilot.

Deborah said the same words every time she sent Ursula to the store. Despite the fact that the supermarket was located directly opposite the house, and there were almost no cars on the street, Deborah blindly followed her habit.

Ursula entered the sales area and said, waving to the cashier:

– Hello.

– Hello sweetie – nineteen-year-old Cassandra Bello answered with sleepy eyes, yawning at the end of the phrase.

– How are you? – Ursula asked, approaching the cash register.

Cassandra rested her head on her palm, leaning on a relaxed elbow, and answered, almost closing her eyes:

– I am sleepy.

– Well, what about the rest?

– The rest is fine.

– Well, make sure that no one robs the cash register.

Cassandra smiled and replied:

– Yes, it will be a Greek tragedy.

Each trip, even for the smallest purchase, kept Ursula in the supermarket for at least half an hour. All the employees here knew her, with whom she chatted out of habit, without knowing the brakes.

Ursula began to walk between the aisles, where along the way she came across the owner of the store, Yann Leblanc, who, standing on a stepladder and leafing through documents in his hands, checked the purchase prices with the prices on the shelves.

– Hello Mr. Leblanc.

– Hi.

– How are you doing?

– Basically, nothing good. But without a fire and without a robbery, this is also good.

They both laughed and Ursula added:

– I don’t know about the fire, but without a robbery it’s great.

These words caused even more laughter from the supermarket owner.

Ursula walked a little deeper into the trading floor. There she met Raymond Rafferty, who, like Cassandra, sometimes worked at the checkout, but most often either laid out goods in the hall or worked in the warehouse. At that moment, Raymond was arranging goods on shelves with dairy products.

– Oh! Socialite – Raymond almost exclaimed when he noticed the approaching girl.

When Ursula had just started school, one day Raymond asked her, arranging goods in the next row: “What do you want to become when you grow up and finish studying?”, – to which Ursula replied: “A socialite”. Since then, Raymond has called Ursula a socialite.

Raymond was twenty-six. After school, he got a job at Leblanc’s supermarket and since then he has only known one job in his life. This is largely why Raymond knew all the visitors by sight. But for Yann Leblanc, what was more important was that this guy knew every corner of the store, every rack, every product item. He could place goods on a shelf without taking his eyes off the box, and the goods would be placed with precision down to the last millimeter. The speed of servicing the trading floor at Raymond’s was perfected to the point of automaticity. He alone, in a couple of hours, could complete the amount of work that three other people could do in half a day. For this reason, Yann rarely put Raymond at the checkout, knowing how much productivity he would lose on the sales floor.

– How are you? – Raymond asked, continuing to arrange packets of cookies.

– Tolerable. And you?

– The same bullshit. Socialite, where have you gone? I haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks?

– Weeks. But not years.

Raymond smiled as he put the empty box in his cart and pulled out a new one.

– So do not worry. I can’t live without you – Ursula said. – In the end who will get me fresh yogurt, and not the two-week old trash that is on the shelf?

After these words, Raymond laughed louder, answering:

– So that’s why you’re friends with me: just for the sake of fresh yogurt and chocolate.

– What else is it for? If friends cannot bring you benefits, then they are no longer friends.

Raymond was struck by the thought that if he had seen this girl for the first time, he would have decided that she was the daughter of some Jew. But Ursula had a sense of humor that was not without sarcastic language.

The girl chatted with Raymond for some more time, after which she took the yeast and went to the checkout, where she paid and advised Cassandra to drink coffee instead of nodding off.

Ursula went out into the street and, out of habit, began to cross the sidewalk, approaching the curb. She never looked around at night because it seemed to her that she would definitely notice car headlights if they appeared. But that evening an unusual car was approaching from the right. Its headlights were too dim to be noticeable from afar. But Ursula felt the car approaching even before her eyes noticed the dim glow of the headlights. The car drove slowly along the adjacent lane. Ursula froze, as if her legs were covered with a thick layer of ice, which could not be said about her heart. It was filled with blood, pounding like crazy and was ready to explode.

Passing in front of the supermarket building, the car turned around, moving from the far lane to the near one and stopped in front of the curb opposite the supermarket, where Ursula was standing.

On any other day this would not have been strange. But that evening was unusual. Because it was the Dodge.