[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
to break in twenty-five years of trying. At least he didn't bite his nails
anymore.
Old fart's taking his time. Of course, phone service to an outpost like this
might not be in the best of repair. Even in downtown Los Angeles it could take
awhile to get through if the volume of calls to the authorization center was
heavy. Probably had to use a rotary phone without an automatic redial, for
chrissake.
"Hey, Dad!"
"What?" Frank looked down, saw Steven flinch. The boy had come up quietly
behind his father. "Sorry, kiddo. Find something interesting to look at?"
"Sure did. Birds and lizards. Something else, too. I went around the back and
there was a place where it looked like something had tried to dig under the
fence. I saw some stuff sticking out -- it was on my side of the fence,
honest, Dad -- and so I sorta picked it up. See? Neat, huh?"
He held up a handful of old bones. They were deeply scored and mostly detached
from one another. Too big to be chicken bones. Most likely from a holiday
turkey. Not hog or cattle.
Frank accepted the offering, nudged them with his finger. "Interesting.
But maybe the gentleman who owns this place doesn't want strange kids digging
around in his yard. That hole under the fence could've been an exit for a
rattler. You could've been bit. Did you think about that?"
Steven looked downcast, his initial enthusiasm muted. "Naw. But it's all
right, Dad. I was careful. Besides, you said snakes and stuff don't come out
this time of day 'cause it's too hot. I didn't see anything moving."
You had to hand it to the kid, Frank thought. He remembered. Then a cold chill
ran down his back and the waistband of his shorts was suddenly tight against
his skin.
Not all the bones were disconnected. A few were still attached to others.
Three of them in sequence, which he carefully held up to the light. At the tip
of the last small bone was a suggestion of something besides bone. It was
Page 23
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
broken and brief, but unmistakable.
A nail.
Frank was no anatomist, but he was pretty sure he was holding most of a human
finger. A small finger, bigger than an infant's, smaller than a man's. A
woman's, perhaps, or a teenager's. There were spots on the bit of nail, but
too old and dirty to tell if they were polish.
Fighting to contain his emotions, he let the amputated finger bones fall back
among the others. "Steven, I want you to listen to me very closely."
The boy's eyes got wide, as they usually did on those rare occasions when his
father turned solemn. "This is private property and should not have been
disturbed. So I want you to put them back exactly where you found them." He
glanced toward the station office. Still no movement there.
"I want you to put them back in the ground, quietly and quickly." He handed
back the bones.
"Aw, gee, Dad. I was kinda hoping that if the man didn't want 'em maybe
I could..."
"Put them back." Frank kept his voice low. "Now."
Steven stared up at him. "Is something wrong, Dad? I mean, I didn't mean to do
anything wrong."
"It's not a question of right or wrong. You just don't bother other people's
property, understand? Go on. Go bury them back and then get your butt back
here and inside. We're leaving."
"Okay, Dad." Steven shrugged, turned to scamper back to the enclosure.
Frank noticed for the first time that the fence was a high one. Higher than
was needed to keep snakes and lizards in and the prowling coyote out. High
enough to keep strangers from climbing over to disturb the inhabitants. Or to
keep anyone from climbing out. The four posts that held the chain link taut
were oversized and sunk deep.
His head jerked around to see the attendant emerge from the office. He wore
the smile he'd first used to greet his customers. One gloved hand held
Frank's credit card and the unsigned receipt. Steven was out of sight behind
the enclosure. Trying to look casual and relaxed, Frank moved to the front of
the motor home. The old man changed direction to meet him without breaking
stride.
"Here you go, sir. Eighteen even. Guess she wasn't quite empty."
"Not quite." Do I sound normal? he wondered. Though his thoughts were in [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl wyciskamy.pev.pl
to break in twenty-five years of trying. At least he didn't bite his nails
anymore.
Old fart's taking his time. Of course, phone service to an outpost like this
might not be in the best of repair. Even in downtown Los Angeles it could take
awhile to get through if the volume of calls to the authorization center was
heavy. Probably had to use a rotary phone without an automatic redial, for
chrissake.
"Hey, Dad!"
"What?" Frank looked down, saw Steven flinch. The boy had come up quietly
behind his father. "Sorry, kiddo. Find something interesting to look at?"
"Sure did. Birds and lizards. Something else, too. I went around the back and
there was a place where it looked like something had tried to dig under the
fence. I saw some stuff sticking out -- it was on my side of the fence,
honest, Dad -- and so I sorta picked it up. See? Neat, huh?"
He held up a handful of old bones. They were deeply scored and mostly detached
from one another. Too big to be chicken bones. Most likely from a holiday
turkey. Not hog or cattle.
Frank accepted the offering, nudged them with his finger. "Interesting.
But maybe the gentleman who owns this place doesn't want strange kids digging
around in his yard. That hole under the fence could've been an exit for a
rattler. You could've been bit. Did you think about that?"
Steven looked downcast, his initial enthusiasm muted. "Naw. But it's all
right, Dad. I was careful. Besides, you said snakes and stuff don't come out
this time of day 'cause it's too hot. I didn't see anything moving."
You had to hand it to the kid, Frank thought. He remembered. Then a cold chill
ran down his back and the waistband of his shorts was suddenly tight against
his skin.
Not all the bones were disconnected. A few were still attached to others.
Three of them in sequence, which he carefully held up to the light. At the tip
of the last small bone was a suggestion of something besides bone. It was
Page 23
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
broken and brief, but unmistakable.
A nail.
Frank was no anatomist, but he was pretty sure he was holding most of a human
finger. A small finger, bigger than an infant's, smaller than a man's. A
woman's, perhaps, or a teenager's. There were spots on the bit of nail, but
too old and dirty to tell if they were polish.
Fighting to contain his emotions, he let the amputated finger bones fall back
among the others. "Steven, I want you to listen to me very closely."
The boy's eyes got wide, as they usually did on those rare occasions when his
father turned solemn. "This is private property and should not have been
disturbed. So I want you to put them back exactly where you found them." He
glanced toward the station office. Still no movement there.
"I want you to put them back in the ground, quietly and quickly." He handed
back the bones.
"Aw, gee, Dad. I was kinda hoping that if the man didn't want 'em maybe
I could..."
"Put them back." Frank kept his voice low. "Now."
Steven stared up at him. "Is something wrong, Dad? I mean, I didn't mean to do
anything wrong."
"It's not a question of right or wrong. You just don't bother other people's
property, understand? Go on. Go bury them back and then get your butt back
here and inside. We're leaving."
"Okay, Dad." Steven shrugged, turned to scamper back to the enclosure.
Frank noticed for the first time that the fence was a high one. Higher than
was needed to keep snakes and lizards in and the prowling coyote out. High
enough to keep strangers from climbing over to disturb the inhabitants. Or to
keep anyone from climbing out. The four posts that held the chain link taut
were oversized and sunk deep.
His head jerked around to see the attendant emerge from the office. He wore
the smile he'd first used to greet his customers. One gloved hand held
Frank's credit card and the unsigned receipt. Steven was out of sight behind
the enclosure. Trying to look casual and relaxed, Frank moved to the front of
the motor home. The old man changed direction to meet him without breaking
stride.
"Here you go, sir. Eighteen even. Guess she wasn't quite empty."
"Not quite." Do I sound normal? he wondered. Though his thoughts were in [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]