"Bisson, Terry - Macs (txt)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bisson Terry)

scheduling. People had been looking forward to Closure for so long, they played
with their macs for a week or so, but then it got old. Played is not the word,
but you know what I mean. Then it's bang bang and honey call SaniMed. They want
them out of the house ASAP.

It's not that we were slow, but the schedule was heavy. In terms of what we were
picking up, none of it was that hard for me. These were not people. Some of them
were pretty chewed up. Some of them were chewed up pretty bad.

I'm not allowed to discuss individual families. I can say this: the ceremony,
the settlement, the execution, whatever you want to call it, wasn't always
exactly what everybody had expected or wanted. One family even wanted to let
their mac go. Since they couldn't do that, they wanted a funeral. A funeral for
toxic waste!

I can't give you their name or tell you their number.

I guess I can tell you that. It was between 103 and 105.

I'm not ashamed of it. We're Christians. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive
those who trespass against us. We tried to make it legal, but the state wouldn't
hear of it, since the execution order had already been signed. We had thirty
days, so we waited till the last week and then used one of those Kevorkian kits,
the lethal objection thing. Injection, I mean. The doctor came with it but we
had to push the plunger thing. It seems to me like one of the rights of Victims'
Rights should be -- but I guess not.

There was a rumor that another family forgave and got away with it, but we never
met them. They supposedly switched bodies in a car wreck and sent their mac to
forestry school in Canada. Even if it was true, which I doubt, he would be
almost five now, and that's half their life span. Supposedly their internal
organs harden after ten years. What agency did you say you were with?

We dropped ours out of an airplane. My uncle has a big ranch out past Mayfield
with his own airstrip and everything. Cessna 172. It was illegal, but what are
they going to do? C'est la vie, or rather c'est la mort. Or whatever.

They made us kill him. Wasn't he ours to do with as we liked? Wasn't that the
idea? He killed my daddy like a dog and if I wanted to tie him up like a dog,
isn't that my business? Aren't you a little long in the tooth to be in college,
boy?

An electric chair. It's out in the garage. Want to see it? Still got the shit
stain on the seat.

My daddy came home with a mac, and took my mother and me out back and made us
watch while he shot him. Shot him all over, from the feet up. The whole thing
took ten minutes. It didn't seem to do anybody any good, my aunt is still dead.
They never found most of her, only the bottom of a leg. Would you like some
chocolates? They're from England.