"Jerry Davis - Halloween Ants (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davis Jerry)

snakes. It was a white van with a government seal on the door
panel: The Environmental Protection Agency. Brad continued on his
way, wondering what that was all about, wondering why the hell
they were driving all over the golf course. Randy would be pissed.
Randy, the greenskeeper, had a shack on the back nine, right
beside a pond and a large sand trap. As Brad approached the pond
he felt an overwhelming wall of humidity. They community was
pumping a lot of water into all the lawns, ponds, and swimming
pools, and the Arizona sun did it's best to dry them out. Phoenix
and the surrounding suburbs could no longer brag about the
benefits of their "dry heat." Brad walked around the shack to the
door and found it closed and locked. Feeling let down and
disappointed, he walked around the shack, looking up and down the
greens for a sign of Randy, and he spotted the man walking out
from the trees, heading toward him.
"There was a van running around on your grass!" Brad called
out.
Randy nodded and waved. He was in his fifties, with long
black hair that he kept in a ponytail, and a ruddy, weatherworn
face. He was dressed in his usual faded jeans and a tee shirt. "I
know!" he called back. As came closer, Brad noticed the man had an
unhappy expression and a haunted look in his eyes. He also looked
a bit pale.
"What's going on?" Brad asked him.
"They confiscated the Nupoint stuff. You know, that
experimental stuff for the ants?"
"Really?"
"Yeah, they took it all." Randy wasn't looking at him. He
was looking off to the side, his eyes unfocused.
"Why did they take it?" Brad asked.
"Didn't say," Randy said. His voice had a soft, faraway
quality to it. "I suspect they discovered the stuff wasn't as
harmless as Nupoint said it was."
"Was it killing the birds or something?"
"It's not a poison. It's an enzyme. It made the ants turn on
each other." He finally looked up at Brad, his eyes suddenly
focused. "How are you feeling?"
"Depressed. Pissed off."
"Janice hasn't come home yet?"
"I don't think she ever will. I got into a fight with Dale a
few minutes ago." He related what happened at the clubhouse coffee
shop, omitting his bizarre cannibalistic urges.
"How does that make you feel?" Randy asked.
"It makes me feel like … like borrowing one of your guns and
blowing the bastard's head off!"
"And then what?"
"Well, blow her head off, too."
"And then what?"
Brad gave Randy a strange look. "And then have myself
committed, I guess."