"Charles de Lint - Greenmantle" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

them to check the fields?

"Sure, sure," Louie Fucceri said. They didn't call Papale the
Silver Fox just because of his hair. It wouldn't surprise Fuccai if
they were halfway to Milan by now. He found a phone that bis

GREEpMANIIE

men had mercifully left intact and put a call in to his capo to
report their failure.

LANARK COUNTY, Febn~ary 1985

The tire blew on Lance Ma~well's pickup about a half mile past
the DarlingLavant township line. The truck skidded in the slush
as Lance brought it to a halt on the side of the dirt road. He got
out to check the damage, cursing under his breath.

"Stay, Dooker," he told the big German shepherd that was on
the passenger's seat.

He hunkered down for a look, then stood, hitching up his
pants. Christ on a cross! You'd think the sucker'd hold out for
just a couple more miles till he got home.

"Okay, Dooker," he called to the dog. "Come on down, boy."
The German shepherd jumped down from the cab of the pickup
and pushed his nose into Lance's hand. "Yeah, yeah. Okay. Go
catch yourself a squirrel or something. I got work to do."

He fetched the spare from the back of the pickup, leaned it up
against the side panel, then dug out his jack and tire iron from

under a mess of cord, tools and canvass. Glancing to see where
the dog had got to, he spied Dooker sniffing along the side of the

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road, back toward the turn-off that led up to French Line. The
blow-out had stranded him in front of the old Treasure place.
Frank Clayton's weather-beaten "For Sale" sign was still out on
the snow-covered lawn. Sure, Frank, he thought. The day somebody
buys this craphole from you's the day I stand you for a case
of two-four.

Dooker returned to see what he was doing as he got the jack
under the back of the truck and started to hoist the vehicle up.
"Get outta the way," he told the dog when it got too close.