"Charles de Lint - Someplace To Be Flying" - читать интересную книгу автора (De Lint Charles)

turned way down now.
"This isn't that kind of a cab," he said.
He put an inflection in the way he spoke that he hoped would let
her know this wasn't something he felt like discussing. She took the
hint. "Who's that playing trumpet?" she asked. "Miles Davis." '
"I thought so. And Wayne Shorter on sax, right? I love that stuff
they were doing in the mid-sixties."
Hank gave her a quick look before returning his attention to his
driving. "You like jazz?" he asked, pleasantly surprised.
"I like all kinds of music-anything that's got heart."
 "That's a good way to put it. Miles sure had heart. I thought a piece
of me died when he did."
They were on Stanton Street now, the sky disappearing overhead as
they entered the tunnel of oaks where the street narrowed and the big
estates began. A few more blocks west, the houses got smaller and
closer to the road. Most of these had been turned into apartments over
the years, but they were still out of Hank's price range. Everything was
pretty much out of his price range. He took a right on Lee Street, then
another on McKennitt and pulled up to the curb in front of the address
Lily had given him.
"Nice place," he said.
Her building was a three-story brick house with a tall pine and a
sugar maple vying for dominance in the front yard. Hank looked at the
long front porch and imagined being able to sit out on it in the evening,
drink in hand, looking out at the street. A pang of jealousy woke in
him, but he let it go as quickly as it came. Only citizens had that kind
of a life.
"I don't own it," Lily said. "I'm renting a second-floor apartment."
"But still . . . it's a nice place, in a good neighborhood. Safe."
She gave him a slow nod. He put the Chev in neutral, engaged the
hand brake, and turned to look at her.
"So who was the guy?" he asked.
"I don't know." She hesitated for a long heartbeat, then added, "I
was out looking for animal people when I ran into him."
She had to be putting him on. It was that, or he hadn't heard her
properly.
"Animal people?" he asked.
"I know what you're thinking. I know how crazy it sounds."
"It doesn't sound like anything to me yet," Hank said.
"The only reason I brought it up is I thought maybe you'd know
what I was talking about. They're supposed to live on the edges of
society-sort of a society unto themselves."
"Outsiders."
She nodded. "Like you. No offense, but you know, with this cab
and everything."
"No offense taken," Hank assured her. "I've been an outsider all my
life. I guess I was just born that way."
 It wasn't entirely a lie. When you didn't get nurturing from day one,
you learned pretty quick to depend on yourself.
"I thought you might know about them," Lily went on. "Or maybe