"David Eddings - Losers, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Eddings David)

"It was raining, I take it."

"It was, and you can. I get the impression that it rains there about ninety percent of the time."

Raphael got up and poured two cups of coffee. Flood came over to him and took one. "I don't imagine you've got anything to drink?" he asked.

"Water."

"I'm thirsty, Raphael, not dirty. I'll go pick something up in a bit." He went back to the couch. "So much for the expedition of J. D. Flood, Junior. How are you doing? And what the hell are you doing in Spokane, of all places?"

"I'm adjusting. I suppose that answers both questions, really. I had to get away from Portland, so I took the first bus to anyplace. I wound up here. It's as good as anyplace for what I have to do at the present time."

"This is just temporary then?" Flood was looking intently at Raphael.

"Everything's temporary, Damon. Nothing's permanent."

"Have you been reading Kierkegaard again?"

Raphael grinned at him. "Sorry about that. Quillian told me that I had a choice between being a cripple or a man who happened to only have one leg. I decided not to be a cripple. I'm in physical therapy right now, but it takes a while to get it all put together. Spokane's a good place to do that. There aren't many distractions."

"You can say that again. From what I've seen this is the least distracting place in the whole damned world."

"What's got you so down, Damon?" Raphael asked bluntly, trying to get past that seeming reserve.

"I don't know, Raphael." Flood leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "I'm at sixes and sevens, I guess. I haven't really decided what to do with myself. I think I need a diversion of some kind."

"Have you thought of work?"

"Don't be insulting."

"How long are you planning to be in town?"

"Who knows? Who knows?" Flood spread his hands. "I've got a motel room-downtown-if I can ever find it again. I'm paid up for a week. I don't have to make any decisions until then." He got up quickly. "Goddammit, I need a drink. I'm going to go find a boozeria. You'll be here?"

"Until the end of the month at least. My rent's paid up, too."

"Don't be snide. I'll be back in a little bit." He crossed the small room and went out.

It was strange-even unreal. Even with the sound of Flood's footsteps going down the stairs, it seemed almost as if he had not really been there. Something had happened to Flood since they had last talked. Something had somehow shaken that enormous self-confidence of his. Even his presense here had seemed in some way tentative, as if he were not really sure that he would be welcome. And why had he come at all? His motives were unclear.

Raphael crutched out onto the roof and to the railing at the front of the house. Flood's little red car was pulling away from the curb, its engine snarling, and across the street Patch stood watching with a strange expression on his somber face.

ii
By the end of the week Raphael had become accustomed to Flood's presence again, and Flood's moody abstraction seemed to be letting up a bit. There was no pattern to his visits. He simply appeared without warning, stayed for a time and talked, and then left. From his conversation Raphael gathered that he was out exploring the city and the surrounding countryside.

On Friday, the day when Flood's rent ran out at his downtown motel, he did not show up, and Raphael began to think that he had checked out and left town without even saying good-bye. He knew it was foolish, but he was hurt by it, and was suddenly plunged into a loneliness so deep that it seemed almost palpable.

He called Flood's motel.