"Ron Goulart - Conversations with My Knees" - читать интересную книгу автора (Goulart Ron)

“Quit bragging, Speedy. Concentrate on our mission.”

Mavis was taking a roundabout route to Sausalito, avoiding main
roads. Following our red Toyota, I’d been running, with ease, along quirky
back roads and along narrow, tree-lined lanes.

My eyesight had greatly improved, too. I could see the rear lights and
our license plates from a quarter mile behind. People do jog by night in
Marin County and I slowed to a normal pace when an infrequent car
approached, so I didn’t attract undue attention. Although one Volvo driver
yelled, “Carry a flashlight, asshole!” as he passed me going in the other
direction. A belligerent German Shepherd chased me for a couple minutes,
but I easily outran him.

“Destination coming up,” announced my right knee.

We had reached the outskirts of Sausalito, up in the hills above the
bay. Downhill Mavis was signaling for a right turn. Taillight blinking, she
eased off the road into the small parking lot next to a small club called The
Lethal Injection.

I shifted down to a slow trot, then stopped behind a stand of
eucalyptus trees at the lot edge. “How’d you know Mavis was heading
here?” I asked in a whisper.

“Eavesdropping while you were snoozing, chum.”

“How could you do—”
 “Your hearing is enhanced, dear boy.”

“We can hunker down here and listen in our your spouse’s midnight
rendezvous inside.”

“I don’t hear anything but crickets.”

“You have to concentrate. We’ll help you get going and show you how
to zero in on her and the lad who’s cuckolding you.”

“Even if that’s true, which I doubt, what in the hell does it have to do
with Dr. Dowling and—”

“Listen, dude.”

“...first garage band to fuse hip-hop, bebop, and retro rockabilly,” I
heard an MC saying. “Here are the Defrocked Priests for their final set at
Lethal Injection.”

“Yow,” I remarked as very loud electric music came flooding into my
head.