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

“Aren’t you sure?”

“Well, the three of them are very polite and well behaved. They wear
tweedy clothes and have BBC accents,” Edmond explained. “I’d say they’re
Brits, though they haven’t openly declared that.”

“Britain is an ally of the United States, sort of. So it’s not like selling
Frank’s knees to, say, oh, China or Cuba.”

“Course not. And we can sure use $20,000.”

“Be nice if the price were a bit—”

“I’m meeting one of them tomorrow afternoon to set up the details of
delivering Frank. I can suggest $25,000 would suit us better.”

“Ask for $30,000. After all he’s my husband.” Mavis’ voice faded out.

The Defrocked Priests came back. “Enough,” I said and all sound
from within the club ceased.

I heard crickets again, then a young woman being sick in the parking
lot.

****

The note was affixed to the surface of the fridge with a Bob Dylan
magnet. Must make unexpected trip to San Fran. To see publicist, dear.
Since you’re still incapable of driving, you won’t mind my taking car.
Frozen waffles in freezer. Don’t use too much maple syrup because
we’re watching our sweets intake. Love, M.

“Lot of hooey,” remarked my right knee. “She took off for a roll in the
hay with the banjo virtuoso.”

“Frozen waffles indeed,” said my other knee. “Let’s whip up a batch
of flapjacks.”

“I’m not especially hungry.”

“It’s wisest, dear boy, to begin the day with a hearty breakfast.”

“Okay, okay.” I fetched a carton of buttermilk out of the refrigerator.

The Brazilian secret agents, two of them, arrived as I was setting my
plate of syrup-drenched pancakes out on the deck table.

They’d apparently tossed grappling hooks up from below and come
climbing up thick plastic ropes.