"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 02 - Laughing Corpse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Laurell K. Hamilton
The Laughing Corpse

Chapter 1

Harold Gaynor’s house sat in the middle of intense green lawn and the
graceful sweep of trees. The house gleamed in the hot August sunshine. Bert
Vaughn, my boss, parked the car on the crushed gravel of the driveway. The
gravel was so white, it looked like handpicked rock salt. Somewhere out of
sight the soft whir of sprinklers pattered. The grass was absolutely perfect
in the middle of one of the worst droughts Missouri has had in over twenty
years. Oh, well. I wasn’t here to talk with Mr. Gaynor about water management.
I was here to talk about raising the dead.
Not resurrection. I’m not that good. I mean zombies. The shambling dead.
Rotting corpses. Night of the living dead. That kind of zombie. Though
certainly less dramatic than Hollywood would ever put up on the screen. I am
an animator. It’s a job, that’s all, like selling.
Animating had only been a licensed business for about five years. Before
that it had just been an embarrassing curse, a religious experience, or a
tourist attraction. It still is in parts of New Orleans, but here in St. Louis
it’s a business. A profitable one, thanks in large part to my boss. He’s a
rascal, a scalawag, a rogue, but damn if he doesn’t know how to make money.
It’s a good trait for a business manager.
Bert was six-three, a broad-shouldered, ex-college football player with the
beginnings of a beer gut. The dark blue suit he wore was tailored so that the
gut didn’t show. For eight hundred dollars the suit should have hidden a herd
of elephants. His white-blond hair was trimmed in a crew cut, back in style
after all these years. A boater’s tan made his pale hair and eyes dramatic
with contrast.
Bert adjusted his blue and red striped tie, mopping a bead of sweat off his
tanned forehead. “I heard on the news there’s a movement there to use zombies
in pesticide-contaminated fields. It would save lives.”
“Zombies rot, Bert, there’s no way to prevent that, and they don’t stay
smart enough long enough to be used as field labor.”
“It was just a thought. The dead have no rights under law, Anita.”
“Not yet.”
It was wrong to raise the dead so they could slave for us. It was just
wrong, but no one listens to me. The government finally had to get into the
act. There was a nationwide committee being formed of animators and other
experts. We were supposed to look into the working conditions of local
zombies.
Working conditions. They didn’t understand. You can’t give a corpse nice
working conditions. They don’t appreciate it anyway. Zombies may walk, even
talk, but they are very, very dead.
Bert smiled indulgently at me. I fought an urge to pop him one right in his
smug face, “I know you and Charles are working on that committee,” Bert said.
“Going around to all the businesses and checking up on the zombies. It makes
great press for Animators, Inc.”