"Lackey, Mercedes - Born To Run" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

“Your friends and mine don't get along, lady,” he said, brushing her hand off with an absent gesture.
He blew me off. I can't believe it. . . .
As she stared after him, stunned, he wound his way gracefully through the crowded dining-room without a single backward glance. He went all the way to the rear, where a tatty little teenager with badly bleached hair was sitting at a table for two—
Belatedly, she realized that not only had the young mage recognized her for what she was, he had broken her glamorie. Not only was she terribly conspicuous, he might well be watching her to see what she was going to do.
She melted back into the crowd as only a Sidhe could, and worked the opposite sort of glamorie—one to make her inconspicuous.
Then she retired to the gift shop and strained all her senses, trying to keep watch on him and his lunch guest.
In one sense she was frustrated; he had placed shielding about himself that he had extended to cover the table and the girl, so that she could not listen in on their conversation. But she could watch them, with a bit of the Sight.
After a moment she recognized the girl; she might have been the one in the blurred and darkened photo the new detective had included with his first report. Tannim had befriended the girl, who was evidently an underage prostitute, the first night the new man had been on duty. Then, as now, he had engaged her in conversation, and had bought her something to eat.
Well, that was interesting. What on earth could a teenage whore and a powerful young mage have in common? The report had been adamant that Tannim hadn't done anything with the girl, had in fact sent her on her way. Could it be possible that this was the weak point Aurilia had been looking for so fruitlessly?
The more she watched, the more certain she became. The girl did hold some kind of interest for him. Not sexual—but perhaps all the stronger for that. By the time the two of them paid the bill and left, she was filled with satisfaction. She had him. She had the vulnerable point. She didn't know exactly what she could do with it—yet—but she knew what it was.

Tania couldn't help herself; she smiled and blushed as the young man pulled up a chair and sat across the postage-stamp table from her. “Hey, kiddo,” Tannim said, looking meaningfully at her coffee cup. “That doesn't look like a very nutritious breakfast.” Before she could reply, he signaled one of the waitresses. “My usual,” he said, “for two.” And as the girl disappeared, he turned back to Tania.
“I've been watching for you,” he said, “and I was kind of afraid I'd scared you off when you didn't show up.”
She looked down at her cup in confusion. “Laura told me you were probably a—” She stopped herself just in time, appalled at the way she had let her mouth run without thinking. If the guy was a pimp, he might get angry and take it out on her, and Laura too. If he wasn't, he might get offended. “—Ummm—somebody I shouldn't get involved with.”
“What, a pimp?” Tannim asked. “Or a pervert? Kiddo, you have to know that most of the guys who pick you up are perverts. Nobody really straight would want to make it with a kid as young as you are. And, Tania, the hair and the makeup job aren't fooling anybody.”
The straightforward reply—too calm and matter-of-fact to be an insult—brought her up short. And before she could think of any retort, he continued.
“Look, I'm not interested in sex. I've got that elsewhere. I just want to talk to you—and not dirty, either.” He looked ready to say more, but the waitress arrived with two club sandwiches and two colas, and he waited until she was out of hearing distance.
She eyed the sandwich dubiously, remembering what Laura had said. He caught her at it, and laughed a little. “Go ahead, Tania, it isn't drugged or anything, I promise.” And as if to prove his point, he exchanged plates with her and bit into his sandwich with hungry enthusiasm. Feeling a little stupid, she did the same.
“Look,” he said, when she'd finished half of her meal, gesturing with a potato chip, “I told you the other night that I liked seeing people able to dream—and I like it better when I can help them with those dreams. See, there's some weird shit going on out there, and helping you keeps me balanced. Keeps me in touch with the 'real world.' Dig?”
That was just a little too near the bone. “What are you,” she asked defensively. “Some kind of Boy Scout or something?”
He sighed and shook his head. “I'm just a guy,” he replied. “A plain old human being. Eccentric. Obsessive. Imperfect. I can't do much, Tania—but I'd like to at least talk a while.”
She shrugged, uncertain and trying to cover it with bravado. “I suppose. I'm not really busy right now. You're not my usual kinda client, but you ought to get something for your two hundred bucks, I guess—”
“Have you ever been on a picnic?” he interrupted. “A real picnic?”
Caught off-guard once again, she shook her head.
He took her hand and rose, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, then. Let's see if I can show you a good time.”
Before she knew what he was doing, he had left money on the table for the bill, and led her outside into the bright sunlight. She squinted as he donned his Ray-Bans, and tugged her over to the River Street parking lot. The next thing she knew, she was sitting in the passenger's side of his car, while he buckled himself in on the driver's side, staring at a dashboard with more gadgets than a fighter-plane cockpit.
“Buckle up, kiddo,” he reminded her. “What do you want to hear?”
She was dazed, and replied with the first thing that popped into her head. “That music the other night—here—is there anything more like that?”
“Good choice,” he replied, popped in a cassette, then pulled out of the parking space before she had time to say anything else, like “where are you taking me—”
She could have hit herself in the head. If Tannim really was a pimp after all, in spite of all his talk about “dreams,” she'd just put herself right into his hands. Willingly. How stupid could you get?
But he didn't pull out towards the worst part of town; he just drove up the ramp, onto President. They crossed a couple of bridges, while Tannim rattled on about music, and pulled up at a place called The Country Store. He left the motor running (and the tape playing) and dashed inside.
This is nuts—I could take the car right now, drive away. Take my chances—
But for some reason, she sat and waited, listening to Celtic harp and soulful voices as he returned with two white boxes, a large sack, and a couple of drinks in a paper carrier.
A faint aroma of food came from both boxes as he dropped them on the seat behind them, and Tania relaxed a little more. The idea of a pimp or drug-pusher buying a couple of box lunches was too ridiculous to contemplate. Maybe he was for real—
She yawned involuntarily while Tannin wedged the drinks into the center console. Last night had been long—and fruitless. She'd pounded the pavement until about four, then come home to find Laura in tears and Jamie too stoned to do anything but snore. Then she'd gotten up relatively early to come to Kevin Barry's—now the short sleep was catching up to her.
She must have dozed off anyway, for she came to herself with a start as Tannim turned the engine off. “Well, we're here,” he said, with an expectant expression on his face.
She looked around, baffled. “Where's here?” she asked, not recognizing anything.
“It's a park, outside Fort Pulaski. This is a place I come with friends. That's one of the approaches to the docks—it's very deep here.” He indicated the waterway before them. “See? There's one of the big container ships you see passing River Street.” He opened the trunk of the Mustang and pulled out a familiar item: a cargo blanket like she used for bedding. Some pimp: blanket over one shoulder, white lunchbox in each hand, and a goofy grin.
She shivered in the sea breeze, and Tannim slapped his forehead after laying out the food and blanket. “I should have given this to you before,” he explained sheepishly, handing her the sack. “Sorry . . . hope it fits.”
Tania opened the sack, and pulled out—a sweat suit. A nice one, with a puffy-ink Hilton Head logo and . . . a unicorn.
He knew. How could he know? Oh, God, it's beautiful . . . it's better than anything I have now. I'd look like a tourist or a college student.
She felt her eyes tearing up, and only her involuntary shivering broke her out of it. Tannim stood with a self-satisfied smirk, then sat on the blanket, his back to her.
God, I'm a teenage hooker, and he gives me credit for modesty. Incredible. . . .
She slipped the suit on over her speedos and immediately felt warmer. It was thick fleece. “I look like . . .” She let the sentence trail off.
“You look confident.” He grinned, looking her over. “The unicorn design suits you. They're powerful beasts, very, very magical, and as graceful as you are. And just as capable of miracles.”
Tania felt herself blushing. “I don't know . . . this is all so weird, I mean, this feels like some movie. It's stupid, this fairy-tale shit just doesn't happen.”
“Mmm. No. Normally it doesn't. It doesn't make any more sense than sunlight or trees. Or internal combustion.” He gestured with a pickle spear “You turn the key, the car runs. Inside it, water runs through iron, lightning sparks fire, thousands of tiny firestorms, and all people ever think of is 'push the pedal and it goes.' But, Tania, people are like that. Complex, but so taken for granted, with all the powers of the elements in them. Sooner or later, even we forget how wonderful our internal machines are. All we need to be great is to remember how amazing we really are.”
“Oh, God, you're not one of those Scientologist people, are you?”
Tannim nearly choked laughing. “Oh my God! Give me some credit! I'm not that brain-dead!”
She smiled a little, sheepishly. “It's just that what you keep saying all sounds like some feel-good pep talk to fat executives.”