"Laymon, Richard - InTheDark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laymon Richard)

"Over there," Brace said, pointing toward the far left corner. "Behind all that stuff. I hope."
He led the way.
The statue _could_ be back there, Jane realized. A Bradley tank could be tucked out of sight in that corner behind the accumulation of clutter.
So could Mog, Master of Games. Or he might be hiding anywhere along the way.
Most of the dark shapes over there were too indistinct to identify. But Jane thought she could make out a collection of park benches standing on end; at least a dozen cages of various sizes, all stacked up like castoffs from a traveling zoo; plywood trees that she imagined had served as props for a stage production (_A Midsummer Night's Dream_ came to mind); and a small forest of standing Doric columns, twice Jane's height, that looked dirty gray in the darkness.
She turned sideways to follow Brace through the columns. She brushed against some, rubbed against others as she squeezed between them. They felt cool and rough like concrete.
She almost asked Brace if he knew what they were for.
But she didn't want to know. Not that badly.
Not badly enough to speak and invade the silence with her voice.
_He_ might be anywhere.
Near enough to hear Jane whisper, close enough to touch her. She reached out for Brace's arm, but he kept moving, unaware, and her hand found only air.
_Don't leave me behind!_
She hurried after him. Her footfalls were nearly silent in the soft, dewy grass. Good. You want to be silent, she told herself. But her breathing sounded awfully loud. And her denim skirt rasped as her buttocks rubbed against the rough grain of a column. Another column thrust against her left breast as she squeezed by. It didn't hurt her and it made no more than a whisper against the fabric of her blouse, but gave a tug that popped her top button out of its hole. As she reached up and fumbled to refasten the button, the maze of columns ended.
She halted. She lowered her arms. She glanced at Brace. His head turned toward her and his hand reached out. She took hold of it, squeezed it.
In front of them stood the statue of Crazy Horse.
It loomed high over them, nearly double the size of a real horse and rider, black in a bright glow of moonlight.
Black and magnificent.
The black stallion at full gallop was stretched out long and sleek, mane afly, tail aloft, only a single hoof at the left rear grounded to the pedestal, the other three airborne as it raced through frozen time.
And on the stallion's bare back rode Crazy Horse, war chief of the Sioux. Naked except for a loincloth, lean and muscular, hunched over, hugging the mount with his knees, one hand raised in a fist, the other bearing a lance. His mouth was wide in a warcry, his long hair and the rear flap of his loincloth high up behind him, lifted by the same ceaseless wind as the stallion's mane and tail.
"What do you think?" Brace asked.
"My God."
"Yeah."
They moved closer together, and Jane leaned against him. He slipped an arm across her shoulders.
"Who was the alumnus, Frederic Remington?"
"A guy named Pat Clancy, class of thirty-nine. This was the only major piece he finished before the war. His plane went down somewhere over the Himalayas in forty-three. He's up there now, near Mount Everest somewhere, always will be."
For a while, Jane didn't trust herself to speak. She knew her voice would falter. After wiping her eyes, she took a deep breath and said, "It shouldn't be hidden away back here. It should be where everybody can see it."
"Yeah. Well, maybe someday."
"I didn't even know it existed. If you hadn't brought me here . . ."
"I helped a bit," he admitted. "But it was your friend Mog who _really_ brought you here."
Jane gazed up at the statue of Crazy Horse. "You're right," she whispered. "How weird. I've been afraid of him, and what has he done? He's given me money . . . he's led me to a copy of a great novel like _Look Homeward, Angel_ . . . and he's brought me over here to see this fabulous statue. What's to be scared of?"
"Maybe nothing," Brace said.
"Maybe plenty, huh?" Jane said. "He might be trying to lull me into trusting him. Then _wham_!"
"It's possible."
Jane nodded. "Anything^ possible, isn't it?"
"Pretty much so."
"But, you know? Even if he turns out to be some vicious, bad-to-the-bone creep, I might never have seen this Crazy Horse statue if he hadn't sent me here. Might've missed getting to know you, too."
"I know _I'm_ grateful to him," Brace said.
They faced each other.
Jane knew that he was about to pull her into his arms. Knew. Felt it. Any second, now. He wouldn't stop with embracing her, with kissing her, wouldn't stop at all.
_Oh, my God. I'm not ready for this. No! It's too soon, way too soon._
_We can't!_
"So," Brace said, "where do you think he left the envelope?"
"Huh? Oh. I don't know."
"Somewhere around the horse, more than likely. 'At midnight, horse around.'"
"It isn't midnight yet, is it?" Jane asked.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Fine. Just a little nervous. What time is it?"
Brace checked his wristwatch. "Only eleven-thirty. It shouldn't matter, though. If this is the right place and he did that to the chain, he's already come and gone."
"Maybe."
"You don't want to leave and come back at midnight, do you?"