"Christopher Moore - Island of the Sequined Love Nun" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore Christopher)

"Be still, Mr. Case. I want you to count backward from one hundred."
"Is there a reason for that--for the counting?"
"You can say the Pledge of Allegiance if you want."
"But I can't stand up."
"Just count, smart-ass."


When Tucker came to, through the fog of anesthesia he saw a picture of
himself superimposed over a burning pink jet. Looking down on the scene was
the horrified face of the matriarch of pyramid makeup sales, Mary Jean
Dobbins--Mary Jean to the world. Then the picture was gone, replaced by a
rugged male face and perfect smile.
"Tuck, you're famous. You made the Enquirer." The voice of Jake Skye,
Tuck's only male friend and premier jet mechanic for Mary Jean. "You crashed
just in time to make the latest edition."
"My dick?" Tuck said, struggling to sit up. There was what appeared to be
a plaster ostrich egg sitting on his lap. A tube ran out the middle of it.
Jake Skye, tall, dark, and unkempt--half Apache, half truck stop
waitress--said, "That's going to smart. But the doc says you'll play the
violin again." Jake sat in a chair next to Tuck's bed and opened the tabloid.
"Look at this. Oprah's skinny again. Carrots, grapefruit, and
amphetamines."
Tucker Case moaned. "What about the aid? What was her name?"
"Meadow Malackovitch," Jake said, looking at the paper. "Wow, Oprah's
fucking Elvis. You got to give that woman credit. She stays busy. By the way,
they're going to move you to Houston. Mary Jean wants you where she can keep
an eye on you."
"The girl, Jake?"
Jake looked up from the paper. "You don't want to know."
"They said she was going to be okay. Is she dead?"
"Worse. Pissed off. And speaking of pissed off, there's some FAA guys
outside who are waiting to talk to you, but the doctor wouldn't let them in.
And I'm supposed to call Mary Jean as soon as you're coherent. I'd advise
against that--becoming coherent, I mean. And then there's a whole bunch of
reporters. The nurses are keeping them all out."
"How'd you get in?"
"I'm your only living relative."
"My mother will be pleased to hear that."
"Brother, your mother doesn't even want to claim you. You totally fucked
the dog on this one."
"I'm fired, then?"
"Count on it. In fact, I'd say you'd be lucky to get a license to operate
a riding lawnmower."
"I don't know how to do anything but fly. One bad landing?"
"No, Tuck, a bad landing is when the overheads pop open and dump people's
gym bags. You crashed. If it makes you feel any better, with the Gulfstream
gone I'm not going to have any work for at least six months. They may not even
get another jet."
"Is the FAA filing charges?"
Jake Skye looked at his paper to avoid Tuck's eyes. "Look, man, do you