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

total fuckup you are, doesn't it?"
Tucker gulped. She'd faked him out of his shoes. "I'm sorry, Mary Jean.
I'm..."
She raised a hand and he shut up. "You know I don't like to use profanity
or firearms, so please don't push me, Tucker. A lady controls her anger."
"Firearms?"
Mary Jean pulled the Lady Smith automatic out of her purse and leveled it
at Tucker's bandaged crotch. Strangely, he noticed that Mary Jean had chipped
a nail drawing the gun and for that, he realized, she really might kill him.
"You didn't listen to me when I told you to stop drinking. You didn't
listen when I told you to stay away from my representatives. You didn't listen
when I told you that if you were going to amount to anything, you had to give
your life to God. You'd better damn well listen now." She racked the slide on
the automatic. "Are you listening?"
Tuck nodded. He didn't breathe, but he nodded.
"Good. I have run this company for forty years without a hint of scandal
until now. I woke up yesterday to see my face next to yours on all the morning
news shows. Today it's on the cover of every newspaper and tabloid in the
country. A bad picture, Tucker. My suit was out of season. And every article
uses the words 'penis' and 'prostitute' over and over. T can't have that. I've
worked too hard for that."
She reached out and tugged on his catheter. Pain shot through his body
and he reached for the ringer for the nurse.
"Don't even think about it, pretty boy. I just wanted to make sure I had
your attention."
"The gun pretty much did it, Mary Jean," Tucker groaned. Fuck it, he was
a dead man anyway.
"Don't you speak to me. Just listen. This is going to disappear. You are
going to disappear. You're getting out of here tomorrow and then you're going
to a cabin I have up in the Rockies. You won't go home, you won't speak to any
reporters, you won't say doodly squat. My lawyers will handle the legal
aspects and keep you out of jail, but you will never surface again. When this
blows over, you can go on with your pathetic life. But with a new name. And if
you ever set foot in the state of Texas or come within a hundred yards of
anyone involved in my company, I will personally shoot you dead. Do you
understand?"
"Can I still fly?"
Mary Jean laughed and lowered the gun. "Sweetie, to a Texas way a
thinkin' the only way you coulda screwed up worse is if you'd thronged a kid
down a well after fessing up to being on the grassy knoll stompin' yellow
roses in between shootin' the President. You ain't gonna fly, drive, walk,
crawl, or spit if I have anything to say about it." She put the gun in her
purse and went into the tiny bathroom to check her makeup. A quick primping
and she headed for the door. "I'll send up some flowers. Y'all heal up now,
honey."
She wasn't going to kill him after all. Maybe he could win her back.
"Mary Jean, I think I had a spiritual experience."
"I don't want to hear about any of your degenerate activities."
"No, a real spiritual experience. Like a--what do you call it?--an
epiphany?"