"Christopher Moore - The Stupidest Angel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Moore Christopher)

"I've got twelve more minutes on this thing."


"The cell reception in this town is horrible."


"I have Theo's number on speed dial, for the kids. Let me call."


"Look at Georgia and the girls. It looks like they were playing
Twister and fell."


"Hello, Theo. This is Jane down at BULGES. Yes, well, I just glanced
out the window here and I noticed that there might be a problem
over at the Thrifty-Mart. Well, I don't want to meddle, but let's just
say that a certain contractor just hit one of the Salvation Army
Santas with a bag of ice. Well, I'll look for your car, then." She
flipped the phone shut. "He's on his way."


***


Theophilus Crowe's mobile phone played eight bars of "Tangled Up
in Blue" in an irritating electronic voice that sounded like a choir of
suffering houseflies, or Jiminy Cricket huffing helium, or, well, you
know, Bob Dylan — anyway, by the time he got the device open, five
people in the produce section of the Thrifty-Mart were giving him
the hairy eyeball hard enough to wilt the arugula right there in his
cart. He grinned as if to say, Sorry, I hate these things, too, but
what aw you gonna do? then he answered, "Constable Crowe," just
to remind everyone that he wasn't dickmg around here, he was THE
LAW.


"In the parking lot of the Thrifty-Mart? Okay, I'll be right there "


Wow, this was convenient. One thing about being the resident
lawman in a town of only five thousand people — you were never far
from the trouble. Theo parked his cart on the end of the aisle and
loped by the registers and out the automatic doors to the parking lot
(He was a denim- and flannel-clad praying mantis of a man, six-six,
one-eighty, and he only had three speeds, amble, lope, and still).
Outside he found Lena Marquez doubled over and gasping for
breath. Her ex-husband, Dale Pearson, was stepping into his
four-wheel-drive pickup.