"Nayler, Ray - Pinball Zen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nayler Ray)

Back in the arcade, Jason was opening one of the machines up to give a kid a free game, then smacking the machine shut and locking it. Jason had long hair that hung in his face. He never paid attention to anything.

"That kid pulls that crap every time he comes in here," Stan told him.

Jason looked at him through his hair.

"It's no skin off my back, man. I could care less."

"Right."

Outside on the mini-golf course, a couple was kissing, two shadows near the lit-up blades of the windmill. Jason bounced one of the green golf balls against the counter and caught it.

"Some guy called for you."

"Some guy?"

"While you were out with Jen. Didn't leave a message or anything. I told him you were on break." Jason took his apron off.

"Don't you close with me tonight?"

"No. I'm off at ten-thirty. I closed the snack bar, though. I cleaned the butter pump, even."

"Thanks."

"So I'm gonna go, if that's cool."

"Sure." Stan saw Phil come in through the double doors but pretended he didn't. Phil was wearing his stained army jacket. His head was freshly shaven, gleaming under the arcade lights.

"So you want me to sweep up or anything before I take off?"

"Don't worry about it."

Jason balled his apron up and went out. Phil was loitering by one of the old Pac-Man machines, his back to Stan. There were a couple of kids in backwards baseball caps at the Street Fighter machine, kicking the virtual crap out of each other. Otherwise, the place was empty. The machines bleeped and shouted at one another. The Altered Beast game in the corner said "RISE FROM YOUR GRAVE!!!" over the rest of the noise. They'd had it fixed the week before, and the tech had set the volume up too loud. Stan pretended to mess with his register, watching Phil out of the corner of his eye. Eventually, Phil got tired of being ignored and came over.

"Hey."

"Hey."

There was a scab at the corner of Phil's mouth. Stan thought of Phil kissing Jen, back when they were going out. He wondered what diseases he might be catching from Phil. Phil's fish-white hand darted over the counter and they shook. Phil always shook hands. It was one more thing for his hands to do. They were always moving--picking at something or running over his shaved head or popping into his mouth so he could bite the nails to the nub.

"I called your house."

"Yeah, Jen said."

"I didn't see anything in the paper. You?"

"Of course not."

"Don't think he called the cops."