"Spencer,.Wen.-.Ukiah.3.-.Bitter.Waters" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spencer Wen)

"Ukiah!" Max was shouting.
"I almost have him, Max." Ukiah pushed the ball up and out of the pipe, and the boy slid down into his arms in a gush of water like a baby being born. Alive. Unconscious. Ice cold. "Got him!"
"What?" Max shouted.
Ukiah didn't bother to answer. He waddled awkwardly down the pipe, carrying the limp boy. At the mouth lip, he halted with a groan of despair. The water level had risen dramatically in the junction pipe; most likely the rushing water would come up to his chest now. Just dropping down into the flow would be like stepping out in front of a speeding car; he doubted he could keep his feet when it hit him. If he lost hold of the boy in this torrent, he wouldn't be able to get him back.
"Max! Where are the rescue crews?" He cupped his microphone to keep the water's roar out. "Max, I'm going to need someone on ropes."
"Hold on!"
He waited in the vast, dark wet roaring. Two lights appeared in the feeder upstream and picked him out. "I see them!"
The lights separated, one coming on while the other stayed, anchoring ropes. The first rescue worker came fast, carried on the rush of water like a piece of debris. Ukiah caught Max's scent as the first light slammed against his pipe, revealing that it belonged to his partner.
"What are you doing?" Ukiah shouted at him.
"Getting you out of here!" Max shouted back. "Come on!"
Max steadied him as he climbed down into the current. The water smashed into him, and then tried pulling him down and carrying him away. Together they worked their way back to Ari, standing anchor for the rope. The policeman was tied off with a second rope, leading back to the ladder.
Brilliant light and water streamed down through the open manhole. Hands reached down for the boy, and Ukiah blindly passed the small limp body upward.
"Go on," Max shouted.
Ukiah ducked his head, lost between cave black and brilliance. "I can't see!"
"Go on, Ari!" Max waved the cop ahead, and then guided Ukiah's hand to the ladder. "Can you make it alone?" Ukiah nodded. "I'll go first and act as your eyes."
Max climbed up, and was there, a steadying hand and voice, when Ukiah scrambled out of the manhole. Rescue No. 1, the heavy rescue truck from the Shadyside station, Engine No. 14 of the Oakland fire station, and another squad car had filled the street while Ukiah was in the storm drains. The night was full of flashing lights, blaring radios, moving bodies, shouting voices, and restraining hands.
Ukiah covered his eyes as they shifted painfully back to human normal, trying to block out some of the confusion around him. At least the earlier cloudburst had ended, and the rain had tapered down to a fine drizzle.
"He's fine." Max fended off an attempt to get him onto a gurney. "Just give him a moment."
A compromise of him sitting on the fire engine's bumper was reached, and a woman pushed away his hand, commanding, "Let me see. Do you have something in your eyes?"
"The light hurts." He blinked open his eyes, squinting against the glare. "I got used to the dark."
"Then you probably don't want me to do this." She shone a penlight into his eyes and watched them dilate. Behind her, the ambulance pulled away, whisking Kyle off to Children's Hospital. "You really should leave this stuff to us," she chided. "Good work, though. It's great to have finally found one of the missing kids."
A few minutes later she announced him completely fit. By then, word of the rescue had reached the media, and four TV news reporters from the local channels arrived, followed by cameramen and more bright lights.
"Mr. Oregon, how did you find the little boy?"
"We're told he's been taken to Children's Hospital. How badly was he hurt?"
"Were there any signs of the other four missing children?"
"No. He just went after a lost ball," Ukiah told them, following Max as his partner cleared a path to the Cherokee. "He climbed down into the storm drain and got stuck. This wasn't connected to the kidnappings."
"How did you find him? The police searched the neighborhood for hours. People here say you've only been on the case for less than an hour."
"Did you follow his scent, Wolf Boy?"
"No more questions." Max unlocked the Cherokee remotely, and opened the passenger door for Ukiah. "We've had a rough day and we're heading home now."
The reporters chased Max around the Cherokee as he threw the damp climbing ropes into the back and then got into the driver's seat, repeating the same questions while he shook his head and said, "No comment."
Max and Ukiah were silent until they turned the first corner, leaving the chaos behind them.
"Did you get your mouse?"
"Yeah." Ukiah took the mouse out of his pocket and found a power bar to feed to it. "Where did you get the ropes?"
"Bought them off a neighbor. Rock climber. I paid the little shit twice what they were worth."
"So you paid him all the money in the world?"
Max looked at him, surprised, and then grinned. "I suppose that is what they were worth to us."
***
Their offices were in Shadyside, a small, affluent neighborhood filled with boutiques and mansions. Max had bought the house when he was happily married, planning to fill it with antique furniture and spoiled children. His wife died in a car accident, changing those plans, and the mansion was now the office for Bennett Detective Agency. To Ukiah, it was a second home, complete with his own bedroom.
The mansion had a carriage house converted into a detached four-car garage. Max parked the Cherokee in the second bay, between Ukiah's motorcycle and Max's Hummer. "Go ahead and get cleaned up. We'll deal with the equipment tomorrow. Don't forget your mouse."
Ukiah had forgotten the sleeping mouse. It was annoying that perfect recall did not mean one always remembered important things. He picked up the tiny sleeping bundle of fur, waking it. A moment of concentration reverted it to blood, and then the cells merged with the skin of his palms, making his hands feel bloated and hot.
In the darkness between the garage and the back door, Ukiah stripped down to his boxers. After scrubbing off the storm drain stench upstairs, he dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt labeled PRIVATE DETECTIVE, BENNETT DETECTIVE AGENCY across the back and went downstairs to raid the fridge. What was in the refrigerator section, however, had sprouted mold while they were in Oregon. The smell when he opened the door was an assault on his sensitive senses. He closed the door quickly and checked the freezer. Max had it stocked with ice cream bars for Ukiah.
"All the leftovers in the fridge are really foul," he told Max when he ducked into Max's library office to say good night.
Max grunted, his attention on the answering machine. It played a series of sharp clicks followed by a time stamp; late Friday afternoon was measured off in half-hour increments. "The same person called five times and hung up after the answering machine started to record."
The next message was from the Volvo car dealership, complaining that the agency's custom-ordered car had gone unclaimed for several weeks.
By the mysterious and archaic rules of depreciation, the agency's Buick had reached the end of its usefulness despite being in perfect working order. In early June, when Max ordered a Volvo to replace the Buick, Ukiah had only cared about its color. At that time, he had been a childlike Wolf Boy. He looked barely seventeen and could recall only eight lean years of living with humans.
Since then his life had been massively altered. He had learned that he was a half-breed alien who aged only when wounded, had been given genetic memories of his father's race stretching back eons, and, most recently, recovered memories of his hundred-year enforced childhood among his Native American family. He had been kidnapped, beaten, and killed, only to heal back to life, aging him body and soul. Some of the changes in him were easily seen in the mirror; in months he had aged years. Most were subtler, surprising him.
He caught himself wondering how Max determined it was time to trade in the Buick, why he chose a Volvo to replace it, and what the agency would end up paying for the change in cars. Surely this was what moths went through after emerging from their cocoons and first considered the mysteries of flight.
"I told Chino and Janey to call the dealership last week." Max punched the delete button. David Chino and Moisha Janey were two part-time private investigators that the agency employed. While the two worked well closely supervised, covering the agency while Max and Ukiah were in Oregon proved too much for them. "I'll pick the Volvo up tomorrow morning."
A message from their accountant followed, stating simply, "I wanted to talk to you about end of quarter."
Another mysterious business thing Ukiah had left to Max since being raised by wolves gave him a weak understanding of all things concerning money. It bothered Ukiah that he had no real idea what "end of quarter" might mean for the company. Neither the Ontongard nor the Native American child had experience with business accounting, but he gained some depth in personality, someplace, that wanted to know. As the term "partner" implied, the agency was half his.