"Wen Spencer - Ukiah 2 - Taintet Trail" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spencer Wen)

Max handed Ukiah his briefcase with a "Hold this" and started to shift over his other belongings to
the middle seat. Ukiah thumbed through the folder. Max kept meticulous records and the folder was no
exception. A photo of Ukiah at thirteen was clipped to the inside cover. Maps in the front. Area info next.
There was a copy of a newspaper article tucked in before a bundle of receipts. Ukiah pulled it out as Max
sat beside him and Kraynak carefully settled his tall, solid body into the end seat.
INFORMATION SOUGHT ON WOLF BOY was the headline of the small article circled in red.
 Anyone with information on the feral child sighted recently at the Umatilla National Park,
please contact Jesse Kicking Deer. Kicking Deer believes the mysterious boy reportedly "running
naked with the wolves" to be a distant family member. Kicking Deer describes the supposed feral
child as a handsome boy from the Cayuse tribe. Anyone sighting the Umatilla Wolf Boy can reach
Jesse Kicking Deer at Rt. 1 Box 534, Pendleton, Oregon 97801.


"Max? What's this? This sounds like me."
Max looked over and frowned for a moment in recall. "That sounded real close, but I had to
discount it."
"Why?"
Max tapped the "1933" written in red ink at the top, next to the East Oregonian legend. "Because
the kid disappeared in 1933 and that would make him over eighty."
"Or over two hundred," Ukiah whispered.
Max glanced at him puzzled. Understanding came with a slight widening of his eyes. "Oh, shit." He
looked down at the paper again. "Ukiah, this could have been you. I thought you were a normal kid at the
time."
When his Mom Jo found him running with the wolves, there had been no way of knowing his birth
date or exact age. He showed signs that he had started into puberty, so his Mom Jo had assigned him the
age of thirteen. In actuality, they learned later, he was several hundred years old; after growing to maturity,
he aged only when he was wounded. The rough-and-tumble life of a private investigator was the only
reason he couldn't still pass as a thirteen-year-old. A series of almost fatal accidents and shootings made
him look almost eighteen, but certainly not the twenty-one stated on his driver's license.
Ukiah flipped through the case report looking for an indication that Max had followed up on the
newspaper clipping. "You talked to this man?"
Max considered the overhead compartments as he thought. "This was five years ago, Ukiah, and I
don't have your memory. I talked to him, but not face to face. It was over the phone. I remember it was a
short conversation. I told him I found the article in the library's archive and that I was trying to establish
someone's true identity, but I know I didn't go into details with him. I think one of my first questions was
'When did the boy disappear?' After he said 1933 I thanked him for his time and cut the conversation
short."
Ukiah found the name, address, and phone number of Jesse Kicking Deer in the case report. Max
had noted, Description and location match, but age is completely wrong. "I would love to go see this
guy. I wonder if he's still at this address."
Max picked up the phone built into the seat in front of them. "Let's see."
The phone number listed in the file was no longer in service. Undaunted, Max called information
and gave the name and address.
"I'm showing a Claire Kicking Deer at that address," the operator said over the drone of the
engines, "but that number is unlisted."
Max thanked the operator and hung up. "With a name like that, it's a fair bet they're related." Max
consulted his PDA. "We're landing in Pendleton at five-thirty, if we don't miss the commuter in Portland.
We'll need to rent the cars, load them, and then it's an hour drive down to the campground." He tapped
through a series of pages. "We're not going to be able to do any actual tracking tonight; I don't want to be
stumbling around in the dark."