Thicker Than Blood - Crouch Blake (лучшие книги онлайн TXT) 📗

Breathless, Maxine sets the yams on the tablecloth beside a platter of steaming crab cakes. Then she takes a seat at the end of the table, opposite her husband, and releases a contended sigh. "Mrs. Claus" is spelled out in rhinestones across the front of her bright red sweater.

Dressed up as Santa Claus, Rufus occupies the head of the table. To his left sit the spasmodic Andrew Thomas, Elizabeth Lancing, and Violet King, their faces twitching involuntarily. At Rufus’s right sit Luther and Horace Boone. Luther also wears a Santa hat but does not look happy about it. Horace holds a leather-bound journal in his lap. His legs and torso have been duct-taped to the chair, and he trembles.

"Beautiful," Rufus says, addressing his wife, "I think I speak for everyone when I say this looks absolutely scrumptious."

Rufus rises and steps behind Andy, Beth, and Vi—a haggard-looking bunch. The ladies have been helped into two of Maxine’s faded house dresses. Andy wears one of Rufus’s tattered leisure suits—too tall and too narrow in the shoulders.

"Would Miss Violet care for some cranberry relish?" Rufus asks.

Vi looks up over her shoulder and smiles at the vibrating three-headed god.

"Ha-ha-ha, yes Miss Violet would."

Rufus scoops a spoonful of relish onto her plate and inquires if she’d care for a serving of mashed potatoes and gravy.

"Oh please. I’m eating for two, you know."

"Is that right?" Rufus says. "Well, I’ll be."

Vi’s head seizures intensely for five seconds.

"Thhhhhhhhhhhhhhhat was fun!"

Luther reaches for the broccoli casserole.

"Boy!" Maxine yells. "Not until the guests are served!"

When Rufus has finished serving the twitching threesome, he returns to his chair at the head of the table, removes his Santa hat, and says, "Dig in, everybody."

As the platters are passed around, Horace watches the three tremblers across the table try to feed themselves. Roughly one out of every three attempts ends in someone missing their mouth and shoving the food directly into their face. When Beth inserts a spoonful of yams down the neck of her dress, Vi giggles, then chokes and snorts mashed potatoes through her nose. The entire table laughs, and Rufus says, "Boy, the Christmas cheer is just palpable."

Then the party goes quiet and the room fills with eating sounds. Luther’s plate is covered in raw oysters on half shells. He lifts one after another, shaking a few drops of Tabasco sauce onto the cool oyster, and sucking it down his throat like a swallow of briny spicy snot.

"Oh my God!" Andy suddenly exclaims, peering at something under the table.

Rufus finishes off a hushpuppy and gently takes hold of Andy’s arm.

"What is it, Andy?" he asks.

"What happened to my leg?"

"Oh," Rufus chuckles. "Had to do a little surgery. That bear trap nearly took it off. I told Luther it was too big a snare. You almost lost the leg. Thought I might have to saw it off. Yeah, that’s about ninety stitches there."

Andy glares at Rufus, his head convulsing violently, then bursts out in laughter.

"Thank you!" Andy shouts.

Rufus lifts his fork, smiling, "Merry Christmas, Andy, you get to keep your leg!"

Again, the table erupts in laughter, everybody but Horace, who just stares at his plate, food uneaten, tears welling from his bloodshot eyes.

"Why the long face, boy?" Maxine asks. "You ain’t hungry?"

"He’s just nervous, Beautiful," Rufus says. "Totally understandable. He’s waiting for the verdict. Show everybody your book, Horace."

The boy lifts the slim leather journal up from his lap for everyone to see.

"That right there is Horace Boone’s Philosophy of Evil."

"I didn’t know you were a writer," Vi says.

Beth has passed out in her food.

Andy stares at a grouping of peas on his plate, mesmerized.

"That’s wonderful," Maxine says, "what you got to be nervous about, boy?"

"It’s shit," Rufus says. "That’s what he’s got to be nervous about."

Horace buries his face in his hands.

"I told him the first night he was here, ‘Horace, I didn’t invite you. If you want to stay, convince me you’re worth it.’"

Rufus takes a half shell from his son’s plate and sucks out the oyster.

Wiping his mouth, he continues, "I told him about my collection of treatises. I explained what would happen if I didn’t find favor with his, and he accepted the risk. So Horace, look at me you big crybaby."

Horace looks across the table at the hideous Santa Claus.

"For the record, I have not found favor with your treatise. Your rage is great, but your mind is small. You long to burn people. To smell cooked flesh. Eat human ash. Interesting cravings, sure, but Horace, you would murder without calm. You’d do it out of fear and confusion and rage. It would be brutal, but it would serve your deficiency, not your strength. You’re a kitty-cat who wants to be a lion."

"Rufus, just give me—"

"You were told not to speak. In short, you aren’t what I’m looking for, Horace. Few are. I saw your heart in your words, and it’s a broken, desperate organ, for which I have no use."

"Pop," Luther says, "why don’t we just let him burn one of the girls?"

Rufus turns and smiles at his son. He lifts his hand, scratches his nose, and backhands Luther across the face.

Vi giggles.

Andy licks peas, one by one, off his plate.

Beth snores.

Maxine shakes her head.

Horace weeps.

Luther glares.

"You go on and take him downstairs, son. I don’t care what you do with him. I might be down later. Better say goodbye to your idol, Horace."

Crying hard now, Horace glares at Andy and his peas.

"You misjudge your former hero," Rufus says. "I knew his brother. That’s the stock I’m looking for. That’s a lion who wishes to God he were a kitty. Leave your pathetic book on the table. I want it for my collection. Merry Christmas."

Luther rises, discards his Santa hat, and pushes his long black hair behind his shoulders.

Horace begins to beg.

Maxine pinches his cheeks as Luther slides Horace’s chair back from the table.

"You give a shit about this chair, Mama?" Luther asks.

"No, why?"

Luther drags the chair to the edge of the staircase and kicks it down.

Bones crack. Screaming ensues.

Maxine tilts her head back and laughs long and low.

"Thanks for dinner, Mama," Luther says.

Then he kisses her cheek and heads down the steps toward the whimpering boy.

"I tell you Andy…Andy, quit it with the peas already."

Andy looks up and grins at Rufus. His long hair and beard have been trimmed haphazardly, both now streaked with gray.

"You really let that boy down. You know, he followed you all the way out here from Canada. In the Vancouver airport, he overheard you calling for information on ferries to Ocracoke. Showed up at my front door the night before Miss King came knocking. I mean if it hadn’t been for him, you might have pulled one over on us. You used to be that boy’s hero until he read your manuscript. If he’d had it his way, you’d be dead right now. You don’t know how much he begged me to let him set you ablaze."

A series of clunks is followed by a scream as Horace and his chair descend another flight of steps.

Maxine giggles. "That Luther—he’s so funny."

"That boy thought you were the biggest fraud he’d ever seen. Called you a gentle spirit in his treatise."