Ultimate Thriller Box Set - Crouch Blake (лучшие книги без регистрации txt) 📗

“Do you know where Ivy Terrace is?” he finally asked.

“Them apartments you built up on the west side?” Smalley peered at him as if deciding whether to go to the hospital after all.

“Yeah. Can you take me there?” He reached for his back pocket. “I’ll pay you, of course.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. Work is work and favors is favors. Remember that next time somebody else needs a hand.”

Jacob glanced in the side mirror, and for a moment thought he saw the green Chevy roaring up from behind. He wiped at his eyes.

“I heard about what happened,” Smalley said, keeping his eyes on the road as the clusters of neighboring houses grew denser. Jacob hadn’t realized how far he had walked. The sun had already started its downward slide toward afternoon.

“Hard to figure the ways of the Lord sometimes,” Smalley said. He reached to a stained and frayed work coat beside him and pushed it across the seat toward Jacob. “The way I figure, He did plenty of suffering up on the cross, so we all get to do a little in our turn.”

Jacob looked out the window, thinking of Mattie, remembering the way she had sat on his foot as a toddler and urged him to make it “giddy-up.” What did Smalley know about suffering? He didn’t have a family, or any responsibility. He had a fly rod in his shotgun rack and a truck bed full of scrap lumber and rusty tools. He had a nicotine habit and dirty nails.

Smalley fumbled in the folds of the coat, opening it so that Jacob could see the bottle. The amber liquid lay greasy and thick within the confines of the glass, rolling back and forth in waves with the motion of the truck. “But the Lord gave us means to ease our suffering. That’s a real blessing, you ask me.”

Jacob looked at the bottle, the slick brass cap, the brown label that suggested an easy afternoon on the plantation. He pictured himself showing up on Renee’s doorstep half-drunk, an excuse to launch into an abusive rage.

No, not half. Jacob hadn’t been half-drunk in over a decade.

“No, thanks,” he said, more to himself than Smalley.

“Suit yourself. Say, you got any work coming up?”

Jacob didn’t want to tell the man that M & W Ventures was done. Renee should be the first to know, followed by his partner. Maybe Donald would buy him out and keep the earth machines well fed, continue stacking bricks and laying pavement and raising monuments to progress and ego. Taking up the Wells mantle without benefit of the bloodline. “I’ve been out of touch,” he said.

“Yeah. I reckon so.”

They circled the back end of town, past the gray warehouses and boarded-up shops that lined the abandoned railroad. Jacob used to think of this section as a slum, acres and acres in need of a wrecking ball, an urban renewal project he had once calculated as a long-term investment. Turn the old textile mill into a mini-mall, charge outrageous rent for small shops whose proprietors could peddle “handcrafted” Appalachian baskets and quilts that were actually mass-produced by exploited labor in Taiwan. The consumer was only buying an emotion, after all. A mountain town back-street offered plenty of nostalgia for those who longed for better days that had never really existed.

For the first time, Jacob saw the beauty of the broken glass that sparkled in the dying sun. The ragweed that grew in clumps along the leaning chain-link fence had outlasted the concrete. The stinking brown creek, marred by oil runoff, carried away the dregs of growth. Here and there between the buildings, a honey locust made a reach for the sky, bristling with thorns and defiance.

Smalley shifted gears and turned up the hill onto a private drive. A wooden sign with a fieldstone base heralded “Ivy Terrace.” The sign was landscaped, ringed with pine straw and non-native pansies. Nestled among the hardwood trees on the ridge were the apartments that Jacob had helped develop. More of his false ego, a mock testament to the ephemeral nature of ambition.

And behind one of those doors was Renee. Another mock testament.

“Stop,” Jacob said.

Smalley glanced at him and eased in the clutch. When the truck slowed, Jacob pushed open the passenger door and eased to the ground. He reached in and pulled the bottle of liquor from its hiding place.

“A small blessing,” Jacob said.

“Don’t blame you none. Give me a holler if you got any work for me.”

“I’ll do that, Chick.”

“I’ll be praying for you.”

“It can’t hurt none.”

Nothing could hurt, not anymore. Smalley turned the truck around and headed back toward town. Jacob tucked the bottle inside his coat and headed for the shrubs that had been part of a landscaping scheme he had once designed, never realizing until now the type of concealment it provided. He found a gap in the rhododendrons and crawled among the twisted branches. The space had been used before. Empty beer bottles, a condom wrapper, a mottled, crushed French fries container, and a sprinkling of cigarette butts marked it as the territory of the transient. Jacob instantly felt at home.

He twisted the metal cap from the liquor bottle and toasted the distant sky, which was barely visible through the thick, waxy leaves. “To our mutual suffering,” he said.

The first taste was harsh and welcoming. The second was merely welcoming.

CHAPTER SIX

Renee cradled the phone against her ear. She’d chipped her fingernail polish opening a can of Tab. Sitting in an apartment she wasn’t paying for, talking of money, made her lightheaded. Despite the wealth Jacob had accumulated early in their marriage, this money seemed unreal, almost sickening. “It’s two million dollars, Kim.”

“Holy crud,” came her best friend’s voice from the speaker. Kim worked as a technician at the hospital, testing blood samples. The sound of hospital business occasionally came through in the background, doctors being paged, carts rattling by, the ringing of nurses’ bells.

“That doesn’t make up for it. Not a bit.”

“I know, honey. We’ve been through that. You don’t have any more tears left to cry.”

“I was the beneficiary. Jacob set it up that way. After Christine died, he insured the three of us for a million dollars each. Said that’s how his father always did it.”

“And you let him?”

“Well, it’s the kind of thing you don’t think about much. You can’t let it weigh on you, that tragedy might strike again. I figured we’d used up more than our share with Christine.”

“I know you guys are movers and shakers, but a million is a million, even with inflation. What are you guys going to do with the money?”

“That’s just it. He’s hiding from all this.”

“Forget about him for a minute. What do you want?”

Renee looked at the urn on the mantel. She didn’t want the ashes around as a constant reminder of The Tragedy. She carried around enough reminders inside her.

She’d hoped Jacob would pull himself together and get through his grieving process, decide with her what they should do with the ashes. It had been over two months and he still refused to have any contact with her. “I want Jake to be happy. That’s all that’s left for me, Kim.”

“Your parents gone?”

“Yeah, they left last week. Dad’s not doing too well. Said now he didn’t have any grandchildren to spoil. Mom helped, but I can’t talk to her about the heavy stuff.”

“Well, I’m here whenever you need me.”

Renee’s throat caught and the tears welled up without warning. She stuck a finger behind her glasses and brushed at her eyelashes. “I can’t do this much longer. I want Jake.”

“Didn’t he get weird after Christine?”

Renee’s chest clenched around her heart. “Yeah. He went AWOL, but I was so focused on Mattie that I hardly noticed.”

“He’ll work it out in time. He’ll see how much he needs you. You know what I’ve always said about men.”

Renee barked a half-sob, half-laugh. “‘They can’t see the light because their heads are up their butts.’”