Fortunately, the police had not yet verified Milk's fingerprints, so I rummaged a bit there, making sure they didn't do this. In such a small town like ours, it makes little sense to check the fingerprints of the detainees - no one expects a person entering the top ten wanted criminals to fall for petty theft in a supermarket. Mom says they are just lazy - fortunately for us. She may be right, but it seems to me more likely that the police are simply turning a blind eye to this, supporting the “Flaky Hands”. My mom's customer list has many families of cops, and they can literally have them off the floor.
* * *
It seemed to be pretty cold, but I could not make myself feel particularly sorry for my father. He had never been such a good father to me - if it had been otherwise, his mother would have given him much greater freedom. I worked on his case while I was on the police computer - Carol would be grateful for my service - and then I downloaded a list of those arrested today. Mom is unlikely to go to jail in the near future, but never bothers to be in the know. Besides, who knows - maybe Carol will suddenly have some kind of urgent job? She will cordon off such a service too.
And she will remember all these little services that I rendered to her, so when I turn eighteen, she will cover me when I finally come to my mother and tell her about my plans. That is, I want to say that “Sloppy Hands” is, of course, a wonderful company, and I am terribly proud of how my mother created it from scratch and made it such a streamlined mechanism as it is now. But the fact is that I'm really terribly, terribly not like homework, even if someone else is doing it. This is such a longing!
But then, it seems to me, I got a real attraction to delivering food to my home.
Jeffrey ford
Adventure in Deep Space No. 32
On the second of the giant planets that revolve around the star, forming the very tip of Scorpio's sting, at a point located on its vast equator, in the labyrinth of crystal gardens, where sharp fragments of transparent atomic lattice structures, like water, bite into absolute night, other less than the thickness of a pencil, and others higher than a skyscraper, Colonel Razuka, a famous explorer and independent navigator of the Deep Space Troopers, covered with a bubble helmet, with a jet pack sticking out from behind, allowing him to deftly maneuver among the cristalike a goldfish in the coral caves of the deep seas of the Far Tortuga, turned her searchlight a little to the right and, not noticing it, woke up an indescribable entity dormant there, which, grabbing onto this beam of rays, redirected its reflection upstream, introducing it into the depth of Razuka's eye, so that same day he returned with his alien presence leaked into his gray matter back to his ship, the Empress, where he walked among the crew, becoming more and more extravagant in St. their utterances and twitching gestures, until suddenly - oops!- from the crown of his head, a cobbling creature with a pulsating cerebellum and a dozen long tentacles did not hatch into the light, two of which immediately grew their obligated deflated eyes at the ends, immediately began to rummage around the other team members to feed them with energy by launching tentacles in their nose and stretching from there their bodily substance - until finally the creature was stopped by the Robot, the Friend of Man, the Performer-1000, in all respects resembling a metal scarecrow with blinking, like Christmas treese lanterns, with eyes and a bolt instead of the nose that killed the creature from the beam gun, disintegrating it into a pile of wet ash, but not before it was finished with all people - so that the robot was left in space alone, lost in space, whisper to everyone and all in a voice like the buzzing of an electric can opener: "Good riddance!"
Pat murphy
Savages
I was thirteen years old when I met the queen of foxes.
My family has just moved from Connecticut to California. It was a hot summer day, but the air conditioning in our new house did not work. Father left for his new job, and mother unpacked things, waiting for the person who was supposed to fix the air conditioner. I wanted to help her unpack a box of utensils, but I dropped a porcelain plate (from a service for twelve people) on the floor, and she invited me to go play in a tense voice.
I did not argue and left the house. The backyard was not too large: a small expanse of decayed grass bordered by dusty bushes and flower beds. A tall wooden fence blocked my view in all directions.
I opened the gate on the far side of the fence and looked out - there was a dirt road that ran parallel to rusty rail tracks. Our new house stood on the very edge of the new construction area, which, in turn, was located on the far edge of the city. On the other side of the railway there was a garden planted with walnuts - rows of trees with dark rough trunks and smooth light branches.
If I turned right, the road would lead me to the city. Turning left, I would go away from the city, into unknown lands.
I turned left.
At first, the road ran along the rear fence of our neighbors, but after about a hundred yards, the residential neighborhoods were left behind. To my right was still the railway and the walnut garden, to the left - another garden, and beyond it an open field. Further down the road and the rails approached a small stream. I got off the mound, deciding to walk along the water.
It was cooler here. Trees cast a soft green shadow onto the stream valley, moss covered the stones, jays shouted at me from the branches. The ravine turned to the side, and I saw a small path climbing up the slope through the confusion of branches and vines. I climbed up and found myself in a forest, where under the canopy of old clumsy trees weeds and bushes grew abundantly. Suddenly, I noticed that something orange flickered between the trunks - the color was bright, unnatural, striking. Walking further along the path, I approached a colored spot and found a small meadow in which all the bushes were cut down. Under a tree with a curved, hollow trunk, there was a large armchair upholstered with bright matter - orange daisies on a turquoise green pattern.In front of the chair was a large boulder with a flat top, on which stood a teapot with a broken nose. Planks were jammed in the branches of the tree, forming shelves arranged randomly and not particularly evenly; on them was a collection of strange objects: a jar of peanut butter, a crumpled tin, a porcelain cup without a handle, two jagged plates and a battered teddy bear.
“What the devil do you need here?” - suddenly came a voice very close to me.
With a start, I looked in that direction. On a lower tree branch to my left sat a girl of about my age, in frayed jeans and a soiled t-shirt. Her face was painted with red-brown clay - vertical stripes on her forehead, horizontal on her cheeks. The tangled reddish curls were tied with an elastic ribbon and decorated with a feather of a blue jay.
“I ... I just passed by,” I said stammering.
“And who told you that you can walk here?” She asked, raising her voice. - This is a private property.
I felt my face flaming.
- Sorry. I just ...
“What do you think, you can walk and poke your nose anywhere?”
- I already said that I apologize.
- These guys from new buildings think that they own everything in the world!
“I never thought so ...”
“Why don't you just go back to where you came from?”
“Yes, good,” I managed to say before my voice broke. I turned, feeling tears pouring over my face, but then I tripped on a stone and flew away, barely having time to put my hands and one knee up. When I scrambled to my feet with difficulty, the girl was already standing next to me.
“Why the hell are you?” I exploded, trying to cover my tears with anger. “I did nothing wrong!”
She looked at me with her head bowed to one side.
“You haven't been here before, have you?” She asked in a calmer tone. I shook my head.
“We just moved to this lousy neighborhood.”
“Your knee is torn,” she said. - And a hand too. Come sit here. I have a band-aid.
I sat in a chair, and she washed my abrasions with water, which she brought from a brook in a cup without a handle. Then she took out a
box of adhesive tape from one of the shelves. Wetting my broken knee with a wet handkerchief, she explained that some guys had visited here a few days ago and rummaged all her things, pulled the shelves to the ground and turned the chair over.
“There are really bad guys around here,” she said. “You were lucky that I did not immediately throw stones at you.” I can hide in trees and can knock a man down with a stone from thirty feet. She sat up straight, sitting on her heels and examining my knee plastered with a band-aid. “Well, that's better.” - She firmly looked into my eyes. “You asked me who I was - and perhaps I will tell you.” I am the queen of foxes.
“The queen of foxes!” I repeated.
“Exactly, queen of foxes.” - Suddenly she was on her feet. - Let's go to. I'll show you something, it's great.
There was no time for additional questions. She was already running away between the trees, and I followed her.
She led me to a place by the stream where there were orange and black newts with brooding eyes. The queen of foxes caught one and handed it to me. To the touch it was cold and as if rubber. He did not try to escape, but only blinked, looking at me, and then he began to walk on the palm of his hand, slowly and high raising his legs, as if he were still in the water.
At first I wanted to stay on the beach, but when I explained that if I was soiling my clothes, I was in trouble, the queen of foxes objected that my shorts were still stained with dirt and blood from a torn hand. Therefore, since I still cannot avoid troubles, I can allow myself to have fun as much as I like. So I also got into the stream, let go of the newt, which she caught for me, and caught myself another.
Then we sat on the shore and dried up. While we were sitting, the queen of foxes painted my face with clay from the bank of the stream - she called it “war paint”. She showed me how to make piercing sounds by blowing into a leaf of grass. A pair of blue jays sat on a tree next to us and chose us for being so noisy.
“Listen, by the way, what is your name?” I asked.
- What is my name? She leaned back and looked up at the tree branches. - You can call me Fox.
“But that's not a name!”
She shrugged.
- why?
“But I cannot tell my mother that your name is Fox!” She just won't believe it.
“Why do you need to tell her anything at all?”
- She will ask me.
She shrugged again.
“Well, think of something that she likes best.” You will call me Fox, and I will call you Mouse.
- Well, I do not!
“Then what should I call you?”
“Call me Triton,” I asked, remembering the slow-moving amphibians with their brooding eyes. - It will be better this way.
Meanwhile, evening was drawing near, and I suddenly realized that I was hungry and that the sun was already low.
“Listen, I have to go,” I said. - And then mother will be very angry.
- BUT! She said, laying on her back in the grass. - It's easier for me. I have no mother.
- Truth? I furtively glanced at her, but her eyes were closed, and she did not notice anything. I was still trying to figure out what to say when a male voice was heard from somewhere in the distance:
- Sarah! Sara, are you there?
She frowned.
“This is my dad,” she muttered. “We have to go talk to him.”
She ran through the trees in the direction the voice came from. After a little pause, I followed.
The path led me to an old white house on the edge of the forest. It was not like any of the houses that I had seen before - there was no driveway, there was no yard. A dirt road approached the house, ending right in front of the porch, where an old battered “sedan” was parked next to a huge motorcycle. A flower bed near the porch was overgrown with weeds, and next to the porch all kinds of rubbish were piled up: a cast-iron bathtub, half filled with water, a barbecue grill made of a gas barrel, a pile of wheel caps. The paint on the house peeled off in flakes.
The fox stood on the porch, talking to a stocky man in blue jeans and a black T-shirt with torn sleeves. Raising their heads at the same time, they saw me standing on the edge of the forest.
“This is Triton,” said Fox. - Triton, this is Gus. He is my dad.
He completely did not look like dad. He did not have a beard, although shaving would not hurt him. He had three silver earrings in his left ear, black hair was intercepted by a ribbon, a tattoo on his right hand - an intricate pattern of spiral black lines.
“How are you, Triton?” Gus did not look discouraged at all when he heard my strange new name. - Where did you come from?
“My family just moved here, mister, uh ...”
“Call me Gus,” he said. - I do not respond to Mr ..
I nodded awkwardly. Although he did not look like dad, calling him just by name still seemed strange.
“I found her in the forest,” the Fox said. - Showed her where the newts live.
- It's great. I'm glad you came here! - It was evident that he was actually satisfied. - It's very nice that Sarah has guests.
I did not take my eyes off his hand. Until that moment, I had never met people with tattoos.
He walked down the porch and sat on the bottom step.
“Are you interested in tattoos?” Come on, look.
I began to examine his hand.
- You can touch it if you want. I'm not against.
I cautiously ran a finger along one of the spirals, repeating its pattern.
“I got it in New Zealand, one Maori guy.” It is believed that it should bring good luck. It seems to work - right after he pricked it for me, I sold my first story.
It meant a little more than I was able to digest, but I still nodded, as if I understood everything.
After a short pause, he stood up and said:
- Do you want dinner together? Nothing special, just canned meat with beans and chili.
“No thanks,” I said. “I'd better go home.”
“Just remember to wash your face,” he recalled.
Fox and I washed from a hose near the house, and I went to my room.
I came home just when my father returned from work. He read to my brother the notation that he was sitting and watching all kinds of nonsense on TV. Mother complained about how much she had to pay to fix the air conditioner. I managed to sneak into my room and change clothes before anyone noticed my dirty clothes and wet sneakers.
Stepping down, I set the table, and we had dinner.
My parents don't really love each other. Dinner is almost the only event they attend together. A sense of vague tension hung over the table, the center of which was the father. He was constantly angry - not at anything specific, but as if at once. At the same time, he pretended not to be angry and joked all the time, but his jokes did not look very funny.
“I see you decided that the meat would be tastier if you turned it black around the edges,” he told his mother this evening. - Interesting idea.
The London roast was really deep fried, but not at all black. Mother laughed, pretending to be just a joke. He looked at me.
“Your mother apparently believes that coal is good for digestion,” he said.
I smiled and said nothing. My tactic in talking with my father was to say as little as possible.
Father turned to my brother.
- Well, what educational programs did you see today? Broadcasts such as “Tell a Price” can undoubtedly teach you a lot!
“I didn't watch TV all day,” the brother replied sullenly.
“Mark explored the surroundings after dinner,” the mother said.
- I understand, I understand: I was looking for adventure on my own head. This city, of course, has as many punks as it did in Connecticut. I have no doubt that here you will also find friends.
Somehow, back in Connecticut, Mark was brought home by police - he was in the same company with the guys who were caught stealing in a store.
“I met the
guys from our block here,” said Mark. “They are all in a country club.” Can we sign up too? I would go swimming with them ...
This question was addressed to the mother.
- Swim in a country club? - exclaimed the father. “Well, isn't it wonderful?” Maybe it would be better for us to find a job so that your free time does not hang on you with such a heavy burden?
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