[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"Oh, Dexter, you can't worry about money at a time like this," she said.
"I can too. I am."
"Not if there's a chance to get Manny Borque," she said, and there was a
surprisingly strong note in her voice that I had never heard before except
when she was angry with Cody and Astor.
"Yes, but Rita," I said, "it doesn't make sense to spend a ton of money just
for the caterer."
"Sense has nothing to do with it," she said, and I admit that I agreed with
her there. "If we can get Manny Borque to cater our wedding, we'd be crazy not
to do it."
"But," I said, and there I stopped, because beyond the fact that it seemed
idiotic to pay a king's ransom for crackers with endives hand-painted with
rhubarb juice and sculpted to look like Jennifer Lopez, I could not think of
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
any other objection. I mean, wasn't that enough?
Apparently not. "Dexter," she said. "How many times will we get married?" And
to my great credit I was still alert enough to clamp down on the urge to say,
"At least twice, in your case," which I think was probably very wise.
I quickly changed course, diving straight into tactics learned from
pretending to be human for so many years. "Rita," I said, "the important part
of the wedding is when I slip the ring on your finger. I don't care what we
eat afterward."
"That's so sweet," she said. "Then you don't mind if we hire Manny Borque?"
Once again I found myself losing an argument before I even knew which side I
was on. I became aware of a dryness in my mouth-caused, no doubt, by the fact
that my mouth was hanging open as my brain struggled to make sense of what had
just happened, and then to find something clever to say to get things back
onto dry land.
But it was far too late. "I'll call Vince back," she said, and she leaned
over to give me a kiss on the cheek. "Oh, this is so exciting. Thank you,
Dexter."
Well, after all, isn't marriage about compromise?
SEVEN
NATURALLY ENOUGH, MANNYBORQUE LIVED INSOUTHBeach. He was on the top floor of
one of the new high-rise buildings that spring up around Miami like mushrooms
after a heavy rain. This one sat on what was once a deserted beach where Harry
used to take Debs and me beachcombing early on Saturday mornings. We would
find old life preservers, mysterious wooden chunks of some unfortunate boat,
lobster-pot buoys, pieces of fishnet, and on one thrilling morning, an
exceedingly dead human body rolling in the surf. It was a treasured boyhood
memory, and I resented extremely that someone had built this shiny flimsy
tower on the site.
The next morning at ten Vince and I left work together and drove over to the
horrible new building that had replaced the scene of my youthful joy. I rode
the elevator to the top in silence, watching Vince fidget and blink. Why he
should be nervous about facing someone who sculpted chopped liver for a
living, I don't know, but he clearly was. A drop of sweat rolled down his
cheek and he swallowed convulsively, twice.
"He's a caterer, Vince," I told him. "He isn't dangerous. He can't even
revoke your library card."
Vince looked at me and swallowed again. "He's got a real temper," he said.
"He can be very demanding."
"Well, then," I said with great good cheer, "let's go find somebody else more
reasonable."
He set his jaw like a man facing a firing squad and shook his head. "No," he
said bravely, "we're going to go through with this." And the elevator door
slid open, right on cue. He squared his shoulders, nodded, and said, "Come
on."
We went down to the end of the hall, and Vince stopped in front of the last
door. He took a deep breath, raised his fist, and, after a slight hesitation,
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
knocked on the door. After a long moment in which nothing happened, he looked
at me and blinked, his hand still raised. "Maybe," he said.
The door opened. "Hello Vic!" the thing in the doorway warbled, and Vince
responded by blushing and stammering, "I only hi." Then he shifted his weight
from one foot to the other, stammered something that sounded like, "Er
wellah," and took a half step backward.
It was a remarkable and thoroughly engaging performance, and I was not the
only one who seemed to enjoy it. The manikin who had answered the door watched
with a smile that suggested he might enjoy being in the audience for any kind
of human suffering, and he let Vince squirm for several long moments before he
finally said, "Well comein !"
Manny Borque, if this was really him and not some strange hologram fromStar
Wars , stood a full five foot six inches tall, from the bottom of his
embroidered high-heeled silver boots to the top of his dyed orange head. His
hair was cut short, except for black bangs which parted on his forehead like a
swallow's tail and draped down over a pair of enormous rhinestone-studded
eyeglasses. He was dressed in a long, bright-red dashiki, and apparently
nothing else, and it swirled around him as he stepped back from the door to
motion us in, and then walked in rapid little steps toward a huge picture
window that looked out on the water.
"Come over here and we'll have a little talk," he said, sidestepping a
pedestal holding an enormous object that looked like a giant ball of animal
vomit dipped in plastic and spray-painted with Day-Glo graffiti. He led the
way to a glass table by the window, around which sat four things that were
probably supposed to be chairs but could easily have been mistaken for bronze
camel saddles welded onto stilts. "Sit," he said, with an expansive wave of
his hand, and I took the chair-thing nearest the window. Vince hesitated for a
moment, then sat next to me, and Manny hopped up onto the seat directly across
from him. "Well," he said. "How have you been, Vic? Would you like some
coffee?" and without waiting for an answer he swiveled his head to his left
and called, "Eduardo!"
Beside me Vince took a ragged breath, but before he could do anything with it
Manny whipped back around and faced me. "Andyou must be the blushing
bridegroom!" he said.
"Dexter Morgan," I said. "But I'm not a very good blusher."
"Oh, well, I think Vic is doing enough for both of you," he said. And sure
enough, Vince obligingly turned just as scarlet as his complexion would allow
him to do. Since I was still more than a little peeved at being subjected to
this ordeal, I decided not to come to his aid by offering Manny a withering
remark, or even correcting him on the subject of Vince's actual identity as
"Vince," not "Vic." I was sure he knew the right name quite well and was
simply tormenting Vince. And that was fine with me: let Vince squirm-it served
him right for going over my head to Rita and getting me into this.
Eduardo bustled in holding a vintage Fiestaware coffee service in several
bright colors, balanced on a clear plastic tray. He was a stocky young man
about twice the size of Manny, and he, too, seemed very anxious to please the
little troll. He set a yellow cup in front of Manny, and then moved to put the
blue one in front of Vince when he was stopped by Manny, who laid a finger on
his arm.
"Eduardo," he said in a silky voice, and the boy froze. "Yellow? Don't we
remember? Manny gets the blue cup."
Page 33 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl aikidobyd.xlx.pl
"Oh, Dexter, you can't worry about money at a time like this," she said.
"I can too. I am."
"Not if there's a chance to get Manny Borque," she said, and there was a
surprisingly strong note in her voice that I had never heard before except
when she was angry with Cody and Astor.
"Yes, but Rita," I said, "it doesn't make sense to spend a ton of money just
for the caterer."
"Sense has nothing to do with it," she said, and I admit that I agreed with
her there. "If we can get Manny Borque to cater our wedding, we'd be crazy not
to do it."
"But," I said, and there I stopped, because beyond the fact that it seemed
idiotic to pay a king's ransom for crackers with endives hand-painted with
rhubarb juice and sculpted to look like Jennifer Lopez, I could not think of
Page 31
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
any other objection. I mean, wasn't that enough?
Apparently not. "Dexter," she said. "How many times will we get married?" And
to my great credit I was still alert enough to clamp down on the urge to say,
"At least twice, in your case," which I think was probably very wise.
I quickly changed course, diving straight into tactics learned from
pretending to be human for so many years. "Rita," I said, "the important part
of the wedding is when I slip the ring on your finger. I don't care what we
eat afterward."
"That's so sweet," she said. "Then you don't mind if we hire Manny Borque?"
Once again I found myself losing an argument before I even knew which side I
was on. I became aware of a dryness in my mouth-caused, no doubt, by the fact
that my mouth was hanging open as my brain struggled to make sense of what had
just happened, and then to find something clever to say to get things back
onto dry land.
But it was far too late. "I'll call Vince back," she said, and she leaned
over to give me a kiss on the cheek. "Oh, this is so exciting. Thank you,
Dexter."
Well, after all, isn't marriage about compromise?
SEVEN
NATURALLY ENOUGH, MANNYBORQUE LIVED INSOUTHBeach. He was on the top floor of
one of the new high-rise buildings that spring up around Miami like mushrooms
after a heavy rain. This one sat on what was once a deserted beach where Harry
used to take Debs and me beachcombing early on Saturday mornings. We would
find old life preservers, mysterious wooden chunks of some unfortunate boat,
lobster-pot buoys, pieces of fishnet, and on one thrilling morning, an
exceedingly dead human body rolling in the surf. It was a treasured boyhood
memory, and I resented extremely that someone had built this shiny flimsy
tower on the site.
The next morning at ten Vince and I left work together and drove over to the
horrible new building that had replaced the scene of my youthful joy. I rode
the elevator to the top in silence, watching Vince fidget and blink. Why he
should be nervous about facing someone who sculpted chopped liver for a
living, I don't know, but he clearly was. A drop of sweat rolled down his
cheek and he swallowed convulsively, twice.
"He's a caterer, Vince," I told him. "He isn't dangerous. He can't even
revoke your library card."
Vince looked at me and swallowed again. "He's got a real temper," he said.
"He can be very demanding."
"Well, then," I said with great good cheer, "let's go find somebody else more
reasonable."
He set his jaw like a man facing a firing squad and shook his head. "No," he
said bravely, "we're going to go through with this." And the elevator door
slid open, right on cue. He squared his shoulders, nodded, and said, "Come
on."
We went down to the end of the hall, and Vince stopped in front of the last
door. He took a deep breath, raised his fist, and, after a slight hesitation,
Page 32
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
knocked on the door. After a long moment in which nothing happened, he looked
at me and blinked, his hand still raised. "Maybe," he said.
The door opened. "Hello Vic!" the thing in the doorway warbled, and Vince
responded by blushing and stammering, "I only hi." Then he shifted his weight
from one foot to the other, stammered something that sounded like, "Er
wellah," and took a half step backward.
It was a remarkable and thoroughly engaging performance, and I was not the
only one who seemed to enjoy it. The manikin who had answered the door watched
with a smile that suggested he might enjoy being in the audience for any kind
of human suffering, and he let Vince squirm for several long moments before he
finally said, "Well comein !"
Manny Borque, if this was really him and not some strange hologram fromStar
Wars , stood a full five foot six inches tall, from the bottom of his
embroidered high-heeled silver boots to the top of his dyed orange head. His
hair was cut short, except for black bangs which parted on his forehead like a
swallow's tail and draped down over a pair of enormous rhinestone-studded
eyeglasses. He was dressed in a long, bright-red dashiki, and apparently
nothing else, and it swirled around him as he stepped back from the door to
motion us in, and then walked in rapid little steps toward a huge picture
window that looked out on the water.
"Come over here and we'll have a little talk," he said, sidestepping a
pedestal holding an enormous object that looked like a giant ball of animal
vomit dipped in plastic and spray-painted with Day-Glo graffiti. He led the
way to a glass table by the window, around which sat four things that were
probably supposed to be chairs but could easily have been mistaken for bronze
camel saddles welded onto stilts. "Sit," he said, with an expansive wave of
his hand, and I took the chair-thing nearest the window. Vince hesitated for a
moment, then sat next to me, and Manny hopped up onto the seat directly across
from him. "Well," he said. "How have you been, Vic? Would you like some
coffee?" and without waiting for an answer he swiveled his head to his left
and called, "Eduardo!"
Beside me Vince took a ragged breath, but before he could do anything with it
Manny whipped back around and faced me. "Andyou must be the blushing
bridegroom!" he said.
"Dexter Morgan," I said. "But I'm not a very good blusher."
"Oh, well, I think Vic is doing enough for both of you," he said. And sure
enough, Vince obligingly turned just as scarlet as his complexion would allow
him to do. Since I was still more than a little peeved at being subjected to
this ordeal, I decided not to come to his aid by offering Manny a withering
remark, or even correcting him on the subject of Vince's actual identity as
"Vince," not "Vic." I was sure he knew the right name quite well and was
simply tormenting Vince. And that was fine with me: let Vince squirm-it served
him right for going over my head to Rita and getting me into this.
Eduardo bustled in holding a vintage Fiestaware coffee service in several
bright colors, balanced on a clear plastic tray. He was a stocky young man
about twice the size of Manny, and he, too, seemed very anxious to please the
little troll. He set a yellow cup in front of Manny, and then moved to put the
blue one in front of Vince when he was stopped by Manny, who laid a finger on
his arm.
"Eduardo," he said in a silky voice, and the boy froze. "Yellow? Don't we
remember? Manny gets the blue cup."
Page 33 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]