Loe raamatut: «The Racer»

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ISBN 978-5-0060-9882-4

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

NOTE

The values of all quantities, including speed and distance, are reflected in the metric system, since this novel is intended for a wide range of readers, most of whom live in countries that use the metric system of measures.

PROLOGUE

In the absolute darkness of the night a roar of the engine increased, driving the speedometer needle as far as possible from zero. The Dodge Challenger was cutting through the air at a speed of two hundred thirty-five kilometers per hour. In black, its body was lost on the road. The headlights emitted an unnatural reddish glow. They didn’t light the road. The headlights were intended for something else. These were the eyes of the Racer, whose hands, hidden under black leather gloves, tightly grasped the steering wheel. He had infernal control in his power, capable of turning Dodge into a beast chasing souls. This beast flew quickly, and there was no car that could hide from it.

It was a hot summer in two thousand and one. The night gave a faint breath of coolness. But that night the Racer intended to lower the temperature to the point at which the blood stops circulating, and before that it accelerates throughout the body after the heart begins to work at its limit. Soon the whole of Heartstone will feel this temperature, and the sultry heat will no longer seem so exhausting. A provincial town two hundred kilometers northwest of Austin received a stranger driving around the streets under the dim light of street lamps.

After finishing her shift, Vivienne Ham, a twenty-nine-year-old waitress at a local restaurant, walked along the sidewalk towards the intersection. She folded her hands in front of her and cringed slightly, rubbing her shoulders. The sharply colder air added to the accumulated fatigue. She wanted to get home as soon as possible and wrap herself in a warm blanket. She had already approached the zebra crossing and began to cross to the other side, but after taking a few steps, Vivienne froze right between the stripes in the middle of the road and cast a gaze to her left. On the other side of the intersection the light was red, and under the traffic light there was a black car with scarlet headlights. Vivienne understood that there was nothing strange in the fact that at such a late time someone was still moving along the streets of Heartstone. But this car caused her internal discomfort. She could hear the faint rumble of an engine. At the traffic lights, yellow was added to red, and a second later they went out and green turned on. Immediately the rumble of the engine became louder and the Dodge started moving. Vivienne reflexively grabbed the straps of her purse hanging over her shoulder with both hands, letting out an intermittent scream. The girl’s eyelids opened wider than ever, making it seem as if her eyeballs were about to crawl out of their sockets. The Dodge turned left, quickly disappearing from sight. Vivienne’s ears heard the fading sound of a car moving away and the sounds of her own breathing, which became faster along with her heart beating against her ribs.

Unlike Vivienne Ham, twenty-four-year-old Conchita Sugarman was in no hurry to go home. The working day had long ended, but she was in no hurry to close the pharmacy. She was waiting for her boyfriend to arrive and be free. There were parents, grandmother and younger sister at home. Here no one bothered her. Conchita has already prepared the best contraceptives available, which would not spoil the thrill of sensations, but at the same time would give peace of mind in the face of the fear of receiving a surprise greater than any jackpot. She stood on the street not far from the entrance, finishing her cigarette and looking around the night street. Suddenly the roar of a running engine began to be heard from somewhere. Conchita knew this driving style, which boiled down to not giving a damn about medians, traffic lights and speed limits. Yes, it was Freddie Rogers. He was only two years older, but in terms of mental maturity he was much inferior to Conchita, and she was aware of this, although she did not expect much from this relationship. As a pharmacist, she understood one thing: there is an organism that requires the exchange of fluids and this need must be satisfied. Freddie was a more than tolerable option for a relationship without the commitment of marriage. Conchita did not count on a bright future with him. Before him, she already had two, and each time it was an affair with no plans for the future. Freddie parked in front of the pharmacy, performing a spectacular drift, which he thought added to the coolness. Conchita was not impressed by such show-offs. Her only reaction to the drift of the green ’78 Mustang was that she hurried to close the front door, since she had just washed the floor. The cloud of dust rose so strong and thick that Conchita did not even notice how Freddie smacked the air, directing his lips in her direction.

– Come on quickly, before the family starts calling – Conchita urged, putting out the cigarette under the sole of her sandal.

– I’m already running, my peach.

Peach, strawberry, baby, cherry, candy, sweetie. Freddie used these words so often that Conchita thought several times that Freddie had simply forgotten her name.

Conchita closed the door from the inside, after which they attacked each other. Freddie’s lips pressed to Conchita’s neck, and Conchita’s eyes to the window. She looked somewhere into emptiness, into the unknown, because her thoughts were occupied by Freddy’s touch. But then her eyes took in something specific. She thought that someone had come for some medicine and decided to stay on task. Conchita was sure that he would stand a little longer and turn back. But the Dodge continued to park in the parking lot right next to the Mustang. The scarlet headlights began to stress Conchita and she began to push Freddie away with her hands.

– Wait.

– What’s the matter?

Conchita nodded towards the window.

– Some kind of pervert? – she asked with some trembling in her voice, without taking her eyes off the scarlet glow of the headlights.

– Wait here – Freddie said and headed towards the door. He turned the lock twice and went out into the street, but after a couple of steps he froze when an incredibly loud roar was heard from under the hood of the Dodge. The car started moving and drove away. Freddie stood for some time, following the dwindling taillights of the Dodge with his eyes.

Conchita was still not against continuing, but Freddie was no longer able to finish what he started, no matter how hard he tried, and he responded to Conchita’s offer about Viagra with a decisive refusal.

Forty-seven-year-old construction worker Elmo Fisher, who led a crew of five, stayed late on site to calculate the amount of paint for each room after they adjusted the layout at the owner’s request. He had eaten one hot dog and drunk one cup of coffee all day, so Elmo looked fucked. He was not interested in anything other than dinner and a soft bed so he could pass out until tomorrow morning. Even behind the wheel of his working van, worn over the years, Elmo doubted that his eyes would not close until he got home. His eyelids seemed to be tied to steel weights. After some thought, he got out and knelt down in front of the open door to do as many push-ups as he could manage, then returned to the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition.

Elmo started off with a strong feeling that he needed to press on the gas until the drowsiness subsided. Ten minutes should have been enough for him to get home, and there he could leave the car outside the garage, just to quickly have dinner and go to bed.

But before Elmo had time to drive onto the asphalt, a car rushed along the road. He immediately hurried to the stranger, who, half a kilometer later, stopped at a red traffic light. Elmo drove a little forward to make sure once again that he wasn’t imagining things. The stranger actually had his headlights off. He got out of the van, walked up to the Dodge and knocked on the heavily tinted window. The glass didn’t go down. Then Elmo stood in front of the bumper opposite the windshield, gestured to the headlights and shouted a little louder:

– Moron, turn on the headlights!

Then the headlights came on, but the light was like red spotlights. The traffic light turned green and the Dodge began to drive. Elmo stepped aside, following the unfamiliar car with his eyes. The driver’s seat window was rolled down. Elmo looked inside and was stuck in place, rooted to the spot. When he was released from his stupor, on the way home, Elmo understood that he would not go to bed soon. The drowsiness disappeared as if it had never existed.

1. NOT A GODFATHER

The local church in Heartstone was led by a full-blooded Italian Leonardo Benetti. At fifty-two years old he did not have a single gray hair on his head, which was always cut short. Absolutely black hair without bangs and a clean-shaven face made Father Benetti’s appearance unchanged for many years in a row. Frequent sports in his youth still affected the priest’s size. With a height of one hundred and eighty-two centimeters, he had broad shoulders, but his arms, which were larger in girth than many hips, were not so noticeable under clothes. A particularly recognizable feature in Father Benetti’s appearance were his eyes, which were set deeper than usual. On the one hand, this feature made his face fearsome, but after the first acquaintance with him, this effect of his physiognomy ceased to affect those around him, because everyone remembered his manner of speech, which was like a balm for the soul.

As darkness fell several residents came to the padre for confession. The first was deputy Jenna Kramer. For several months she was depressed by thoughts about her experience. She told Father Benetti about her boyfriend Pierce Branigan, who was mauled to death by a black bear in the forest. She had a hard time coping with this loss. As soon as she came to her senses, Jenna began to be torn apart by a dilemma regarding the fetus in the womb. She didn’t want to do this, but she wanted even less to raise a child without a Father, not because it would be more difficult, but because the child simply wouldn’t know who his Father was. This was also compounded by the fact that Jenna became pregnant out of wedlock, and this also affected her. This circumstance could be hidden by quickly getting married. But the stars aligned differently. Until recently Jenna pushed away thoughts of an abortion, but in the end she decided to go for it. Now for four days she was tormented by insomnia.

– I’m thinking about it – Jenna muttered through tears rolling down her cheeks with her chin shaking. – Constantly. What would this child be like if he were born? – A tremble ran through her voice. Tears continued to leak even through drooping eyelids. The grief in Jenna’s body reached such a state that her lips stretched to the limit, revealing bared teeth. – It was part of him. His blood… And mine…

Jenna’s crying could be heard even outside the confessional.

– He left a part of himself, and I got rid of… – Because of the crying, Jenna’s words were cut off in the middle. – I killed the last thing he left me. It could continue in this child. I could…

Compared to other Catholic priests, Father Benetti had a much more progressive view of things. He understood one simple truth: there is no need to impose on people word for word what is written in the Bible, but it is better to show flexibility and give a person the opportunity to turn to God so that he does not have to radically disrupt his daily life and give up natural benefits modern civilization. Father Benetti never judged his parishioners. He didn’t see the point in conveying to people the idea that they were very guilty, because what’s done is done, and you can’t turn back time. Therefore, he believed that instead it was better to help the person survive what happened so that mental anguish did not have a detrimental effect on the psyche. After all, if a person comes for confession, this is already a sign of his repentance. The padre believed that it was better to help a person live with a light heart than to dump a burden on him, because of which the person would then experience such torment around the clock, as if he had killed or raped someone. And people went to church to get rid of the burden from their souls. As people came to church more and more often, over time they were imbued with religion more and more deeply, even if they had previously been avowed atheists. With this, Father Benetti gained crazy authority among the residents and parishioners became more and more over the years, so the growth in the popularity of religion in Heartstone was the merit of Leonardo Benetti himself. Knowing that the padre would not condemn them for what they had done, the residents willingly went to confession. For parishioners he was a servant of God, a psychotherapist, and a friend.

Second in line was Mandy Troy, who admitted that she had broken the commandment that commands not to commit adultery. She sincerely repented of the betrayal, but another question bothered her. She wanted advice on whether to confess everything to her husband. Father Benetti said that she must decide for herself what she should do, and suggested that this burden on her soul could well grow from year to year and each time it would become more and more difficult to bear. In fact, Father Benetti knew that Castor Troy – Mandy’s husband – had frequent sexual relations with another woman, which he admitted during the same confession and was unlikely to destroy the family if he learned that his wife had followed his example.

Twenty-four-year-old Riggan Brooks, who worked as a cashier at a gas station, told how he found a wallet without the owner’s documents, lost by one of the customers, and when he showed up and asked if he had seen the wallet, Riggan answered in the negative, since his boss was present in the hall, who was an inveterate swindler and would not forgive him for giving someone back free money. Riggan did not have time to assess the consequences of this or that decision, so he responded as quickly as possible, so as not to arouse suspicion.

– Holy Father, I don’t need anything that belongs to others at all. I really don’t want to keep this to myself. Just what was I supposed to do when… when…

Father Benetti advised him to take the wallet to the sheriff, and said that there was nothing shameful in Riggan’s behavior, since he lied in order to save someone else’s property and avoid a conflict with his superiors and there was nothing wrong with that.

Next, forty-four-year-old Emma Cooper confessed to the padre. Her relationship with her fifteen-year-old adopted son has become too complicated, she has ceased to find a common language with him and every conversation leads to shouting, thereby prolonging the ongoing quarrel. Emma admitted that on this basis, recently she involuntarily began to remind herself more and more often that for her this is not her own blood and such thoughts only inflame her anger towards her son. But because such thoughts come into her head about the lack of common blood with the boy whom Emma has been raising since the day he was seven months old, she begins to despise herself.

– I believed that I would become his mother, that he would accept me as his own. How can I sleep after such thoughts? Yesterday I almost said it out loud. Do you understand? I was half a step away from shouting in his face about how good it was that it didn’t fall to me to bring him into this world. And most importantly, I can’t help it. I am unable to control my emotions. I don’t know what will happen next, but I feel like it’s beyond my strength.

Father Benetti tactfully convinced her that any teenager at this age shows resentment and dissatisfaction with many of the demands of their parents and all Emma needs is just to show a little patience and soon she will notice that her son’s outbursts of anger have disappeared just as quickly, as they appeared. He also explained to her that she shouldn’t hate herself for thoughts alone; he said that this was stupid, since she took in someone else’s child and gave him love and maternal warmth, which already speaks of her true nature, and therefore she should not take fleeting thoughts seriously.

So every day, Heartstone residents of all ages and professions came to Father Benetti to pour out their souls and take the weight off their shoulders. In a sense, they were very lucky, since Father Benetti, in addition to his duties as a priest, also performed the work of a psychoanalyst, the only difference being that he did not take a cent for it. In other cities, people shell out a lot of money for such services, which not only does not make their souls lighter, but, on the contrary, creates another wound at the thought of how much a chat with a stranger costs.

The degree of trust in Father Benetti – and considering the skeletons that parishioners pull out of their closets during confession, it was impressive – gave him a reputation as the most respected man in the town. Sometimes it seemed to those around him that he personally knew more than half of the local population by name and face. Every parishioner looked to the padre as the greatest authority in Heartstone. The sheriff, the judge, the largest merchants in the town in their influence on the residents could not be compared with a man who wears a black jacket, trousers, shoes, shirt and a white clergy collar all year round.

2. HE IS THE LAW HERE

Jenna Kramer returned to the sheriff’s office, which was the size of a small town. In addition to the sheriff the staff included three deputies, a janitor and a medical examiner, part-time who worked as a pathologist at the local hospital. Jenna was one of three assistants. Everyone around believed that she was born to wear the uniform of a guardian of the law, but not in the sense of her vocation, but because the uniform simply suited her. She always tried to keep her dark brown hair gathered at the back of her head, but as a rule, towards the end of the working day, out of fatigue, she straightened her hair, which had a slightly wavy shape, falling well below her shoulders. However, she did not have to prove her competence in the work of a guardian of the law day after day. She has long earned her reputation. The sheriff valued in her a combination of such qualities as an amazing ability to find a common language with people and composure in extreme situations. It might be a stretch to call it composure, but Jenna maintained her sanity much better than her two colleagues. The sheriff always joked about her ability to communicate with people of all different personalities, saying that if it weren’t for her large brown eyes, which act like hypnosis, her communication skills would not be so outstanding. In fact, there was a huge amount of truth in this, because in addition to her eyes, Jenna had perfectly shaped eyebrows, a neat nose and slightly protruding lips. In addition, she did not have an ounce of excess weight, because in addition to the fact that this added feminine beauty to her, this circumstance greatly simplified the pursuit of the criminal. That’s why the sheriff appointed Jenna chief deputy after two years of service.

Pierce’s death still tormented her soul and the feeling of grief was still far from abating. Only work helped Jenna to at least a little escape from thoughts about Pierce and her aborted pregnancy.

The man on duty that evening was Harry Devon. Thin, thirty years old, one hundred and seventy-nine centimeters tall. As a child, he always dreamed of thick stubble, as he considered it a sign of brutality. But when the time came, Harry noticed that the stubble on his face was not only sparse, but also growing only on a small area of skin under his lower jaw, barely touching his cheeks. Because of this, Harry got into the habit of shaving close to zero, not allowing his stubble to grow long enough for anyone to notice. In this way, he disguised the inferiority of stubble, passing off its absence as a penchant for personal hygiene and caring for one’s appearance. Harry followed orders perfectly, was absolutely manageable, meticulously filled out all the paperwork, arrived at the office half an hour before the start of the working day – he believed that it was better to arrive half an hour early than two seconds late – and never questioned the authority of the sheriff in his eyes. From the first day in the service Harry even acquired exactly the same hat as the sheriff’s, which was always worn by movie sheriffs in provincial towns, in order to match the image of a real law enforcement officer. According to the sheriff himself Harry lacked the core, which was necessary in those cases when it was necessary to show toughness in relations with certain people. To the locals, Harry was the friendliest lawman. If he came to the call, then the offenders rejoiced and the victims were disappointed. However, such traits as punctuality, accuracy and complete obedience became sufficient grounds for the sheriff to highly value Harry as a deputy. If the sheriff was like a father or mentor to Harry, whose opinion was never in doubt, then he perceived Jenna almost as an older sister. Despite the fact that Harry began working as a deputy sheriff a year and a half earlier than Jenna, he did not even allow the thought of challenging her seniority over him, especially since he understood perfectly well that he would not be able to exercise the functions of a leader. At least not now.

Suddenly the front door opened and two people entered the office. Sheriff Desmond Poe led the handcuffed criminal inside. With a sharp movement, pressing on his shoulder, he forced the detainee to sit down on a chair in front of his desk.

– Harry, register – the sheriff said, removing the handcuffs.

Spencer Fox, sixty-four years old, sat in front of Harry. He didn’t like the way three tourists who were passing through were rowdy in the cafe. Considering that he was showing concern for the peace of the local residents, Spencer approached the tourists and, at first in a rude manner, asked them to shut up and eat in silence, and upon hearing a refusal in response, he took out his short-barreled revolver and fired a warning shot. Spencer almost got it because he was just a few millimeters short of the chandelier. The owner of the establishment and part-time cook cursed Spencer three times, but Spencer demanded that he shut up too.

All his life Spencer Fox worked as a security guard at a bank, where he had the opportunity to eliminate the threat four times. Once he even had to deal with a robber, having neutralized whom he received the Order of Courage and written gratitude from the hands of the governor himself for the prevented robbery. Every time there was some kind of affray in the bank, it was like a breath of fresh air for Spencer. After such excesses, he felt blood flowing through his veins and he began to live. Having resolved the next situation, Spencer realized his importance for the office and the next day began to search every visitor right from the doorstep, and he did it in a way that any customs officer would envy. Even if his neighbor or cousin crossed the threshold of the bank office, he demanded that his pockets be turned out, because otherwise Spencer would take out a baton and begin to lay him face down on the floor, and his below-average height and the presence of a rather large belly were not a hindrance to him. On this basis, management regularly received complaints about the security guard, and the bank director each time had to put Spencer on the ground, issuing fines and reprimands. But that didn’t stop Spencer. He could slow down for a while, but as soon as someone gave him a reason, he immediately reminded who was in charge and began to bring everyone to attention. And now it’s been more than a year since Spencer retired and life has lost its color for him.

While Harry tapped the keys, registering Spencer, the sheriff, leaning on the edge of the table, examined the revolver taken from Spencer and said:

– Say thank you, because next time I will send you to serve administrative arrest. You understood me?

Leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs wide, Spencer said:

– Are you the law here? – At this point, Spencer began to remind the sheriff how fifteen years ago the governor himself awarded him the Order of Courage and that in this town all the creatures are ungrateful, after which he loudly and confidently summed up: – So don’t talk bullshit, Desmond!

Harry handed over a printed signature sheet. The sheriff snatched it and crushed it with the fingers of one hand, after which he abruptly took Spencer by the arm and pulled him away from the chair.

– That’s it, that’s enough! You’ll be sitting here forever, half-baked Rambo! – With these words, Desmond took Spencer to the temporary holding cell.

Harry watched them with a worried look. Jenna noticed his reaction and said, without looking up from the back of the chair:

– Do not mind it. Spencer’s head has been itching for a long time.

Jenna’s hands then went to the back of her head to unwind the elastic. Her hair came loose, after which she lightly straightened it with her fingers.

Desmond closed the cell door once Spencer was inside and, without a moment’s hesitation, walked back to the office.

Desmond Poe was fifty-nine. Some gray hair appeared at the temples. Unlike Spencer, the sheriff did not have a protruding belly all his life, which appeared only after fifty-five. Desmond spent his entire life maintaining order in Heartstone. His ironclad self-belief began to take shape when he was twenty-eight and a deputy to the previous sheriff. That day, Desmond was sitting in his official car on the side of the highway, where he was conducting patrol. Day as day, if a red Mercedes had not rushed past, which was wanted, which was mentioned before on the radio. Three robbers had taken out a bank in Dallas and were now hurrying somewhere. Signs of the car were sent to all police stations in the state in the hope that somewhere the Mercedes would catch the eye of law enforcement officers. He caught the eye of Desmond Poe. Even before Desmond pressed the gas pedal, he remembered that the robbers were armed and they were unlikely to stop at his request, but at that moment he thought that something was not happening in this crazy world and demanded through the loudspeaker to park at the side of the road. Desmond’s assumptions were correct. Instead of obeying his demands, the Mercedes only increased its speed, and a face with a shotgun appeared from the rear passenger window. Stopping the red Mercedes, which was wanted throughout the state, cost Desmond the front bumper, the windshield, the right side mirror, the right front fender, the right front door, the radiator, four cartridges and one corpse out of three potential ones. After what happened, no one doubted that this guy had a great future. The chase lasted only fourteen seconds before Desmond pulled out his revolver and fired the first shot, and forty-two seconds later the chase was over. He not only believed in himself, but believed that there was no person who could make him falter. After one of the robbers emerged from the window of the Mercedes and fired the first shot, Desmond began to sink into such a state of stress that he could hardly remember much of what happened next. But when the chase ended and he pinned down two, discovering the corpse of the third, the realization came to him that there was nothing to be afraid of. Desmond was convinced that he had done something that no Hollywood action movie could show. This was the first and only time Desmond killed someone. He felt no regret or guilt for not taking all three alive. The driver leaned back, pressed against the steering wheel with a hole in the back of his head, but Desmond perceived this turn of events as the cost of fighting crime. It happens that you cannot do without murder and the only question is who will be killed: the criminal or the policeman. From that day on, every time any difficulties arose at work, Desmond reminded himself that it was he who alone took on the gang in the red Mercedes. For example, when his boss raised his voice at him, Desmond immediately remembered the gang in the red Mercedes, thereby reminding himself of the level of his professionalism, and along with these thoughts came to him the realization of what a nonentity his boss was, who have never done anything even remotely similar throughout his miserable life. Such thoughts about the past were the most effective way to combat stress. The day the gang in the red Mercedes was defeated at the hands of Desmond Poe, the future sheriff learned what he was capable of. Although his reputation preceded him, a couple of years later he still had to remind others of who he was when a call came in about a gas station robbery. At that moment, Desmond had finished lunch at a cafe, which was located three blocks from the gas station and was already approaching the car when a radio message arrived. Seven and a half minutes later, Desmond rammed a yellow Chevrolet Cheville and dragged two would-be robbers into the office. The sheriff found a reason to vent his dissatisfaction on him, they say, he bombed the entire front part of the body of his official car. But Desmond… No, he didn’t remember the gang in the red Mercedes. He asked himself why the hell this bald hog, who was trying to be his boss, was sitting out his ass instead of doing his job and catching robbers. Such thoughts made Desmond believe in his own superiority over his boss.

His natural essence boiled down to the fact that he strictly followed the law and had a cool enough head that nothing in this world could force him to break the law.