Bücher online kostenlos Kostenlos Online Lesen
The Tortilla Curtain

The Tortilla Curtain

Titel: The Tortilla Curtain Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: T. C. Boyle
Vom Netzwerk:
back across the lot, a dangerous look on her face.
    “It's a crime,” the woman behind him said and Delaney felt compelled to give her a quick look of acknowledgment. The man beside her--natty dresser, a wide painted tie standing out at an angle from his throat--looked impatiently round for one of the attendants, the parking stub clutched in his hand.
    Delaney's car and Kyra arrived at the same instant, and as the attendant jumped out to collect his tip, Kyra took hold of his arm. “Whose car is that?” she demanded, indicating the green Jeep. “The one with the dog in it.”
    The attendant's face drew in on itself; his eyes flashed on the Jeep and then came back to Kyra. “Doan know,” he said. “This,” pointing from the Acura to Delaney, “him.” He held up the ticket stub to show her.
    “I know that,” Kyra said, raising her voice in exasperation. “What I want to know is whose car is that”--pointing again--“because they're breaking the law locking a dog in like that. The animal could die of heat exhaustion, you understand?”
    He didn't understand. “Doan know,” he repeated, and broke away from her to snatch the stub from the man in the painted tie and dash across the lot.
    “Hey!” Kyra shouted, the furrow Delaney knew so well cut like a scar between her furious eyes. “Come back here! I'm talking to you!”
    Three men emerged from the restaurant in a burst of laughter, fumbling for their sunglasses; a fourth man stood in the doorway behind them, patting down his pockets for the parking stub. “Honey, Kyra,” Delaney coaxed, catching at her arm, “calm down, we'll ask in the restaurant--” But she was already on her way, brushing past the knot of men with her shoulders held rigid, purse and briefcase forgotten, while the new Acura softly purred at the curb, door flung open wide, keys in the ignition. It took him a moment to reach in for the keys, scoop up her purse and briefcase and dodge back into the restaurant.
    Kyra was standing in the front room, sizzling in the light through the window, the smell of curry hanging like a pall over the place, clapping her hands like an athletic coach. “Excuse me,” she called out, “excuse me!” Conversations died. Waiters froze. The maître d' looked up miserably from his stand behind the potted palm at the front door, ready for anything. “Does anybody here own a green Jeep? License plate number 8VJ237X?”
    No one responded. The waiters began to move. The maître d' relaxed.
    “Well somebody must own it,” Kyra insisted, appealing to the crowd. “It's parked in the lot out back with a dog locked in it--an Afghan.” People had turned away from her; conversations resumed. She clapped her hands again. “Are you listening to me?” she demanded, and Delaney saw the maitre d's face change all over again. “An Afghan? Does anybody here own an Afghan?”
    Delaney was at her side now. “Kyra,” he said softly, “come on. It must be somebody else. We'll ask outside again.”
    She came, reluctantly, muttering under her breath--“I can't believe these people, can you imagine somebody being so stupid, so unaware?”--and for a moment Delaney forgot about the miserable morning, the new car, the theft and the Mexican and his growing sense of confusion and vulnerability: she was glorious in her outrage, a saint, a crusader. This was what mattered. Principles. Right and wrong, an issue as clear-cut as the on/off switch on the TV. In that instant, the cloud was dispelled, and he felt a kind of elation that floated on the wings of the beer and made him feel that everything would ultimately work out for the best.
    As soon as they passed back through the door and into the glare of the lot, the feeling was gone, killed in the cradle: the green Jeep was there, at the door, and the man who'd been patting down his pockets for the ticket stub was handing the attendant a folded-up bill. Kyra was on him like a bird of prey.
    “Are you the one?” she cried, snatching at the door handle.
    The man was of medium height, a little bit of a paunch, long blondish hair swept back in a graying ponytail, blue metallic discs for sunglasses. He wore a tiny diamond stud in his left ear. “Excuse me?” he said, and Delaney could see the dog panting behind him in the passenger's seat.
    “Do you know you locked that poor animal in the car, in this heat--?”
    The man stood there, looking from Kyra to Delaney and back again. The attendant had vanished from sight.

Weitere Kostenlose Bücher