Don DeLillo by Running Dog

Don DeLillo by Running Dog

Author:Running Dog [Dog, Running]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-06-05T10:27:33+00:00

Earl Mudger stood on the patio, facing east, barechested despite the chill, a mug of coffee in his hand. He liked being the first one up, coming down in the dark to start the coffee perking. He would roll his shoulders as he moved around the house, would swing his arms occasionally, feeling the stiffness ease away. Ever since he could remember, in whatever house or barracks he’d lived, with whatever people, family or military, he’d always been the first one up.

With pale light intensifying, aspects of sunrise visible through the trees, he went back into the kitchen. On the counter lay a manila folder and a spool of magnetic tape. He poured more coffee into his mug and sat on a stool, opening the folder and scanning the topmost page, a document headed: Department of the Treasury, District Director, Internal Revenue Service. Beneath this was a white label with a long series of numbers arrayed across the top, followed by Grace Delaney’s name and home address.

Mudger began turning pages, glancing at audit forms, photocopied documents, photocopied checks and bank statements, agent evaluations, notices of “unfavorable action.” He closed the folder and regarded the tape spooi. It contained confidential information on the accounts of roughly five hundred taxpayers and had been acquired by Lomax from the same source, an IRS supervisor who had access to restricted files. Among the data was further information relating to Grace Delaney’s account.

Mudger finished his coffee and went downstairs. He rechecked the fit and worked some more on the handle section. Then he put on his magnifying glasses and studied the blade.

The knife was a modified bowie. It had a broad sweeping single-edged blade with a clipped point. Overall length was about eleven and a half inches. The blade measured seven and a quarter.

There was a display panel, a hinged triptych, fastened to the wall above a work table. Mudger’s knives were exhibited here, some he’d made himself, others turned out by custom knifemakers.

They had sex in the front seat of Selvy’s car, which was parked in the barren dells near the West Side Highway. It was an act they knew would take place as they walked through the dark streets to the car. It helped dispel certain disquieting energies. Times Square Saturday night.

“My hotel’s right near that restaurant. Why are we doing it here?”

“I’m a little crazy tonight.”

“Try reaching that ashtray and push it closed.”

Stale cigarette butts. Smell of various plastics that made up the interior of the car. They straightened up finally. She sat on the driver’s side, back resting against the door, her feet up on the seat. Selvy looked straight ahead. A silence, followed by: “Naomi is this buxom Israeli girl who we find bathing one day in a stream that runs through her kibbutz. She has giant white breasts, etcetera etcetera, nipples, etcetera. So then along comes Lateef, who’s an Arab army deserter. Well, to tighten the script, they meet and fall in love and just screw and screw and screw, doing it where they won’t be discovered.


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