D A Novel (George Right) - By George Right Page 0,30

ice cream man objected and rustled with something. "Your hot dog, mister."

Though Tony was not a prudish adherent of formalities, this vulgar "mister" without a surname began to irritate him. They haven't spoken this way in God knows how many years, he thought. Wasn't he taught to say "sir" when addressing a customer?

From the dark window (why doesn't he turn on the light?) a plastic bag emerged. Tony, reaching in his pocket for his wallet, remembered his newly gained wisdom of thinking about the literal meaning of words. What if he indeed was going to be fed a piece of dog? Although Koreans and Chinese eat dogs, they also eat insects...

With some caution he took the parcel. No, inside was apparently quite an ordinary hot dog, warm to the touch and generously covered with ketchup splotching the package from within. Tony, holding his purchase in the left hand, began to roll back the bag neck with the right one–carefully in order not to touch his meal with dirty fingers. Feeling how hungry he indeed was, he brought the hot dog to his open mouth and...

A moldy smell stopped him. And just in time to understand that the dark red was not ketchup at all. Now Logan saw that the "sausage" sticking out between two halves of a roll was crowned with a dirty chewed nail.

Tony reflexively flung away the "hot dog," struggling with an emetic spasm which had rolled up his throat. The chubby cut-off finger fell to asphalt separately from the moldy bread. Logan backed away from the truck, but a hand shot the window with surprising quickness and seized his wrist.

"Hey, mister!" The voice was still hoarse and low, but all melancholic grief had disappeared from it at once–now it was a spiteful hissing. "Who's gonna pay?!"

But neither the intonation of this voice, nor that he had almost become a cannibal, made Tony stare in mute horror at the hand holding his wrist. The wooden-rigid fingers of the ice cream man were not simply cold–they were literally ice cold. And his hand–it was clearly visible even in the dark–was absolutely white. Not just pale, but white.

Because it was all covered with hoarfrost.

Tony, acting reflexively, not rationally, pulled his hand at first upwards, and then sharply and with all his force–downwards, striking his opponent's wrist against the window edge. Subconsciously he expected that it would weaken the ice cream man's grasp, but the effect surpassed expectations. The crunch of breaking bone sounded–and, obviously, not only bone–and then the frosty hand simply severed, still hanging on Logan's wrist like an ice handcuff. There was not any blood, and could not be–only dark frozen shards scattered every which way.

Tony raced down the street in sheer terror. Raced like a cat with a burning rag tied to its tail by gooder children–only the role of a rag was played by the hand of the frozen corpse dangling on his wrist. There could be no doubt that this hand had been dead before separating from a body, and no rational hypotheses helped any more. Tony shook his arm while running, trying to get rid of the dreadful "bracelet," but the dead fingers held firm. As if they had been frozen in this position, as if he had not seen and felt how they moved, and rather quickly...

Was the truck pursuing him? Tony ran without looking back, but, anyway, behind him there was neither light of headlights, nor a familiar melody. Possibly, that... that thing could not drive the truck with one hand. Nevertheless, Logan turned at the first opportunity, and having reached the following corner, turned again, already almost convincing himself that he once more had safely escaped the chase.

But, hardly had he left behind the third crossroads, when his shadow forward in the light of headlights approaching from behind him.

"The ice cream truck," Tony helplessly thought. "Or the postman with a hatchet. Or the bus. Something or someone has caught up with me..."

He was absolutely exhausted and had no more energy to run. And how could he escape from a vehicle? The last few times it had been possible to escape because he had found somewhere to dive. But now ahead was only a straight street with closed rows of houses on both sides...

Tony stopped and turned towards what was overtaking him from behind.

"My God," he exhaled in the next moment, "At last!"

A police car was slowly approaching him.

Logan had no idea what the officers could do about a dead cannibal driving