pzb.drawingblood-第30节

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d　died。　The　back　rooms　would　be　dusty　but　intact。　He　wondered　what　Trevor　would　find　in　them。
　　Kinsey　measured　coffee；　poured　cold　tapwater　into　the　machine；　and；　as　the　old　percolator　began　to　bubble　and　steam；　fell　to　gazing　out　his　kitchen　window　at　his　own　backyard。　He　had　a　little　vegetable　garden；　but　otherwise　the　grasses　and　trees　grew　wild。　Kinsey　liked　it　that　way；　home　to　any　flying；　slithering；　or　crawling　thing　that　cared　to　take　up　residence。　But　it　was　not　as　snarled　and　shadow…stained；　not　as　forbidding　a　landscape　as　the　house　on　Violin　Road。
　　The　house　where　Trevor　must　be　now；　even　as　Kinsey　sipped　his　first　milky　cup　of　morning　coffee。
　　Kinsey's　mother　had　cured　him　of　Christian　prayer　long　ago。　He　tried　to　think　of　a　Zen　koan　that　might　be　of　use　to　Trevor；　but　the　only　one　he　could　remember　was　〃Why　has　Bodhidharma　no　beard？〃　which　didn't　seem　to　apply。　But　then　koans　weren't　supposed　to　apply。
　　His　head　full　of　ghosts；　little　smirking　Buddhas；　and　secondhand　treasures；　Kinsey　stood　woolgathering　for　the　better　part　of　an　hour　in　his　own　clean　forting　kitchen。
　　
　　Hank　Williams's　nasal　twang　poured　out　of　the　car　speakers　as　raw　and　potent　as　moonshine　spiked　with　honey。　Zach　pondered　it　as　he　drove。　It　should　not　have　been　a　remarkable　voice；　it　was　nothing　but　a　po'bucker　whine　straight　from　the　backwoods　of　Alabama。　But　there　was　something　golden　and　tragic　in　it；　some　lost　soul　that　fell　to　its　knees　and　sobbed　every　time　Hank　opened　his　mouth。
　　He'd　been　meandering　north　on　1…40　and　surrounding　roads　when　he　saw　the　turnoff　for　Highway　42。　Zach　loved　the　Hitchhiker's　Guide　to　the　Galaxy　series；　and　the　sign　reminded　him　that　the　number　forty…two　was　the　answer　to　life；　the　universe；　and　everything。　It　pulled　him　as　inexorably　as　the　lights　of　South　of　the　Border　had　done。　Soon　he　was　driving　down　a　two…lane　blacktop　shrouded　in　rags　and　tatters　of　predawn　mist；　and　several　times　he　caught　himself　singing　lustily　along　with　Hank。
　　The　little　town　only　caught　his　attention　because　of　its　curious　name　and　weird　architecture；　to　his　road…weary　eyes　it　seemed　that　the　entire　downtown　was　decorated　with　wagon　wheels　and　spinning　barbers'　poles。　He　almost　drove　on　through；　but　caught　himself　drifting　across　the　center　line　and　decided　to　stop　for　a　quick　nap。
　　Zach　pulled　into　an　alley　and　came　upon　a　small　lot　where　several　other　cars　were　already　parked。　The　friendly　local　deputy…dawg　wouldn't　bother　him　here；　at　any　rate　he　was　only　going　to　stretch　his　tired　bones　across　the　seat；　close　his　eyes　for　a　few　minutes；　then　get　moving　again　。　。　。
　　He　slept　for　six　hours　in　the　parking　lot　behind　the　Whirling　Disc　record　store。　The　lot　was　also　used　for　storage　by　an　adjacent　auto　parts　store；　and　the　Mustang　was　not　noticed　among　the　other　junkers　for　some　time。　When　he　finally　woke；　the　sun　had　risen　high　and　hot；　his　body　was　bathed　in　sweat；　and　Terry　Buckett　was　peering　into　the　car；　tapping　worriedly　on　the　window。
　　
　　〃Man！　I　thought　you　were　dead　for　sure！〃　Terry　took　a　hit　off　Zach's　pipe　and　passed　it　back；　shaking　his　head；　letting　the　fragrant　smoke　leak　out　the　corners　of　his　mouth。　〃You　looked　like　somebody　had　shot　you　and　left　you　lyin'　there　across　the　seat。　All　that　was　missing　was　the　brains　on　the　window。〃
　　Zach　suppressed　a　shudder。　He　didn't　think　the　FBI　would　shoot　a　hacker　on　sight；　but　he　wasn't　sure　about　the　Secret　Service。　（The　NSA　probably　kept　hackers　alive　for　torture　and　interrogation　later；　but　their　jurisdiction　was　largely　military；　and　military　secrets　had　never　much　appealed　to　him。）
　　They　were　sitting　on　crates　in　the　dim；　cool　back　room　of　the　record　store；　and　though　Zach　felt　an　undeniable　echo　of　Leaf　and　Pass　Christian；　Terry　was　obviously　as　straight　as　the　day　was　hot。　There　was　no　definable　characteristic　that　told　him　this；　the　pheromones　just　weren't　there。　It　was　a　good　thing　too；　Zach　thought；　after　stewing　in　his　own　juices　all　morning　he　was　sure　he　stank　abominably。
　　As　if　to　confirm　this；　a　girl　with　long　brown　hair　stuck　her　head　through　the　curtain；　blinked　big　Cleopatra　eyes　against　the　gloom；　and　wrinkled　her　nose。　〃Terry？〃
　　〃Back　here；　Vie。〃　The　girl　picked　her　way　through　the　boxes　and　rolled…up　posters；　long　gauzy　skirt　swishing　around　her　ankles。　When　she　got　closer；　Zach　saw　that　she　was　wearing　a　skintight　tank　top；　as　if　to　accentuate　the　fact　that　she　had　absolutely　no　breasts。　Eddy　had　had　a　phrase　for　strippers　built　like　that：　Nipples　on　a　rib。
　　The　girl　leaned　down　to　Terry。　Zach　thought　they　were　going　to　kiss；　but　instead　Terry　blew　into　her　mouth　a　long　stream　of　smoke；　which　she　sucked　in　expertly。　Tendrils　of　it　seeped　from　her　narrow　nostrils　and　curled　around　her　head。　Terry　cupped　the　back　of　her　thigh　through　the　full　skirt。　〃This　is　my　gal　Victoria。　Vie；　meet　Zach。　He　just　rolled　into　town　this　morning。〃
　　〃Looks　like　we　gain　two　for　every　one　we　lose。〃　At　Terry's　questioning　look；　she　added；　〃You　told　me　about　that　guy　who　came　in　Saturday。　Now　him。〃
　　〃Yeah；　so　who'd　we　lose？〃
　　〃Omigod；　you　don't　know！〃　Victoria　clapped　her　hands　over　her　mouth。　Zach　wasn't　sure；　but　it　looked　as　if　she　might　be　hiding　a　sudden；　guilty　smirk。　〃That　girl　Rima？　The　one　Kinsey　fired　for　stealing　from　the　Yew？　She　had　a　wreck　out　on　the　highway。　Totaled　her　car　and　broke　her　back。　They　found　cocaine　all　over　the　place。〃
　　〃Gee；　Vie；　you　sound　pretty　upset　about　it。〃
　　〃Yeah；　right。〃　From　the　sudden　chill　in　the　air　Zach　guessed　that　Rima　had　e　on　to　Terry　at　some　point；　though　if　she　was　such　a　loser　he　doubted　Terry　had　slept　with　her。　Terry　seemed　like　that　rarest　of　all　creatures；　a　genuinely　guileless　Decent　Guy。　Besides；　you　probably　couldn't　get　away　with　much　in　a　little　town　like　this。
　　〃Well　。　。　。〃　A　shadow　passed　over　Terry's　face。　He　obviously　felt　bad　about　the　girl；　but　didn't　want　to　hurt　Victoria's　feelings。　〃She　didn't　kill　anyone　else？〃
　　Victoria　shook　her　head；　and　Terry　brightened　a　little。　Zach　believed　this　was　known　as　Looking　on　the　Bright　Side；　also　as　Pulling　the　Wool　Over　Your　Own　Eyes。　He　didn't　say　anything；　though；　the　last　thing　he　needed　now　was　to　annoy　anyone。
　　So　he　loaded　another　bowl　and　sat　around　the　back　of　the　store　with　them　for　a　while　longer；　listening　to　gossip　about　people　he　didn't　know；　occasionally　asking　a　question　or　offering　a　ment；　hacking　the　scene；　making　the　connections；　weaving　himself　into　the　net。　It　was　possible　anywhere；　though　it　could　be　a　damn　sight　tougher　than　breaking　into　a　puter。
　　When　Terry's　morning　crew　（one　sleepy…looking　teenager　with　a　tattoo　so　fresh　it　was　still　bleeding）　showed　up；　Terry　and　Victoria　took　Zach　down　the　street　for　greasy　grilled　cheese　sandwiches　at　the　local　diner。　The　waitress　refilled　Zach's　water　glass　with　tea；　and　when　he　took　a　sip　of　it　without　noticing；　his　nerves　began　to　crackle　and　fizz　like　a　string　of　firecrackers。　For　all　of　that；　he　felt　good。　He　liked　this　town。
　　After　lunch　Victoria　had　to　go　to　work…she　sorted　and　mended　old　clothes　at　some　downtown　thrift　shop…and　Terry　offered　to　show　Zach　the　local　dive　before　he　went　back　to　the　record　store。　By　the　time　they　were　halfway　down　the　street；　Zach　was　eagerly　picturing　the　inside　of　a　bar。　It　would　be　calm　and　dark　and　air…conditioned；　like　a　little　pocket　of　nighttime　in　the　middle　of　the　hot　afternoon。　It　would　be　forting　with　the　sharp　scents　of　liquor　and　the　grainy　smell　of　beer　on　tap；　lit　by　the　soft　watery　glow　of　a　Budweiser　clock　or　a　neon　Dixie　sign。　He　might　have　been　picturing　any　of　a　hundred　bars　in　the　French　Quarter；　but　the　Sacred　Yew　was　like　none　of　them；　and　Zach　had　yet　to　learn　how　difficult　it　was　to　find　Dixie　beer　anywhere　but　New　Orleans。
　　
　　Trevor　woke　at　the　drawing　table　with　cramped　muscles；　an　aching　head；　and　a　painfully　full　bladder。　The　green…tinted　sunlight　streaming　through　the　studio　windows　made　him　wince　and　rub　his　eyes　as　he　had　seen　Bobby　do　in　the　grip　of　countless　bourbon　hangovers。　But　he　hadn't　had　the　dream　of　not…drawing　last　night。
　　He　stood　up　without　looking　at　the　pages　he　had　drawn；　stumbled　out　of　the　room；　back　through　the　hall　and　living　room；　out　onto　the　vine…shrouded　porch　where　he　stood　urinating　into　the　kudzu；　squinting　out　at　the　empty　road。
　　The　day　glistened　in　emerald　splendor；　grass　stems　and　spiderwebs　still　bejeweled　with　yesterday's　rain；　inviting　Trevor　to　e　out　and　enjoy　the　sun　awhile。　Instead　he　stood　for　a　few　minutes　in　the　shelter　of　the　porch；　breathing　deeply　of　air　that　did　not　smell　like　mildew　or　dry　rot。　From　the　quality　of　the　light　he　thought　it　was　early　afternoon。
　　This　time　twenty　years　ago；　Momma's　friends　from　the　art　class　had　been　ing　up　these　steps；　knocking　worriedly　on　the　door；　then　letting　themselves　into　the　house　and　finding　him　among　the　bodies。　The　man　with　the　gentle　hands　had　been　picking　him　up；　carrying　him　out　of　the　carnage。　For　an　instant　Trevor　almost　remembered　what　he　had　been　thinking　at　that　moment：　something　about　the　Devil。　But　it　eluded　him。
　　Soon　he　turned　and　went　back　into　the　soft　gloom　of　the　house。　Without　giving　himself　time　to　think　about　it　he　crossed　t