jg.thepelicanbrief-第6节

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　　By　nine；　he　was　bathed；　dressed　in　a　gown；　and　tucked　tightly　under　the　covers。　The　bed　was　a　narrow；　reclining；　pale　green　army…hospital　job　with　a　hard　mattress；　push…button　controls；　and　collapsible　rails　that　Rosenberg　insisted　remain　down。　It　was　in　a　room　behind　the　kitchen　that　he　had　used　as　a　small　study　for　thirty　years；　before　the　first　stroke。　The　room　was　now　clinical；　and　smelled　of　antiseptic　and　looming　death。　Next　to　his　bed　was　a　large　table　with　a　hospital　lamp　and　at　least　twenty　bottles　of　pills。　Thick；　heavy　law　books　were　stacked　in　neat　piles　around　the　room。　Next　to　the　table；　the　nurse　sat　close　by　in　a　worn　recliner；　and　began　reading　from　a　brief。　He　would　read　until　he　heard　snoring…the　nightly　ritual。　He　read　slowly；　yelling　the　words　at　Rosenberg；　who　was　stiff；　motionless；　but　listening。　The　brief　was　from　a　case　in　which　he　would　write　the　majority　opinion。　He　absorbed　every　word；　for　a　while。　
　　
　　After　an　hour　of　reading　and　yelling；　Frederic　was　tired　and　the　Justice　was　drifting　away。　He　raised　his　hand　slightly；　then　closed　his　eyes。　With　a　button　on　the　bed；　he　lowered　the　lights。　The　room　was　almost　dark。　Frederic　jerked　backward；　and　the　recliner　unfolded。　He　laid　the　brief　on　the　floor；　and　closed　his　eyes。　Rosenberg　was　snoring。　
　　
　　He　would　not　snore　for　long。　
　　
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　　SHORTLY　AFTER　TEN；　with　the　house　dark　and　quiet；　the　door　to　a　bedroom　closet　upstairs　opened　slightly；　and　Khamel　eased　out。　His　wristbands；　nylon　cap；　and　running　shorts　were　royal　blue。　His　long…sleeved　shirt；　socks；　and　Reeboks　were　white　with　royal　trim。　Perfect　color　coordination。　Khamel　the　jogger。　He　was　clean　shaven；　and　under　the　cap　his　very　short　hair　was　now　blond；　almost　white。　
　　
　　The　bedroom　was　dark；　as　was　the　hall。　The　stairs　creaked　slightly　under　the　Reeboks。　He　was　five…ten；　and　weighed　less　than　a　hundred　and　fifty　pounds；　with　no　fat。　He　kept　himself　taut　and　light　so　the　movements　would　be　quick　and　soundless。　The　stairs　landed　in　a　foyer　not　far　from　the　front　door。　He　knew　there　were　two　agents　in　a　car　by　the　curb；　probably　not　watching　the　house。　He　knew　Ferguson　had　arrived　seven　minutes　ago。　He　could　hear　the　snoring　from　the　back　room。　While　waiting　in　the　closet；　he　had　thought　of　striking　earlier；　before　Ferguson　arrived　so　he　wouldn't　have　to　kill　him。　The　killing　was　no　problem；　but　it　created　another　body　to　worry　about。　But　he　guessed；　wrongly；　that　Ferguson　probably　checked　in　with　the　male　nurse　when　he　came　on　duty。　If　so；　then　Ferguson　would　find　the　carnage　and　Khamel　would　lose　a　few　hours。　So　he　waited　until　now。　
　　
　　He　slid　through　the　foyer　without　a　sound。　In　the　kitchen；　a　small　light　from　the　Ventahood　illuminated　the　countertop　and　made　things　a　bit　more　dangerous。　Khamel　cursed　himself　for　not　checking　the　bulb　and　unscrewing　it。　Those　small　mistakes　were　inexcusable。　He　dipped　under　a　window　looking　into　the　backyard。　He　could　not　see　Ferguson；　although　he　knew　he　was　seventy…four　inches　tall；　sixty…one　years　old；　had　cataracts；　and　couldn't　hit　a　barn　with　his　。357　magnum。　
　　
　　Both　of　them　were　snoring。　Khamel　smiled　to　himself　as　he　crouched　in　the　doorway　and　quickly　pulled　the　。22　automatic　and　silencer　from　the　Ace　bandage　wrapped　around　his　waist。　He　screwed　the　four…inch　tube　onto　the　barrel；　and　ducked　into　the　room。　The　nurse　was　sprawled　deep　in　the　recliner；　feet　in　the　air；　hands　dangling；　mouth　open。　Khamel　placed　the　tip　of　the　silencer　an　inch　from　his　right　temple　and　fired　three　times。　The　hands　flinched　and　the　feet　jerked；　but　the　eyes　remained　closed。　Khamel　quickly　reached　across　to　the　wrinkled　and　pale　head　of　Justice　Abraham　Rosenberg；　and　pumped　three　bullets　into　it。　
　　
　　The　room　had　no　windows。　He　watched　the　bodies　and　listened　for　a　full　minute。　The　nurse's　heels　twitched　a　few　times；　then　stopped。　The　bodies　were　still。　
　　
　　He　wanted　to　kill　Ferguson　inside。　It　was　eleven　minutes　after　ten；　a　good　time　for　a　neighbor　to　be　out　with　the　dog　for　one　last　time　before　bed。　He　crept　through　the　darkness　to　the　rear　door　and　spotted　the　cop　strolling　benignly　along　the　wooden　fence　twenty　feet　away。　Instinctively；　Khamel　opened　the　back　door；　turned　on　the　patio　light；　and　said　〃Ferguson〃　loudly。　
　　
　　He　left　the　door　open　and　hid　in　a　dark　corner　next　to　the　refrigerator。　Ferguson　obediently　lumbered　across　the　small　patio　and　into　the　kitchen。　This　was　not　unusual。　Frederic　often　called　him　in　after　His　Honor　was　asleep。　They　would　drink　instant　coffee　and　play　gin　rummy。　
　　
　　There　was　no　coffee；　and　Frederic　was　not　waiting。　Khamel　fired　three　bullets　into　the　back　of　his　head；　and　he　fell　loudly　on　the　kitchen　table。　
　　
　　He　turned　out　the　patio　light　and　unscrewed　the　silencer。　He　would　not　need　it　again。　It　and　the　pistol　were　stuffed　into　the　Ace　bandage。　Khamel　peeked　out　the　front　window。　The　dome　light　was　on　and　the　agents　were　reading。　He　stepped　over　Ferguson；　locked　the　back　door；　and　disappeared　into　the　darkness　of　the　small　rear　lawn。　He　jumped　two　fences　without　a　sound；　and　found　the　street。　He　began　trotting。　Khamel　the　jogger。　
　　
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　　IN　THE　DARK　BALCONY　of　the　Montrose　Theatre；　Glenn　Jensen　sat　by　himself　and　watched　the　naked　and　quite　active　men　on　the　screen　below。　He　ate　popcorn　from　a　large　box　and　noticed　nothing　but　the　bodies。　He　was　dressed　conservatively　enough；　navy　cardigan；　chinos；　loafers。　And　wide　sunglasses　to　hide　his　eyes　and　a　suede　fedora　to　cover　his　head。　He　was　blessed　with　a　face　that　was　easily　forgotten；　and　once　camouflaged　it　could　never　be　recognized。　Especially　in　a　deserted　balcony　of　a　near…empty　gay　porno　house　at　midnight。　No　ear…rings；　bandannas；　gold　chains；　jewelry；　nothing　to　indicate　he　was　in　the　market　for　a　panion。　He　wanted　to　be　ignored。　
　　
　　It　had　bee　a　challenge；　really；　this　cat…and…mouse　game　with　the　FBI　and　the　rest　of　the　world。　On　this　night；　they　had　dutifully　stationed　themselves　in　the　parking　lot　outside　his　building。　Another　pair　parked　by　the　exit　near　the　veranda　in　the　rear；　and　he　allowed　them　all　to　sit　for　four　and　a　half　hours　before　he　disguised　himself　and　walked　nonchalantly　to　the　garage　in　the　basement　and　drove　away　in　a　friend's　car。　The　building　had　too　many　points　of　egress　for　the　poor　Fibbies　to　monitor　him。　He　was　sympathetic　to　a　point；　but　he　had　his　life　to　live。　If　the　Fibbies　couldn't　find　him；　how　could　a　killer？　
　　
　　The　balcony　was　divided　into　three　small　sections　with　six　rows　each。　It　was　very　dark；　the　only　light　being　the　heavy　blue　stream　from　the　projector　behind。　Broken　seats　and　folded　tables　were　piled　along　the　outside　aisles。　The　velvet　drapes　along　the　walls　were　shredded　and　falling。　It　was　a　marvelous　place　to　hide。　
　　
　　He　used　to　worry　about　getting　caught。　In　the　months　after　his　confirmation；　he　was　terrified。　He　couldn't　eat　his　popcorn；　and　damned　sure　couldn't　enjoy　the　movies。　He　told　himself　that　if　he　was　caught　or　recognized；　or　in　some　awful　way　exposed；　he　would　simply　claim　he　was　doing　research　for　an　obscenity　case　pending。　There　was　always　one　on　the　docket；　and　maybe　somehow　this　might　be　believed。　This　excuse　could　work；　he　told　himself　repeatedly；　and　he　grew　bolder。　But　one　night　in　1990；　a　theater　caught　fire；　and　four　people　died。　Their　names　were　in　the　paper。　Big　story。　Justice　Glenn　Jensen　happened　to　be　in　the　rest　room　when　he　heard　the　screams　and　smelled　the　smoke。　He　rushed　into　the　street　and　disappeared。　The　dead　were　all　found　in　the　balcony。　He　knew　one　of　them。　He　gave　up　movies　for　two　months；　but　then　started　back。　He　needed　more　research；　he　told　himself。　
　　
　　And　what　if　he　got　caught？　The　appointment　was　for　life。　The　voters　couldn't　call　him　home。　
　　
　　He　liked　the　Montrose　because　on　Tuesdays　the　movies　ran　all　night；　but　there　was　never　a　crowd。　He　liked　the　popcorn；　and　draft　beer　cost　fifty　cents。　
　　
　　Two　old　men　in　the　center　section　groped　and　fondled　each　other。　Jensen　glanced　at　them　occasionally；　but　concentrated　on　the　movie。　Sad；　he　thought；　to　be　seventy　years　old；　staring　at　death　and　dodging　AIDS；　and　banished　to　a　dirty　balcony　to　find　happiness。　
　　
　　A　fourth　person　soon　joined　them　on　the　balcony。　He　glanced　at　Jensen　and　the　two　men　locked　together；　and　he　walked　quietly　with　his　draft　beer　and　popcorn　to　the　top　row　of　the　center　section。　The　projector　room　was　directly　behind　him。　To　his　right　and　down　three　rows　sat　the　Justice。　In　front　of　him；　the　gray　and　mature　lovers　kissed　and　whispered　and　giggled；　oblivious　to　the　world。　
　　
　　He　was　dressed　appropriately。　Tight　jeans；　black　silk　shirt；　earring；　horn…rimmed　shades；　and　the　neatly　trimmed　hair　and　mustache　of　a　regular　gay。　Khamel　the　homosexual。　
　　
　　He　waited　a　few　minutes；　then　eased　to　his　right　and　sat　by　the　aisle。　No　one　noticed。　Who　would　care　where　he　sat？　
　　
　　At　twelve…twenty；　the　old　men　lost　steam。　They　stood；　arm　in　arm；　and　tiptoed　away；　still　whispering　and　snickering。　Jensen　did　not　look　at　them。　He　was　engrossed　in　the　movie；　a　massive　orgy　on　a　yacht　in　the　middle　of　a　hurricane。　Khamel　moved　like　a