sk.cujo-第64节

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。。
（oh　GOD）
Tad　was　screaming　again；　screaming　and　clawing　at　his　face；　whipping　his　head　from　side　to　side　as　Cujo　thudded　against　the　door；　making　it　rock。
'Tad；　don't！　Don't　。。。　honey；　please　don't！'
'Want　Daddy　。。。　want　Daddy　。。。　want　Daddy。。。'
Suddenly　it　stopped。
Holding　Tad　against　her　breasts；　Donna　turned　her　head　in　time　to　see　Cujo　strike　the　man　as　he　tried　to　swing　into　his　car。　The　force　of　it　knocked　his　hand　loose　from　the　door。
After　that　she　couldn't　watch。　She　wished　she　could　block　her　ears　somehow　as　well；　from　the　sounds　of　Cujo　finishing　with　whoever　it　had　been。
He　bid；　she　thought　hysterically。　He　heard　the　car　ing　and　he　hid。
The　porch　door。　Now　was　the　time　to　go　for　the　porch　door　while　Cujo　was　。。。　was　occupied。
She　put　her　hand　on　the　doorhandle；　yanked　it；　and　shoved。　Nothing　happened。　The　door　wouldn't　open。　Cujo　had　finally　buckled　the　frame　enough　to　seal　it　shut。
'Tad；'　she　whispered　feverishly。　'Tad；　change　places　with　me；　quick。　Tad？　Tad？'
Tad　was　shivering　all　over。　His　eyes　had　rolled　up　again。
'Ducks；'　he　said　gutturally。　'Go　see　the　ducks。　Monster　Words。　Daddy。　Ah　。。。　ahh。。。　ahhhhhhh…'
He　was　convulsing　again。　His　arms　flopped　bonelessly。　She　began　to　shake　him；　crying　his　name　over　and　over　again；　trying　to　keep　his　mouth　open；　trying　to　keep　the　airway　open。　There　was　a　monstrous　buzzing　in　her　head　and　she　began　to　be　afraid　that　she　was　going　to　faint。　This　was　hell；　they　were　in　hell。　The　morning　sun　streamed　into　the　car；　creating　the　greenhouse　effect；　dry　and　remorseless。
At　last　Tad　quieted。　His　eyes　had　closed　again。　His　breathing　was　very　rapid　and　shallow。　When　she　put　her　fingers　on　his　wrist　she　found　a　runaway　pulse；　weak；　thready；　and　irregular。
She　looked　outside。　Cujo　had　hold　of　the　man's　arm　and　was　shaking　it　in　the　way　a　puppy　will　shake　a　rag　toy。　Every　now　and　then　he　would　pounce　on　the　limp　body。　The　blood　。。。　there　was　so　much　blood。
As　if　aware　he　was　being　observed；　Cujo　looked　up；　his　muzzle　dripping。　He　looked　at　her　with　an　expression　（could　a　dog　have　an　expression？　she　wondered　madly）　that　seemed　to　convey　both　sternness　and　pity　。。。　and　again　Donna　had　the　feeling　that　they　had　e　to　know　each　other　intimately；　and　that　there　could　be　no　stopping　or　resting　for　either　of　them　until　they　had　explored　this　terrible　relationship　to　some　ultimate　conclusion。
It　pounced　on　the　man　in　the　blood…spattered　blue　shirt　and　the　khaki　pants　again。　The　dead　man's　head　lolled　on　his　neck。　She　looked　away；　her　empty　stomach　sour　with　hot　acid。　Her　torn　leg　ached　and　throbbed。　She　had　torn　the　wound　there　open　yet　again。
Tad　。。。　how　was　he　now？
He's　terrible；　her　mind　answered　inexorably。　So　what　are　you　going　to　do？　You're　his　mother；　what　are　you　going　to　do？
What　could　she　do？　Would　it　help　Tad　if　she　went　out　there　and　got　herself　killed？
The　policeman。　Someone　had　sent　the　policeman　up　here。　And　when　he　didn't　e　back　'Please；'　she　croaked。　'Soon；　please。'
It　was　eight　o'clock　now；　and　outside　it　was　still　relatively　cool　…　77　degrees。　By　noon；　the　recorded　temperature　at　the　Portland　jetport　would　be　102；　a　new　record　for　that　date。
Townsend　and　Andy　Masen　arrived　at　the　State　Police　barracks　in　Scarborough　at　8：30　A。M。　Masen　let　Townsend　run　with　the　ball。　This　was　his　bailiwick；　not　Masen's；　and　there　was　not　a　thing　wrong　with　Andy's　ears。
The　duty　officer　told　them　that　Steven　Kemp　was　on　his　way　back　to　Maine。　There　had　been　no　problem　about　that；　but　Kemp　still　wasn't　talking。　His　van　had　been　given　a　thorough　going…over　by　Massachusetts　lab　technicians　and　forensic　experts。　Nothing　had　turned　up　which　might　indicate　a　woman　and　a　boy　had　been　held　in　the　back；　but　they　had　found　a　nice　little　pharmacy　in　the　van's　wheel　well　…　marijuana；　some　cocaine　in　an　Anacin　bottle；　three　amyl　nitrate　poppers；　and　two　speedy　binations　of　the　type　known　as　Black　Beauties。　It　gave　them　a　handy　hook　to　hang　Mr。　Kemp　on　for　the　time　being。
'That　Pinto；'　Andy　said　to　Townsend；　bringing　them　each　a　cup　of　coffee。　'Where's　that　fucking　Pinto　of　hers？'
Townsend　shook　his　head。
'Has　Bannerman　called　anything　in？'
'Nope。'
'Well；　give　him　a　shout。　Tell　him　I　want　him　down　here　when　they　bring　Kemp　in。　It's　his　jurisiction；　and　I　guess　he's　got　to　be　the　questioning　officer。　Technically；　at　least。'
Townsend　came　back　five　minutes　later　looking　puzzled。　'I　can't　get　him；　Mr。　Masen。　Their　dispatcher's　tried　him　and　says　he　must　not　be　in　his　car。'
'Christ；　he's　probably　having　coffee　down　at　the　Cozy　Corner。　Well；　fuck　him。　He's　out　of　it。'　Andy　Masen　lit　a　fresh　Pall　Mall；　coughed；　and　then　grinned　at　Townsend。　'Think　we　can　handle　this　Kemp　without　him？'
Townsend　smiled　back。　'Oh；　I　think　we　can　manage。'
Masen　nodded。　'This　thing　is　starting　to　look　bad；　Mr。　Townsend。　Very　bad。'
'It's　not　good。'
'I'm　beginning　to　wonder　if　this　Kemp　didn't　bury　them　in　the　ditch　beside　some　farm　road　between　Castle　Rock　and　Twickenham。'　Masen　smiled　again。　'But　we'll　crack　him；　Mr。　Townsend。　I've　cracked　tough　nuts　before　this。'
'Yessir；'　Townsend　said　respectfully。　He　believed　Masen　had。
'We'll　crack　him　if　we　have　to　sit　him　in　this　office　and　sweat　him　for　two　days。'
Townsend　slipped　out　every　fifteen　minutes　or　so；　trying　to　make　contact　with　George　Bannerman。　He　knew　Bannerman　only　slightly；　but　he　held　a　higher　opinion　of　him　than　Masen　did；　and　he　thought　Bannerman　deserved　to　be　warned　that　Andy　Masen　was　on　the　prod　for　him。　When　he　still　hadn't　reached　Bannerman　by　ten　o'clock；　he　began　to　feel　worried。　He　also　began　to　wonder　if　he　should　mention　Bannerman's　continued　silence　to　Masen；　or　if　he　should　hold　his　peace。
Roger　Breakstone　arrived　in　New　York　at　8：49　A。M。　on　the　Eastern　shuttle；　cabbed　into　the　city；　and　checked　into　the　Biltmore　a　little　before　9：30。
The　reservation　was　for　two？'　the　desk　clerk　asked。
'My　partner　has　been　called　home　on　an　emergency。'
'What　a　pity；'　the　desk　clerk　said　indifferently；　and　gave　Roger　a　card　to　fill　out。　While　he　did　so；　the　desk　clerk　talked　to　the　cashier　about　the　Yankee　tickets　he　had　gotten　for　the　following　weekend。
Roger　lay　down　in　his　room；　trying　to　nap；　but　in　spite　of　his　poor　rest　the　night　before；　no　sleep　would　e。　Donna　screwing　some　other　man；　Vic　holding　on　to　all　of　that　…　trying　to；　anyway　…　in　addition　to　this　stinking　mess　over　a　red；　sugary　kiddies'　cereal。　Now　Donna　and　Tad　had　disappeared。　Vic　had　disappeared。　Everything　had　somehow　gone　up　in　smoke　this　last　week。　Neatest　trick　you　ever　saw；　presto　chango；　everything's　a　big　pile　of　shit。　His　head　ached。　The　ache　came　in　big；　greasy；　thumping　waves。
At　last　he　got　up；　not　wanting　to　be　alone　with　his　bad　head　and　his　bad　thoughts　any　longer。　He　thought　he　might　as　well　go　on　over　to　Summers　Marketing　&　Research　on　47th　and　Park　the　spread　some　gloom　around　there　…　after　all；　what　else　did　Ad　Worx　pay　them　for？
He　stopped　in　the　lobby　for　aspirin　and　walked　over。　The　walk　did　nothing　for　his　head；　but　it　did　give　him　a　chance　to　renew　his　hate/hate　relationship　with　New　York。
Not　back　here；　he　thought。　I'll　go　to　work　throwing　cartons　of　Pepsi　on　a　truck　before　I　bring　Althea　and　the　girls　back　here。
Summers　was　on　the　fourteenth　floor　of　a　big；　stupidlooking；　energy…inefficient　skyscraper。　The　receptionist　smiled　and　nodded　when　Roger　identified　himself。　'Mr。　Hewitt　has　just　stepped　out　for　a　few　minutes。　Is　Mr。　Trenton　with　you？'
'No；　he　was　called　home。'
'Well；　I　have　something　for　you。　It　just　came　in　this　morning。'
She　handed　Roger　a　telegram　in　a　yellow　envelope。　It　was　addressed　to　V。　TRENTON/R。　BREAKSTONE/AD　WORXICARE　OF　IMAGE…EYE　STUDIOS。　Rob　had　forwarded　it　to　Summers　Marketing　late　yesterday。
Roger　tore　it　open　and　saw　at　once　that　it　was　from　old　man　Sharp；　and　that　it　was　fairly　long。
Walking　papers；　here　we　e；　he　thought；　and　read　the　telegram。
The　telephone　woke　Vic　up　at　a　few　minutes　before　twelve；　otherwise　he　might　have　slept　most　of　the　afternoon　away　as　well。　His　sleep　had　been　heavy　and；　soggy；　and　he　woke　with　a　terrible　feeling　of　disorientation。　The　dream　had　e　again。　Donna　and　Tad　in　a　rocky　niche；　barely　beyond　the　reach　of　some　terrible；　mythical　beast。　The　room　actually　seemed　to　whirl　around　him　as　he　reached　for　the　telephone。
Donna　and　Tad；　he　thought。　They're　safe。
'Hello？'
'Vic；　it's　Roger。'
'Roger？'　He　sat　up。　His　shirt　was　plastered　to　his　body。　Half　his　mind　was　still　asleep　and　grappling　with　that　dream。　The　light　was　too　strong。　The　beat　。。。　it　had　been　relatively　cool　when　he　went　to　sleep。　Now　the　bedroom　was　an　oven。　How　late　was　it？　How　late　had　they　let　him　sleep？　The　house　was　so　silent。
'Roger；　what　time　is　it？'
'Time；？'　Roger　paused。　'Why；　just　about　twelve　o'clock。　What　'Twelve？　Oh；　Christ。。。。　Roger；　I've　been　asleep。'
'What's　happened；　Vic？　Are　they　back？'
'They　weren't　when　I　went　to　sleep。　That　bastard　Masen　promised　…'
'Who's　Masen？'
'He's　in　charge　of　the　investigation。　Roger；　I　have　to　go。　I　have　to　find　out　…'
'Hold　on；　man。　I'm　calling　from　Summers。　I've　got　to　tell　you。　There　was　a　telegram　from　Sharp　in　Cleveland。　We're　keeping　the　account。'
'What？　What？　It　was　all　going　too　fast　for　him。　Donna。。。　the　account　。。。　Roger；　sounding　almost　absurdly　cheerful。
Ther