pzb.drawingblood-第43章

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　　〃Really？〃　Her　heart　quickened　a　little。　〃What　is　it？〃
　　〃Well；　it's　kinda　weird。　I　think　it　must　be　from　some　crazy　customer。　Valerye　wrote　it　down〃…Valerye　was　the　daytime　bartender…〃and　she　said　the　guy　spelled　it　out　real　careful　and　swore　it　was　important。〃
　　〃What　is　it？〃　she　repeated。　The　phone　booth　she　had　found　in　the　parking　lot　of　a　seafood　shack　near　the　riverbend　was　private；　but　hot　and　claustrophobic。　Eddy　felt　the　beginnings　of　a　headache。
　　〃Well；　it　says　'Wax　Jism。'　〃
　　〃What？〃
　　Loup　spelled　out　the　two　words；　and　Eddy　wrote　them　down　in　her　notebook。　Her　head　was　pounding　now。　She　thanked　Loup；　told　him　almost　as　an　afterthought　that　she　wasn't　ing　back　to　work；　then　hung　up　and　stood　staring　at　the　ridiculous　message。　Wax　jism。　It　had　to　be　from　Zach。　But　what　in　hell　did　it　mean？
　　She　looked　out　at　the　parking　lot。　Over　the　green　hump　of　the　levee　she　could　see　a　sliver　of　the　Mississippi；　a　tugboat　and　barge　riding　on　the　mighty　polluted　current。　Her　eyes　slid　back　to　the　keypad　of　the　phone；　and　something　clicked　in　her　mind。　There　were　letters　on　the　keys　as　well　as　numbers。　Eddy　looked　back　at　the　message。　Two　words：　three　letters；　then　four。　The　same　configuration　as　a　phone　number。
　　Eddy　grabbed　the　unwieldy　metal…covered　phone　book　that　hung　from　a　coiled　cord　in　the　booth。　It　was　battered　but　miraculously　intact。　She　riffled　through　the　opening　pages；　found　the　listing　of　area　codes　for　all　states。　Missing　Mile　had　been　fairly　near　Raleigh　and　Chapel　Hill　on　the　map；　and　the　area　code　was　the　same　for　both　places。　She　dropped　in　a　handful　of　change；　punched　in　the　area　code；　and　with　shaking　fingers　picked　out　the　number。
　　It　rang　twice。　Three　times。　Then　the　receiver　was　lifted；　and　a　slightly　hoarse　male　voice　said；　〃Howdy；　this　is　the　Sacred　Yew。〃
　　〃Hi；　you　don't　know　me；　but　I'm　looking　for…〃
　　〃No　one's　within　earshot　right　now；　but　we　have　lots　of　great　shows　ing　up　this　week。　Wednesday　night　it's　vintage　swamp　rock　with　GUMBO！！！　Thursday…〃
　　Eddy　leaned　her　forehead　against　the　hot　glass；　felt　hot　tears　of　frustration　trickling　from　the　corners　of　her　eyes。　It　was　a　recording。
　　〃If　you'd　like　to　leave　a　message　for　me　or　anyone　who　works　here；〃　the　voice　was　saying；　〃start　talking　at　the　beep。　And　remember；　please　e　out　and　support　your　local　bands　at　THE　SACRED　YEW！〃　The　guy　sounded　nervous　and　slightly　desperate。　At　last　the　accursed　machine　beeped。
　　〃This　is　a　message　for　a　boy　named　Zach；〃　Eddy　said　without　much　hope。　She　didn't　know　if　he'd　be　using　his　real　first　name；　but　she　was　sure　he　wouldn't　be　using　his　last；　and　she　didn't　want　to　give　it　away。　〃He's　nineteen；　about　five…eight；　skinny；　black　hair；　green　eyes；　very　pale；　very　striking。　If　you　know　him；　will　you　please　tell　him　he's　in　terrible　danger？　My　name　is　Eddy。　I　have　to　get　in　touch　with　him。　I'll　try　to　call　back。〃　She　checked　her　watch。　〃I　don't　know　when。　Tell　him　。　。　。〃　She　realized　tears　were　spilling　from　her　eyes；　pouring　down　her　face。　〃Tell　him　I'm　ing　to　get　him。〃
　　Eddy　hung　up；　swiped　at　her　eyes；　posed　herself。　She　had　one　more　call　to　make；　to　a　local　number　she　knew　by　heart。　She　dialed　it；　listened　to　the　phone　ring　and　ring；　then　closed　her　eyes　in　relief　as　it　was　picked　up。　A　rhythmic　swath　of　reggae　pulsed　in　the　background；　and　for　a　moment　she　thought　it　was　another　recording。　Then　a　deep　musical　voice　said　〃Hello？〃
　　〃Dougal；〃　she　said。　〃This　is　Eddy。　Have　you　heard　what　happened　to　Zach？〃
　　〃Ya　mon。　Busted。　Terrible　fing。〃　She　imagined　him　shaking　his　head；　long　bright…threaded　dreadlocks　swaying　gently　around　his　face。
　　Eddy　closed　her　eyes　and　counted　to　five。　〃No；〃　she　forced　herself　to　say　calmly；　〃he　wasn't　busted。　He　got　away；　but　they're　still　after　him；　and　I　think　they're　closing　in。　Do　you　want　to　help？〃
　　〃Oh；　ya　mon。　I　would　help　Zachary　any　way　I　can。　'Specially　'gainst　de　damn　government。〃　She　wasn't　sure；　but　she　thought　she　heard　him　spit。　She　took　a　deep　breath；　felt　relief　spreading　through　her。　At　last　she　wasn't　alone　in　this　anymore。
　　〃Could　you　start　by　picking　me　up　outside　Liberty's　Fish　Camp？　I　need　to　tell　you　all　about　it。　And　I　need　your　help　too。〃
　　〃Sweetheart；　don'　you　worry　'bout　a　t'ing；　hear？　You　jus'　wait　right　there　outside　Liberty's。　I　know　de　very　place。〃
　　〃Are　you　sure？〃
　　〃Irie；〃　Dougal　St。　Clair's　beautiful　voice　soothed　her。　〃No　problem。〃
　　
　　At　the　Sacred　Yew；　the　rehearsal　was　still　blasting　away　onstage。　Kinsey　had　gone　down　the　street　to　get　pretzels　for　the　bar。　As　he　came　back　in；　he　saw　that　the　message　light　on　the　answering　machine　was　blinking。　But　when　he　tried　to　play　back　the　message；　the　machine　just　emitted　a　long　series　of　beeps；　then　made　a　sound　like　a　car　going　up　a　hill　stuck　in　first　gear。　Kinsey　peered　inside　and　saw　that　it　had　eaten　the　tape。　The　machine　had　been　on　its　last　legs　for　weeks；　erasing　as　many　messages　as　it　took。　Now　it　was　finally　dead。
　　He　picked　up　the　phone　to　call　tonight's　doorman　and　realized　with　much　greater　consternation　that　it　was　dead　too；　though　he　knew　it　had　been　on　earlier　because　Trevor　had　gotten　that　mysterious　call。
　　Kinsey　looked　at　the　clock；　saw　that　it　was　just　after　five：　cutoff　time。　He'd　let　the　bill　go　too　long。　Now　there　was　no　way　to　get　the　phone　turned　back　on　until　tomorrow；　and　Kinsey　would　have　to　drive　the　cash　all　the　way　to　Raleigh。　That　was　if　the　bar　took　in　enough　tonight　to　pay　for　it　and　the　other　bills　too。　The　phone　was　important；　but　water　was　more　so。　And　in　a　club；　electricity　took　the　highest　priority　of　all；　it　was　what　kept　the　band　loud　and　the　beer　cold。　He　had　to　get　that　damn　power　bill　paid。
　　Kinsey　had　always　loved　summer　in　Missing　Mile。　But　just　lately　it　was　a　cruel　season。
　　
　　Dougal　St。　Clair　lived　in　a　tree　in　a　secluded　corner　of　City　Park。　His　little　wooden　house　was　nestled　high　among　the　big　oak's　spreading　canopy　of　branches；　accessible　by　a　long；　twisty；　terrifying　rope　ladder　that　was　barely　visible　against　the　tree　trunk。　He　parked　his　car　at　the　nearby　fairgrounds；　made　use　of　public　rest　rooms　and　afternoon　rainstorms；　ate　at　the　city's　many　fine　restaurants　with　the　money　he　saved　on　rent；　and　often　relied　on　the　kindness　of　friends。　Dougal　had　so　much　slack　that　it　was　considered　something　of　a　privilege　among　French　Quarter　bohos　to　buy　him　lunch　once　in　a　while。
　　The　outside　of　his　treehouse　was　painted　in　a　drab　brown　camouflage　pattern。　The　inside　pensated　with　a　riot　of　color。　The　walls　were　red；　yellow；　green；　and　purple；　covered　with　snapshots　of　Dougal's　American　and　Jamaican　friends；　the　former　a　motley　cross…section　of　New　Orleans　freak　society；　the　latter　invariably　dreadlocked　and　grinning。
　　The　striped　ceiling　was　not　quite　high　enough　for　Dougal　to　stand　up　straight；　though　Eddy　could　do　so　fortably。　The　floor　was　covered　with　a　woven　straw　mat。　There　was　a　nest　of　blankets　in　one　corner；　a　crate　of　books　and　a　boom　box　with　some　tapes　stacked　around　it　in　another。　He　kept　a　lot　of　stuff　in　his　car　in　case　the　treehouse　was　ever　discovered；　but　somehow　it　never　was。
　　〃How　do　you　get　phone　service　up　here？〃　Eddy　asked　as　she　settled　herself　on　a　gorgeously　embroidered　cushion。　She　had　told　him　the　whole　story　on　the　ride　over　from　the　lake。
　　Dougal　held　up　a　sleek　black　cellular　phone。　〃Present　from　Zachary。〃
　　〃I　should've　known。　Can　I　use　that？〃
　　He　gave　it　to　her；　then　pulled　a　fat　straw　pouch　and　a　package　of　rolling　papers　from　his　pocket；　shook　out　a　generous　quantity　of　fragrant　green　pot；　and　started　rolling　a　joint。　Eddy　dialed　the　Sacred　Yew's　number　again。　It　only　rang　once；　then　a　piercing　electronic　tone　wailed　in　her　ear　and　a　recorded　voice　said；　〃The　number　you　have　reached　has　been　temporarily　disconnected。　No　further　information　is　available　at　this　time。　The　number　you　have　reached…〃
　　〃DAMMIT！〃　Eddy　nearly　hurled　the　phone　across　the　treehouse。　Only　the　fear　that　it　would　fly　out　the　window　and　go　crashing　to　the　ground　fifty　feet　below　stopped　her　hand。　Her　treacherous　eyes　filled　with　tears　again；　though　she　was　sick　of　crying。　〃Our　only　link　to　Zach　has　just　been　severed。　Now　what　do　we　do？〃
　　〃Relax；　sweetheart。〃　Dougal　handed　her　the　joint；　an　enormous；　tightly　rolled　bomber。　〃First　we　smoke　a　spleef。　Then　we　t'ink　better；　an'　we　plan。〃
　　〃Speak　for　yourself。　You　must　have　been　smoking　this　stuff　since　you　were　born。〃
　　〃I　was　smokin'　it　in　my　momma's　womb；〃　Dougal　assured　her。　〃But　don'　worry。　This　is　smart　ganja。　Relaxes　you　an'　clears　your　head。〃
　　Eddy　regarded　the　huge　bomber　glumly。　Dougal　struck　a　match；　offered　her　the　flame　cupped　between　his　pinkbrown　palms。　Oh；　what　the　hell；　she　decided；　and　let　him　light　it　for　her。
　　The　taste　was　sticky　and　sweet；　almost　cloying。　But　as　it　swirled　through　her　lungs　and　out　into　her　bloodstream；　she　thought　she　could　feel　some　of　the　shadows　lifting。　By　the　time　she'd　had　two　hits；　she　actually　believed　she　might　see　Zach　again；　might　even　be　able　to　save　him。　Another　drag　and　she'd　probably　be　imagining　them　as　an　old　married　couple。　She　handed　the　joint　back　to　Dougal。　〃What　is　this　stuff？〃
　　〃Fresh　Jamaican。〃　Dougal　wrapped　his　hand　around　the　joint；　brought　it　to　his　lips；　and　produced　an　enormous　cloud　of　smoke。　She　noticed　that　he　didn't　automatically　pass　the　joint　back　as　Americans　did；　but　let　it　dangle　casually　between　his　first　two　fingers　until　he　was　ready　to　hit　it　again。　When　you　grew　up　in　Jamaica；　Eddy　guessed；　you　always　knew　where　your　next　joint　was　ing　from。
　　The　afternoon　light　was　very　clear；　sifting　through　the　canopy　of　leaves　and　the　cracks　in　the　wood；　filling　the　treehouse　with　green　and　gold。　Eddy　leaned　back　against　the　wall；　beginning　to　relax。　〃Where　do　you　get　fresh　Jamaican　around　here？〃
　　〃Got　a　frien'　who　flies　to　Jamaica　two　times　a　month　or　so。　He　lan'　at　a　little　strip　up　in　de　hills　near　Negril　on　de　western　coast；　pick　it　up　an'　fly　back　to　his　place　in　de　swamp；　then　somebody　else　pick　it　up　an'　bring　it　to　New　Orleans。　No　problem。〃
　　〃He　has　an　airstrip　in　the　swamp？〃
　　〃Ya　mon。　Jus'　a　little　shack　an'　a　place　to　lan'　his　plane。〃
　　Eddy's　heart　was　pounding。　〃Do　you　think　he　might　be　making　a　trip　soon？〃
　　〃I　fink　he　could　be　convinced；〃　said　Dougal　gravely。　〃I　don'　b'lieve　he　would　fly　to　North　Carolina。　He　don'　like　to　fly　over　U。S。　airspace。　But　if　we　get　Zachary　down　to　de　swamp；　I　fink　my　frien'　would　take　him。〃
　　〃I'll　drive　to　Missing　Mile。　I'll　shoot　coffee　into　my　veins　and　drive　all　night　if　I　have　to。　I'm　not　letting　them　get　him。〃
　　〃You　wan'　drive　my　car？　You　wan'　me　to　go　with　you？〃
　　〃I　guess　so。　We　can't　bring　Zach　back　through　New　Orleans。　We'll　have　to　go　around　it　and　straight　down　into　the　swamp。　Do　you　think　your　friend…〃
　　〃My　frien'　will　be　there；〃　Dougal　soothed。　〃Don'　worry。　We　call　him　once　we　get　on　the　road。〃
　　He　was　smiling　at　her；　his　teeth　crooked　but　very　white　in　his　dark　face；　his　eyes　the　color　of　warm　chocolate。　She　couldn't　help　smiling　back。
　　〃See；〃　said　Dougal。　〃I　tol'　you　we　plan　better　with　our　heads　cleared　out。　De　smart　ganja　works　ever'　time。〃
　　
　　Agent　Cover　maneuvered　his　white　Chevy　van　through　the