pzb.drawingblood-第53章

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ney…colored　eyes　were　like　chips　of　topaz　set　in　a　ruined　mosaic。　His　lips　twitched　as　he　leaned　toward　Zach。　He　stroked　Zach's　thigh　with　a　disintegrating　hand。
　　〃Oh；〃　he　whispered；　〃just　e　over　here　and　let's　fuck　。　。　。〃
　　Then　he　was　the　person　before　that。　And　then　he　was　the　person　before　that。　And　then　she　was　the　person　before　that。　And　they　just　kept　changing；　and　they　just　got　worse　。　。　。
　　Zach　shoved　himself　out　of　his　seat　and　stumbled　backward　down　the　row。　He　tripped　over　a　tangle　of　feet　and　turned　to　apologize；　but　the　pair　of　faces　that　tilted　up　to　him　were　blotched　with　purple；　horribly　withered。　He　saw　his　lover　pushing　itself　up；　supporting　itself　on　the　seat　backs；　making　its　way　slowly　toward　him。　Above　the　blaring　soundtrack　Zach　heard　labored　breathing；　dry；　painful　coughing。　All　over　the　theater　other　figures　were　beginning　to　stir；　to　rise。
　　Zach　turned　and　ran。　He　vaulted　over　the　tangled　legs；　sprinted　up　the　aisle；　and　burst　out　into　the　lobby。　A　set　of　glass　doors　led　out　onto　the　street。　At　the　last　second　before　he　grasped　the　handle；　Zach　knew　they　would　be　locked。　He　would　be　trapped　here　in　the　lobby　with　the　zombies　ing　for　him；　and　when　they　got　him　they　would　smear　him　across　the　glass　like　a　crushed　strawberry。　He　had　seen　enough　movies　to　know　what　happened　when　the　zombies　got　you。
　　But　the　doors　weren't　locked；　and　Zach　slammed　through　them　at　high　speed。　On　the　far　side　of　the　street；　pausing　to　push　his　glasses　up　and　catch　his　breath；　he　glanced　across　at　the　theater。　Its　facade　was　lavishly　decorated　in　art　deco　tiles　and　marble；　deep　crimson；　jade　green；　jet　black。　The　marquee　was　wrought　of　fluted；　gleaming　chrome　like　a　1930s　dream　of　the　future。　On　its　sign　was　spelled　out…in　red　block　letters　a　foot　high…THE　GARDEN　OF　EARTHLY　DELIGHTS。
　　〃Cute；〃　he　snarled；　and　started　walking　fast；　looking　behind　him　every　half　block　or　so。　The　street　remained　empty。　He　guessed　the　zombies　were　quarantined　in　the　theater。
　　Zach　held　his　hands　up　in　front　of　his　face　and　stared　at　the　palms。　The　lines　in　them　were　dark　pink；　healthy…looking　enough　though　slightly　damp　with　sweat。　He　had　always　heard　that　if　you　were　really　sick；　the　lines　in　your　palms　turned　gray。
　　But　he　felt　fine。　Was　the　place　trying　to　scare　him　with　its　rotting　mirror　images　and　its　wank…house　zombies？　Or　was　it　trying　to　warn　him　of　something？
　　If　he　ever　got　out　of　here；　Zach　decided；　he　was　going　straight　to　the　nearest　health　clinic　and　getting　a　blood　test。　He　didn't　want　one；　but　he　thought　maybe　it　was　time　to　start　considering　things　other　than　what　he　wanted。
　　Soon　he　was　far　from　the　theater。　The　deserted　streets　felt　half…familiar。　This　place　wasn't　New　Orleans；　but　Zach　thought　New　Orleans　had　been　used　to　flavor　it　like　a　spice。　He　could　see　it　in　the　gas　lamps　on　the　corners；　the　high　curbs；　even　a　cast…iron　balcony　or　a　gate　leading　into　a　shadowy　courtyard　here　and　there。　The　night　air　was　cool　on　his　face；　though　it　smelled　nothing　like　the　alcoholic　haze　of　the　French　Quarter。　The　odor　here　was　more　like　Toxic　Alley；　the　poisonous　stretch　of　the　Mississippi　River　between　New　Orleans　and　Baton　Rouge；　a　faint　ghost　of　chemicals　and　burning　oil。
　　He　saw　a　fountain　bubbling　fitfully　in　a　tiny　concrete　park　and　stopped　to　rest。　The　fountain　struck　him　as　odd；　and　after　a　moment　Zach　realized　why：　there　were　no　coins　on　the　bottom；　not　even　pennies。　He　had　never　seen　a　public　fountain　without　pennies　on　the　bottom。　Instead　there　seemed　to　be　a　few　small　faceted　jewels；　so　translucent　in　the　clear　water　that　Zach　could　hardly　be　sure　they　were　there　at　all。
　　Well；　you're　in　a　hallucination　now；　he　thought。　And　it　isn't　even　your　own。　Better　get　used　to　seeing　some　weird　shit。
　　He　stared　at　his　feet　and　suddenly　registered　that　they　were　clad　in　shoes　he'd　never　seen　before；　two…toned　wingtip　loafers　polished　within　an　inch　of　their　lives。　For　the　first　time　he　thought　to　check　out　the　rest　of　his　outfit。
　　Some　kind　of　suit；　he'd　thought　in　the　theater。　But　what　a　suit！　It　was　woven　from　nubbly…textured　cloth　of　the　palest　shell　pink；　cut　loose　and　baggy；　with　vast　lapels。　Underneath　he　had　on　a　cream…colored　shirt　and　an　extravagant　red　silk　tie　with　a　tiny　paisley　figure。　Zach　felt　something　on　his　head；　reached　up　to　investigate。　A　beret。　Wouldn't　you　just　know　it。　Even　the　lenses　of　his　glasses　seemed　to　have　taken　on　a　smoky　hipster　tint。
　　Birdland　might　try　to　fuck　with　you　at　every　turn；　Zach　thought；　but　at　least　you　got　to　dress　cool。
　　He　heard　a　ripple　of　music　nearby。　The　clear　voice　of　a　saxophone；　leisurely　rising；　then　descending。　The　sound　was　getting　closer。　By　this　time　Zach　would　not　have　been　surprised　to　see　Charlie　Parker　（or　his　zombie）　e　swaying　round　the　corner；　eyes　shut　tight　and　forehead　wrinkled；　blowing　the　horn　as　he　walked。　Bird　used　to　e　onstage　like　that；　Trevor　had　told　him；　after　the　rest　of　the　band　had　already　been　playing　for　an　hour　or　so。　He　would　start　somewhere　way　off　in　the　bowels　of　the　club；　and　the　other　musicians　would　gradually　fall　in　with　him　as　they　heard　his　approach；　until　by　the　time　he　walked　onstage　Bird　was　leading　the　band。
　　But　what　rounded　the　corner　instead　was；　in　the　most　literal　sense　of　the　term；　a　solo　instrument。　Walking　on　four　multi…jointed；　chitinous…looking　legs；　depressing　its　own　keys　with　two　equally　insectile　three…fingered　hands；　brass　gleaming　through　a　web　of　scuffs　and　scratches；　came　an　unacpanied　alto　saxophone。
　　〃Oh　now；〃　Zach　muttered；　〃this　is　just　silly。〃
　　The　music　stopped；　and　a　low　fluting　voice　spoke　out　of　the　instrument's　bell。　〃Hey；　cat…you　in　a　cartoon；　dig？　Cartoons　is　s'posed　to　be　silly。　Here；　have　a　stick　of　tea　and　you　be　gettin'　silly　too。〃
　　Zach　could　see　no　speaking　apparatus　anywhere　on　the　thing；　nothing　that　vaguely　resembled　lips　or　vocal　cords；　yet　the　voice　did　not　sound　synthesized。　The　alto　reached　one　of　those　spiny　claws　deep　into　the　curve　of　its　bell　and　pulled　out　a　fat　twisted　cigarette。　This　it　tossed　to　Zach；　who　caught　it　eagerly。
　　〃Pick　up　on　that　tea；〃　the　sax　advised　him。　〃Don't　be　lettin'　zombies　bring　you　down。　They　ain't　cool　or　viperish　neither。　Not　like　us。〃
　　〃Hey；　thanks。〃
　　〃De　nada；〃　said　the　instrument　suavely。　〃Any　descendant　of　Hieronymus　is　a　friend　o'　mine。〃　It　began　to　noodle　off　down　the　street；　playing　a　few　bars　of　〃Ornithology…〃
　　〃Wait！〃　Zach　stuck　the　joint　in　his　pocket　and　hurried　after　it。　〃Do　you　know　where　any　of　the　McGees　are？　Trevor？　Bobby？〃
　　The　alto　switched　to　〃Lullaby　of　Birdland〃　but　did　not　otherwise　reply。　It　had　a　half…block　start　on　Zach；　and　it　always　seemed　to　stay　just　a　little　too　far　ahead　of　him；　dropping　to　all　fours　and　scuttling　like　a　roach　on　those　barbed　legs；　still　playing　itself　with　its　spiky　little　hands；　the　gay　tune　spiraling　behind。　Zach's　fancy　new　shoes　pinched　his　feet　when　he　tried　to　hurry。　He　could　not　catch　up。　Eventually　the　thing　disappeared　down　an　alley　and　lost　him　altogether。
　　Now　Zach　was　in　a　narrow　street　lined　on　both　sides　with　dark　buildings　that　seemed　to　lean　forward　over　the　sidewalk；　swaying　slightly。　Many　of　the　buildings　had　old…fashioned　stoops　and　stairs　leading　up　to　recessed　entryways　that　might　have　once　been　elegant；　but　all　were　in　a　state　of　advanced　decay。　He　saw　fanlights　with　the　stained　glass　broken　out；　only　a　few　shards　remaining　like　jagged　multicolored　teeth　in　the　frames。　Overhead　he　could　barely　make　out　a　purple　slice　of　sky。　The　place　was　deserted。　Zach　reached　into　his　jacket；　knowing　somehow　that　there　would　be　a　streamlined　silver　lighter　tucked　in　a　pocket。　There　was。
　　He　leaned　against　a　stoop；　stuck　the　joint　in　his　mouth；　and　lit　up。　An　acrid；　bitter　taste　filled　his　mouth；　nothing　remotely　like　marijuana。　He　burst　out　coughing。　〃A　stick　of　tea；〃　the　alto　had　said；　and　Zach　assumed　it　was　talking　beatnik　slang。　Now　he　remembered　a　panel　from　Birdland　of　cat…headed　smugglers　at　a　river　dock；　unloading　bales　of　Darjeeling　and　Earl　Grey　under　cover　of　darkest　night。　It　really　was　tea。
　　Well；　fuck　it。　Caffeine　had　started　him　on　this　journey；　maybe　it　would　preserve　him。　Zach　took　another　hit　off　the　stick　of　tea　and　found　himself　getting　a　delicious　dizzy　high；　as　good　as　that　from　the　sticky　green　bud　Dougal　used　to　sell　in　the　French　Market。　He　felt　a　sudden　wave　of　homesickness；　wondered　if　he　would　ever　see　New　Orleans　again。
　　But　if　he　didn't　get　his　ass　moving　and　find　Trevor；　he　might　never　even　see　Missing　Mile　again。　Zach　took　a　couple　more　tokes；　bent　over　to　snuff　the　joint　on　the　sidewalk。　And　then　all　at　once　a　premonition　hit　him；　stronger　than　any　he'd　ever　had　before：　Get　the　fuck　out　of　here。　Now。
　　Zach　began　to　straighten　up；　heard　a　door　slam　and　heavy　footsteps　pounding　down　the　stairs　behind　him。　He　dropped　the　joint；　but　before　he　could　turn；　a　hard　shove　sent　him　sprawling　across　the　sidewalk。　He　managed　to　get　his　hands　under　him　and　his　chin　up　fast　enough　not　to　break　any　teeth；　but　he　felt　the　healing　cut　on　his　lip　burst　open；　saw　fresh　blood　spatter　the　cement。　His　palms　screamed　agony。　He　felt　sidewalk　grit　working　its　way　into　raw　subcutaneous　layers　of　flesh。
　　〃You　stupid　fuckin'　kid！　Leave　you　alone　for　five　minutes　and　I　find　you　smokin'　dope　on　the　street　corner！〃　A　boot　ground　into　the　small　of　his　back。　The　voice　was　familiar；　deep　and　faintly　gravelly。　Shit；　no；　please；　no；　thought　Zach。　Make　me　fuck　a　zombie。　Let　me　watch　my　own　face　rotting　in　the　mirror。　Please；　anything　but　my　dad。
　　Zach　twisted　away　from　the　boot。　A　large　hand　wrapped　around　his　wrist　and　hauled　him　up。　He　found　himself　staring　up　into　the　pale　exasperated　face　of　Joe　Bosch；　and　remembered　one　of　the　scariest　things　about　his　father：　even　when　he　was　beating　the　crap　out　of　someone；　usually　his　wife　or　son；　his　face　never　lost　that　wideeyed；　slightly　harassed　expression。　It　was　as　if　he　sincerely　believed　he　was　inflicting　this　damage　for　the　good　of　all　concerned；　and　was　only　pissed　that　they　couldn't　see　it　that　way。
　　When　Zach　left　home；　his　father　had　been　a　foot　taller　than　he；　skinny　but　muscular。　Since　then　Zach　had　grown　six　inches　and　gained　thirty　pounds。　Joe　must　have　kept　growing　too；　for　he　still　seemed　just　as　big。　Zach　had　always　looked　very　much　like　his　mother。　He　had　her　pallid　coloring；　her　slender　bones；　her　narrow　nose　and　sulky　underlip　and　thick　blue…black　hair。　The　almond　shape　of　his　eyes　was　hers　too。　Joe　didn't　look　so　different；　he　was　fair…skinned　and　dark…haired　with　sharp　intense　features；　and　could　have　been　Evangeline's　brother。　But　Evangeline's　eyes　were　Cajun　black。　Joe's　were　the　color　of　jade。
　　His　father's　relentless　stare　bored　into　him；　dissected　him；　mirrored　him。　Zach　could　not　even　try　to　pull　away。　He　remembered　the　consequences　of　evasive　action　all　too　well。　The　trick　of　being　beaten　up　was　to　take　what　you　couldn't　avoid　and　show　just　enough　pain　to　appease　their　anger；　but　not　enough　to　make　them　want　more。　If　you　awakened　their　lust　for　pain；　they　would　make　you　bleed；　break；　burn。
　　But　there　was　one　thing　Zach　had　never　been　able　to　control；　one　thing　that　had　gotten　him　hurt　more　times　than　he　could　remember；　and　t