dk.intensity-第15章

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；　the　longing　of　a　lover　far　from　home。　He　is　a　sensitive　man。
　The　Asian　bites　off　a　piece　of　the　Slim　Jim。　He　chews　daintily；　his　jaw　muscles　hardly　moving。
　Vess　decides　that　he　will　take　the　unfinished　sausage　back　to　Ariel。　She　can　put　her　mouth　where　the　Asian　had　his。　This　intimacy　with　the　beautiful　young　man　will　be　Vess's　gift　to　the　girl。
　He　says；　〃Sure　will　be　glad　to　get　home　to　my　Ariel。　Isn't　that　a　pretty　name？〃
　〃Sure　is；〃　says　the　redhead。
　〃Fits　her　too。〃
　〃She　the　missus？〃　asks　the　redhead。　His　friendliness　is　not　as　natural　as　when　Vess　spoke　with　him　about　turning　on　pump　number　seven。　He　is　definitely　unfortable　and　trying　not　to　show　it。
　Time　to　startle　them；　see　how　they　react。　Will　either　of　them　begin　to　realize　just　how　much　trouble　is　ing？
　〃Nope；〃　Vess　says。　〃No　ball　and　chain　for　me。　Maybe　one　day。　Anyway；　Ariel's　only　sixteen；　not　ready　yet。〃
　They　are　not　sure　what　to　say。　Sixteen　is　half　his　age。　Sixteen　is　still　a　child。　Jailbait。
　The　risk　he's　taking　is　enormous　and　titillating。　Another　customer　might　pull　off　the　highway　at　any　moment；　raising　the　stakes。
　〃Prettiest　thing　you'll　ever　see　this　side　of　paradise；〃　says　Vess；　and　he　licks　his　lips。　〃Ariel；　I　mean。〃
　He　takes　the　Polaroid　snapshot　from　his　coat　pocket　and　drops　it　onto　the　counter。　The　clerks　stare　at　it。　
　〃She's　pure　angel；〃　says　Vess。　〃Porcelain　skin。　Breathtaking。　Makes　your　scrotum　twang　like　a　bass　fiddle。〃
　With　barely　disguised　distaste；　the　cashier　looks　at　the　pumpmonitor　board　to　the　left　of　the　cash　register　and　says；　〃Your　sixty　bucks　just　finished　going　in　the　tank。〃
　Vess　says；　〃Don't　get　me　wrong。　I　never　touched　her…that　way。　She's　been　locked　in　the　basement　the　past　year；　where　I　can　look　at　her　anytime　I　want　to。　Waiting　for　my　little　doll　to　ripen；　get　just　a　little　sweeter。〃
　As　glassy…eyed　as　fish；　they　gaze　at　him。　He　relishes　their　expressions。
　Then　he　smiles；　laughs；　and　says；　〃Hey；　had　you　going　there；　didn't　you？〃
　Neither　man　smiles　back　at　him；　and　the　redhead　says　tightly；　〃You　still　going　to　make　some　other　purchases；　or　do　you　just　want　your　change？〃
　Vess　puts　on　his　most　sincere　face。　He　can　almost　manage　a　blush。
　〃Listen；　sorry　if　I　offended。　I'm　a　joker。　Can't　help　puttin'　people　on。〃
　〃Well；〃　says　the　redhead；　〃I　have　a　sixteen…year…old　daughter；　so　I　don't　see　what's　funny。〃
　Speaking　to　the　Asian；　Vess　says；　〃When　I　go　hunting；　I　take　trophies。　You　know…like　a　matador　gets　the　bull's　tail　and　ears？　Sometimes　it's　just　a　picture。　Gifts　for　Ariel。　She'll　really　like　you。〃
　As　he　speaks；　he　raises　the　Mossberg；　draped　with　the　raincoat　as　if　with　black　funeral　bunting；　seizes　it　in　both　hands；　blows　the　redheaded　cashier　off　his　stool；　and　pumps　another　shell　into　the　breech。
　The　Asian。　Oh；　how　his　eyes　widen。　The　expression　in　them　is　like　nothing　ever　to　be　seen　in　the　eyes　of　fish。
　Even　as　the　redhead　crashes　to　the　floor；　this　young　Asian　gentleman　with　the　fabulous　eyes　has　one　hand　under　the　counter；　going　for　a　weapon。
　Vess　says；　〃Don't；　or　I'll　shove　the　bullets　up　your　ass。〃
　But　the　Asian　brings　up　the　revolver　anyway；　a　Smith　&　Wesson　38　Chief's　Special；　so　Vess　thrusts　the　shotgun　across　the　counter　and　fires　point…blank　at　his　chest；　loath　to　mess　up　that　perfect　face。　The　young　man　is　airborne　off　the　stool；　the　revolver　spinning　from　his　hand　even　before　he　has　a　chance　to　squeeze　off　one　round。
　The　redhead　is　screaming。　Vess　walks　to　the　gate　in　the　counter　and　passes　through　to　the　work　area。
　The　redheaded　cashier　with　the　sixteen…year…old　daughter　waiting　at　home　is　curled　as　if　imitating　the　fetus…like　pink　birthmark　on　his　forehead；　hugging　himself；　holding　himself　together。　On　the　radio；　Garth　Brooks　sings　〃Thunder　Rolls。〃　Now　the　cashier　is　screaming　and　crying　at　the　same　time。　The　screams　reverberate　in　the　plateglass　windows；　and　the　echo　of　the　shotgun　still　roars　in　Vess's　ears；　and　a　new　customer　could　walk　into　the　store　at　any　second。　The　moment　is　achingly　intense。
　One　more　round　finishes　the　cashier。
　The　Asian　is　unconscious　and　going　fast。　Happily；　his　face　is　unmarked。
　Like　a　pilgrim　genuflecting　before　a　shrine；　Vess　drops　onto　one　knee　as　a　final　gasp　rattles　from　the　dying　young　man。　A　sound　like　the　brittle　flutter　of　insect　wings。　He　leans　close　to　inhale　the　other's　exhalation；　breathes　deeply。　Now　small　measures　of　the　Asian's　grace　and　beauty　are　a　part　of　him；　conveyed　on　the　scent　of　the　Slim　Jim。
　The　Brooks　song　is　followed　by　that　old　Johnny　Cash　number　〃A　Boy　Named　Sue；〃　which　is　silly　enough　to　spoil　the　mood。　Vess　turns　off　the　radio。
　As　he　reloads；　he　surveys　the　area　behind　the　counter　and　spots　a　row　of　wall　switches。　They　are　labeled　with　the　locations　of　the　lights　that　they　control。　He　shuts　down　all　the　exterior　lighting；　including　the　OPEN　24　HOURS　of　red　neon　on　the　roof　When　he　also　switches　off　the　fluorescent　ceiling　panels；　the　store　is　not　plunged　into　total　darkness。　The　display　lights　in　the　long　row　of　coolers　glow　eerily　behind　the　insulated　glass　doors。　A　lighted　clock　advertising　Coors　beer　hangs　on　one　wall；　and　at　the　counter；　a　gooseneck　lamp　illuminates　the　papers　on　which　the　Asian　gentleman　was　working。
　Nevertheless；　the　shadows　are　deep；　and　the　place　appears　to　be　closed。　It's　unlikely　that　a　customer　will　pull　in　from　the　highway。
　Of　course　a　county　sheriffs　deputy　or　highway　patrol　officer；　curious　about　why　this　establishment　that　never　closes　is；　in　fact；　suddenly　closed；　might　investigate。　Consequently；　Vess　doesn't　dawdle　over　the　tasks　that　remain。
　Huddled　with　her　back　against　the　end　panel　of　the　shelves；　as　far　as　she　could　get　from　the　cashiers'　counter；　Chyna　felt　exposed　by　the　display…case　light　to　her　right　and　threatened　by　the　shadows　to　her　left。　In　the　silence　following　the　gunfire　and　the　cessation　of　the　music；　she　became　convinced　that　the　killer　could　hear　her　ragged；　shuddery　breathing。　But　she　couldn't　quiet　herself；　and　she　couldn't　stop　shaking　any　more　than　a　rabbit　could　cease　shivering　in　the　shadow　of　a　wolf。
　Maybe　the　rumble　of　the　pressors　for　the　coolers　and　freezers　would　provide　enough　covering　sound　to　save　her。　She　wanted　to　lean　out　to　one　side　and　then　the　other　to　check　the　flanking　aisles；　but　she　could　not　summon　the　courage　to　look。　She　was　crazily　certain　that；　leaning　out；　she'd　e　face…to…face　with　the　eater　of　spiders。
　She　had　thought　that　nothing　could　be　more　devastating　than　finding　the　bodies　of　Paul　and　Sarah…and　later　Laura…but　this　had　been　worse。　This　time　she　had　been　in　the　same　room　when　murder　happened；　close　enough　not　merely　to　hear　the　screams　but　to　feel　them　like　punches　in　the　chest。
　She　supposed　the　killer　was　robbing　the　place；　but　he　didn't　need　to　kill　the　clerks　just　to　get　the　money。　Necessity；　of　course；　was　not　a　deciding　factor　with　him。　He　had　killed　them　simply　because　he　enjoyed　doing　so。　He　was　on　a　roll。　He　was　hot。
　She　seemed　trapped　in　an　endless　night。　A　breakdown　in　the　cosmic　machinery；　gears　jammed。　Stars　locked　in　place。　No　sunrise　ever　rising。　And　ing　down　through　the　frozen　sky；　a　terrible　coldness。
　A　light　flashed；　and　Chyna　brought　her　hands　up　defensively　in　front　of　her　face。　Then　she　realized　that　the　flash　had　e　from　the　other　end　of　the　store。　And　again。
　
　Edgler　Vess　is　not　a　hunter；　as　he　had　told　the　redheaded　cashier；　but　a　connoisseur　who　collects　exquisite　images；　recording　most　of　them　with　the　camera　of　his　mind's　eye　but　once　in　a　while　with　the　Polaroid　camera。　Memories　of　great　beauty　enliven　his　thoughts　every　day　and　form　the　basis　of　his　gratifying　dreams。
　Each　camera　flash　seems　to　linger　in　the　huge　eyes　of　the　Asian　clerk；　glimmering　as　if　it　were　his　spirit　trapped　behind　his　corneas　and　seeking　egress　from　the　cooling　mortal　coil。
　Once；　in　Nevada；　Vess　had　killed　an　inparable　twenty…year…old　brunette；　whose　face　had　made　Claudia　Schiffer　and　Kate　Moss　look　like　hags。　Before　meticulously　destroying　her；　he　had　taken　six　photographs。　With　threats；　he　had　even　managed　to　make　her　smile　in　three　of　the　shots；　she　had　a　radiant　smile。　Once　every　thirty　days　during　the　three　months　following　that　memorable　episode；　he　had　cut　up　and　eaten　one　of　the　photos　in　which　she'd　been　smiling；　and　with　the　consumption　of　each；　he　had　been　fiercely　aroused　by　the　destruction　of　her　beauty。　He　had　felt　her　smile　in　his　belly；　a　warming　radiance；　and　knew　that　he　himself　was　more　beautiful　because　he　contained　it。
　He　can't　remember　the　brunette's　name。　Names　are　never　of　any　importance　to　him。
　Knowing　the　name　of　the　young　Asian　gentleman；　however；　will　be　helpful　when　he　describes　this　episode　to　Ariel。　He　puts　aside　the　Polaroid；　rolls　the　dead　man　over；　and　takes　his　wallet　from　his　hip　pocket。
　Holding　the　driver's　license　in　the　light　from　the　gooseneck　lamp；　he　sees　that　the　name　is　Thomas　Fujimoto。
　Vess　decides　to　call　him　Fuji。　Like　the　mountain。　He　returns　the　license　to　the　wallet　and　tucks　the　wallet　in　the　pocket。　He　takes　none　of　the　dead　man's　money。　He　won't　touch　the　cash　in　the　register　either…except　to　extract　the　forty　dollars　in　change　that　is　due　him。　He　isn't　a　thief。
　With　three　photographs　taken；　he　needs　only　to　keep　his　promise　to　Fuji　and　prove　that　he　is　a　man　of　his　word。　It　is　an　awkward　bit　of　business；　but　he　finds　it　amusing。
　Now　he　must　deal　with　the　security　system；　which　has　recorded　everything　that　he's　done。　A　video　camera　is　mounted　over　the　front　door　and　focused　on　the　cashiers'　counter。
　Edgler　Foreman　Vess　has　no　desire　to　see　himself　on　television　news。　Living　with　intensity　is　virtually　impossible　when　one　is　in　prison。
　Chyna　was　in　control　of　her　breathing　again；　but　her　heart　knocked　so　hard　that　her　vision　pulsed；　and　the　carotid　arteries　thumped　in　her　throat　as　though　jolts　of　electricity　were　slamming　through　them。
　Again　convinced　that　safety　lay　in　movement；　she　leaned　into　the　light　and　looked　around　the　corner　into　the　aisle　in　front　of　the　coolers。　The　killer　was　not　in　sight；　although　she　could　hear　him　moving　at　the　other　end　of　the　store：　crisp　furtive　rustlings　like　a　rat　in　a　drift　of　autumn　leaves。
　On　her　hands　and　knees；　stomach　clenched　in　terror；　she　crawled　into　the　spill　of　cooler　light　far　enough　to　look　along　the　narrow　aisle；　seeking　something　on　the　shelves　to　the　right　that　might　serve　as　a　weapon。　Without　the　butcher　knife；　she　felt　helpless。
　No　knives　were　conveniently　for　sale。　Nearest　to　her　were　hanging　displays　of　novelty　key　chains；　fingernail　clippers；　pocket　bs；　styptic　pencils；　packets　of　moistened　towelettes；　eyeglass…cleaning　papers；　decks　of　playing　cards；　and　disposable　cigarette　lighters。
　She　reached　up　and　took　one　of　the　lighters　off　the　rack。　She　wasn't　sure　how　she　could　use　it　to　defend　herself；　but　in　the　absence　of　a　satisfyingly　sharp　length　of　steel；　fire　was　the　only　weapon　available　to　her。
　The　overhead　fluorescent　panels　blinked　on。　The　brightness　froze　her。
　She　looked　toward　the　far　end　of　the　store。　The　killer　wasn't　in　sight；　but　across　one　wall　his　slouched　shadow　swelled　huge　and　then　shrank　and　then　glided　away　like　that　of　a　moth　swooping　past　a　floodlamp。
　Vess　switches　the　lights