cb.damnationgame-第57章

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　　〃Oh；　she's　sinned；〃　the　man　replied；　with　glittering　eyes；　and　that　was　good　enough　for　the　Reverend　Bliss〃　boys。
　　
　　Upstairs；　Breer　hoisted　himself　off　his　mattress　with　difficulty；　and　stumbled　into　the　bathroom　to　look　at　himself　in　the　cracked　mirror。　His　injuries　had　long　ago　stopped　seeping；　but　he　looked　terrible。
　　〃Shave；〃　he　told　himself。　〃And　sandalwood。〃　He　was　afraid　that　things　were　moving　too　fast　now；　and　if　he　wasn't　careful　he　was　going　to　be　left　out　of　the　calculations。　It　was　time　he　acted　on　his　own　behalf。　He　would　find　a　clean　shirt；　a　tie　and　a　jacket　and　then　he　would　go　out　courting。　If　the　endgame　was　so　close　that　the　evidence　had　to　be　destroyed；　then　he　had　better　be　quick。　Better　finish　his　romance　with　the　girl　before　she　went　the　way　of　all　flesh。
　　
　　60
　　It　took　considerably　longer　than　three…quarters　of　an　hour　to　cross　London。　A　large　antinuclear　march　was　underway；　various　sections　of　the　main　body　were　assembling　around　the　city；　then　marching　toward　a　mass　rally　in　Hyde　Park。　The　center　of　the　city；　which　was　at　best　difficult　to　navigate；　was　so　thick　with　marchers　and　arrested　traffic　as　to　be　virtually　impassable。　None　of　which　Marty　had　realized　until　he　was　in　the　thick　of　it；　by　which　time　retreat　and　rerouting　was　out　of　the　question。　He　cursed　his　lack　of　attention：　there　had　surely　been　police　signs　warning　ining　motorists　of　the　delay。　He　had　noticed　none　of　them。
　　There　was　nothing　to　be　done；　however；　except　perhaps　t0　desert　the　car　and　set　out　on　foot　or　by　subway。　Neither　option　was　particularly　attractive。　The　subway　would　be　packed；　and　walking　in　today's　blistering　heat　would　be　debilitating。　He　needed　what　small　reserves　of　energy　he　still　possessed。　He　was　living　on　adrenaline　and　cigarettes；　and　had　been　for　too　long。　He　was　weak。　He　only　hoped…vain　hope…that　the　opposition　was　weaker。
　　It　was　the　middle　of　the　afternoon　by　the　time　he　reached　Charmaine's　place。　He　drove　around　the　block；　looking　for　somewhere　to　park；　and　eventually　found　a　space　around　the　corner　from　the　house。　His　feet　were　somewhat　reluctant；　the　abasement　ahead　wasn't　particularly　attractive。　But　Carys　was　waiting。
　　The　front　door　was　just　slightly　ajar。　He　rang　the　bell　nevertheless；　and　waited　on　the　pavement；　unwilling　simply　to　step　into　the　house。　Perhaps　they　were　upstairs　in　bed；　or　taking　a　cool　shower　together。　The　heat　was　still　furious；　even　though　the　afternoon　was　well　advanced。
　　Down　at　the　end　of　the　street　an　ice…cream　van；　playing　an　off…key　version　of　〃The　Blue　Danube；〃　appeared　and　stopped　by　the　curb　to　await　patrons。　Marty　glanced　toward　it。　The　waltz　had　already　attracted　two　customers。　They　drew　his　attention　for　a　moment：　sober…suited　young　men　whose　backs　were　turned　to　him。　One　of　them　boasted　bright　yellow　hair：　it　shone　in　the　sun。　They　were　taking　possession　of　their　ice　creams　now；　money　was　exchanged。　Satisfied；　they　disappeared　around　the　corner　without　looking　over　their　shoulders。
　　Despairing　of　an　answer　to　his　bell…ringing；　Marty　pushed　the　door　open。　It　grated　across　the　coconut　matting；　which　bore　a　threadbare　〃Wele。　〃　A　pamphlet；　stuck　halfway　through　the　mailbox；　dislodged　and　fell　on　the　inside；　facedown。　The　sprung　mailbox　snapped　loudly　back　into　place。
　　〃Flynn？　Charmaine？〃　His　voice　was　an　intrusion；　it　carried　up　the　stairs；　where　dust　motes　thronged　the　sunlight　through　the　half…landing　window；　it　ran　into　the　kitchen；　where　yesterday's　milk　was　curdling　on　the　board　beside　the　sink。
　　〃Is　anybody　in？〃　Standing　in　the　hallway；　he　heard　a　fly。　It　circled　his　head；　and　he　waved　it　off。　Unconcerned；　it　buzzed　off　down　the　hallway　toward　the　kitchen；　tempted　by　something。　Marty　followed　it；　calling　Charmaine's　name　as　he　went。
　　She　was　waiting　for　him　in　the　kitchen；　as　was　Flynn。　They　had　both　had　their　throats　cut。
　　Charmaine　had　sunk　down　against　the　washing　machine。　She　sat；　one　leg　bent　beneath　her；　staring　at　the　opposite　wall。　Flynn　had　been　placed　with　his　head　over　the　sink　as　though　bending　to　douse　his　face。　The　illusion　of　life　was　almost　successful；　even　to　the　splashing　sound。
　　Marty　stood　in　the　doorway；　while　the　fly；　not　as　finicky　as　he；　flew　around　and　around　the　kitchen；　ecstatic。　Marty　just　stared。　There　was　nothing　to　be　done：　all　that　was　left　was　to　look。　They　were　dead。　And　Marty　knew　without　the　effort　of　thinking　about　it　that　the　killers　were　dressed　in　gray；　and　had　turned　that　far　corner；　ice　creams　in　hand；　acpanied　by　〃The　Blue　Danube。〃　They'd　called　Marty　the　Dancer　of　Wandsworth…those　who'd　called　him　anything　at　all…because　Strauss　was　the　Waltz　King。　He　wondered　if　he'd　ever　told　Charmaine　that；　in　any　of　his　letters。　No；　he　probably　hadn't：　and　now　it　was　too　late。　Tears　had　begun　to　sting　the　rims　of　his　eyes。　He　fought　them　back。　They　would　interrupt　the　view；　and　he　hadn't　finished　looking　yet。
　　The　fly　who'd　brought　him　here　was　circling　close　to　his　head　again。
　　〃The　European；〃　he　murmured　to　it。　〃He　sent　them。〃　The　fly　zigzagged；　excitedly。　〃Of　course；〃　it　buzzed。
　　〃I'll　kill　him。〃　The　fly　laughed。　〃You　don't　have　any　idea　what　he　is。　He　could　be　the　Devil　himself。〃　〃Fucking　fly。　What　do　you　know？〃　〃Don't　get　so　grand　with　me；〃　the　fly　replied。　〃You're　a　shit…walker；　same　as　I　am。〃　He　watched　it　rove；　looking　for　a　place　to　put　its　dirty　feet。　It　landed；　at　last；　on　Charmaine's　face。　Atrocious　that　she　didn't　raise　a　lazy　hand　to　swat　it　away；　terrible　that　she　just　sprawled　there；　leg　bent；　neck　slit；　and　let　it　crawl　on　her　cheek；　up　to　her　eye；　down　to　her　nostril；　supping　here　and　there；　careless。
　　The　fly　was　right。　He　was　ignorant。　If　they　were　to　survive；　he　had　to　root　out　Mamoulian's　secret　life；　because　that　knowledge　was　power。　Carys　had　been　wise　all　along。　There　was　no　closing　your　eyes　and　turning　your　back　on　the　European。　The　only　way　to　be　free　of　him　was　to　know　him；　to　look　at　him　for　as　long　as　courage　allowed　and　see　him　in　every　ghastly　particular。
　　He　left　the　lovers　in　the　kitchen　and　went　to　look　for　the　heroin。　He　didn't　have　to　search　far。　The　packet　was　in　the　inside　of　Flynn's　jacket；　which　was　casually　thrown　over　the　sofa　in　the　front　room。　Pocketing　the　fix　Marty　went　to　the　front　door；　aware　that　stepping　out　of　this　house　into　the　open　sunlight　was　tantamount　to　inviting　a　murder　charge。　He　would　be　seen　and　easily　recognized：　the　police　would　be　after　him…in　hours。　But　there　was　no　help　for　it；　escaping　by　the　back　door　would　look　every　bit　as　suspicious。
　　At　the　door　he　stooped　and　snatched　up　the　pamphlet　that　had　slid　from　the　letterbox。　It　bore　the　smiling　face　of　an　evangelist；　one　Reverend　Bliss；　who　was　standing；　microphone　in　hand；　raising　his　eyes　to　Heaven。　〃Join　the　Crowd；〃　the　banner　proclaimed；　〃and　Feel　the　Power　of　God　in　Operation。　Hear　the　Words！　Feel　the　Spirit！〃　He　pocketed　it　for　future　reference。
　　On　his　way　back　to　Kilburn　he　stopped　at　a　telephone　box　and　reported　the　murders。　When　they　asked　him　who　he　was　he　told　them；　admitting　that　he　was　a　parole　jumper　to　boot。　When　they　told　him　to　turn　himself　in　to　the　nearest　police　station；　he　replied　that　he　would；　but　first　he　had　to　attend　to　some　personal　business。
　　As　he　drove　back　to　Kilburn　through　streets　now　littered　with　the　aftermath　of　the　march；　his　mind　turned　over　every　possible　lead　to　Whitehead's　whereabouts。　Wherever　the　old　man　was；　there；　sooner　or　later；　Mamoulian　would　be。　He　could　try　to　get　Carys　to　find　her　father　of　course。　But　he　had　another　request　to　make　of　her；　one　that　it　might　take　more　than　gentle　persuasion　to　get　her　to　concede　to。　He　would　have　to　locate　the　old　man　by　his　own　ingenuity。
　　It　was　only　as　he　drove　back；　and　caught　sight　of　a　signpost　to　Holborn；　that　he　remembered　Mr。　Halifax　and　the　strawberries。
　　
　　61
　　Marty　smelled　Carys　as　soon　as　he　opened　the　door；　but　for　a　few　seconds　he　mistook　the　scent　for　pork　cooking。　Only　when　he　crossed　to　the　bed　did　he　see　the　burn　on　her　open　hand。
　　〃I'm　all　right；〃　she　told　him　very　coolly。
　　〃He's　been　here。〃　She　nodded。　〃But　he's　gone　now。〃　〃Didn't　he　leave　me　any　messages？〃　he　asked；　with　a　crooked　smile。
　　She　sat　up。　Something　was　horribly　wrong　with　him。　His　voice　was　odd；　his　face　was　the　color　of　fishmeat。　He　stood　off　from　her；　as　if　the　merest　touch　would　shatter　him。　Looking　at　him　made　her　almost　forget　the　appetite　that　still　consumed　her。
　　〃Message；〃　she　said；　〃for　you？〃　She　didn't　understand。　〃Why？　What's　happened？〃　〃They　were　dead。〃　〃Who？〃　〃Flynn。　Charmaine。　Somebody　slit　their　throats。〃　His　face　came　within　an　ace　of　crumpling　up。　This　was　the　nadir；　surely。　They　had　no　further　to　fall。
　　〃Oh；　Marty　。　。　。〃　〃He　knew　I　was　going　back　to　my　house；〃　he　said。　She　looked　for　accusation　in　his　voice；　but　there　was　none。　She　defended　herself　nevertheless。
　　〃It　couldn't　have　been　me。　I　don't　even　know　where　you　live。〃　〃Oh；　but　he　does。　I'm　sure　he　makes　it　his　business　to　know　everything。〃　〃Why　kill　them？　I　don't　see　why。〃　〃Mistaken　identity。〃　〃Breer　knows　who　you　are。〃　〃It　wasn't　Breer　who　did　it。〃　〃You　saw　who？〃　〃I　think　so。　Two　kids。〃　He　fished　for　the　pamphlet　he'd　found　behind　the　door。　The　assassins　had　delivered　it；　he　guessed。　Something　about　their　sober　suits；　and　that　glimpsed　halo　of　blond　hair；　suggested　doorstep　evangelists；　fresh…faced　and　lethal。　Wouldn't　the　European　delight　in　such　a　paradox？
　　〃They　made　an　error；〃　he　said；　slipping　off　his　jacket　and　starting　to　unbutton　his　sweat…soaked　shirt。　〃They　just　went　into　the　house　and　murdered　the　first　man　and　woman　they　met。　Only　it　wasn't　me；　it　was　Flynn。　〃　He　pulled　his　shirt　out　of　his　trousers　and　slung　it　off。　〃It's　so　easy；　isn't　it？　He　doesn't　care　about　the　law…he　thinks　he's　above　all　that。〃　Marty　was　forcibly　aware　of　how　ironic　this　was。　He；　the　ex…con；　the　despiser　of　uniforms；　cleaving　to　the　notion　of　law。　It　wasn't　a　pretty　refuge；　but　it　was　the　best　he'd　got　at　the　moment。　〃What　is　he；　Carys？　What　makes　him　so　certain　he's　immune？〃　She　was　staring　down　at　the　fervent　face　of　the　Reverend　Bliss。　〃Baptism　in　the　Holy　Ghost！〃　he　promised；　blithely。
　　〃What　does　it　matter　what　he　is？〃　she　said。
　　〃Otherwise　it's　over。〃　She　made　no　reply。　He　went　to　the　sink　and　washed　his　face　and　chest　in　cold　water。　As　far　as　the　European　was　concerned；　they　were　like　sheep　in　a　pen。　Not　just　in　this　room；　in　any　room。　Wherever　they　hid　he'd　find　their　refuge　in　time；　and　e。　There　might　be　a　small　struggle…do　sheep　fight　the　oning　execution？　he　wondered。　He　should　have　asked　the　fly。　The　fly　would　have　known。
　　He　turned　from　the　sink；　water　dripping　from　his　jawline；　to　look　at　Carys。　She　was　staring　at　the　floor；　scratching　herself。
　　〃Go　to　him；〃　he　said　without　warning。
　　He'd　tried　a　dozen　ways　to　open　this　conversation　as　he　drove　back；　but　why　try　to　sweeten　the　pill？
　　She　looked　up　at　him；　empty…eyed。　〃What　did　you　say？〃　〃Go　to　him；　Carys。　Go　into　him；　the　way　he　goes　into　you。　Reverse　the　procedure。〃　She　almost　laughed；　there　was　a　sneer　mustering　in　reply　to　this　obscenity。　〃Into　him？〃　she　said。
　　〃Yes。〃　〃You're　insane。〃　〃We　can't　fight　what　we　don't　know。　And　we　can't　know　unless　we　look。　You　can　do　that；