emb.seethemdie-第3章

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　〃Where's　mine？〃　Zip　asked。
　〃I　have　only　two　hands。〃　He　finished　pouring　the　sailor's　coffee；　and　then　poured　a　cup　for　Zip。
　〃What　brung　you　all　the　way　here　from　Puerto　Rico？〃　the　sailor　asked。
　〃Work；〃　Luis　said。　〃A　man　has　to　work；　you　know。〃
　〃Where　you　from；　sailor？〃　Zip　asked。
　〃Fletcher；〃　the　sailor　said。　〃That's　in　Colorado。〃
　〃I　never　heard　of　it。〃
　〃It's　there；　all　right。〃
　The　three　fell　silent。
　Zip　and　the　sailor　sipped　at　their　coffee。　Luis　got　to　work　behind　the　counter。　There　seemed　to　be　nothing　more　to　say　to　each　other。　The　three；　after　all；　had　very　little　in　mon。　One　had　inquired　about　the　whereabouts　of　a　bar…quasi…whorehouse。　The　other　had　told　him　where　it　was。　The　third　had　served　them　both　coffee。　One　was　in　his　early　fifties；　the　other　was　perhaps　twenty…two；　and　the　third　was　seventeen。　One　was　born　in　Puerto　Rico；　the　other　in　Fletcher；　Colorado；　and　the　third　was　a　native　of　the　city。　Thus　divided　by　time　and　space　and　natural　inclination；　there　was　nothing　each　could　say　to　the　other　at　the　moment；　and　so　they　fell　silent。
　And　yet；　within　the　silence；　their　thoughts　ran　in　strangely　similar　patterns　so　that；　if　the　thoughts　had　been　voiced；　each　would　have　instantly　understood　…　or　thought　he'd　understood　…　the　other。
　Luis　had　begun　thinking　about　why　he'd　e　to　the　mainland；　about　why　he'd　left　the　place　of　his　birth。　He　had　told　the　sailor　he　had　e　here　to　work；　and　yet　he　knew　it　was　something　more　than　that。　It　was　not　to　work；　it　was　to　begin。　He　had　lived　on　the　island　with　a　wife　and　three　children；　and　the　island　…　despite　his　love　for　it　…　had　meant　primarily　one　thing；　and　that　thing　was　hunger。　Constant　hunger。　Hunger　that　lingered　through　the　cane…cutting　season　because　you　could　not　spend　all　of　your　earnings　while　the　season　was　in　swing；　you　had　to　save　some　for　the　empty　days　ahead。　There　was　not　much　to　hold　and　not　much　to　save。　You　fished　in　the　off　season；　and　sometimes　your　haul　was　good　…　but　most　of　the　time　you　were　hungry。　And　being　hungry；　even　knowing　that　everyone　else　around　you　was　hungry；　being　hungry　somehow　reduced　you　to　being　nothing。　There　were　things　he　would　always　love　about　the　island；　the　innate　pride　and　decency　and　hospitality　of　the　people；　the　respect　humans　automatically　showed　to　other　humans；　a　respect　bred　of　sunshine　and　lush　tropical　foliage　where　cruelty　seemed　blatantly　out　of　place。　The　island　seemed　to　draw　people　closer　together；　strengthening　their　bonds　as　humans。　And　yet；　contradicting　this　was　the　dire　economic　need；　so　that　on　the　one　hand　Luis　had　felt　like　a　very　important　person　with　many　friends　and　much　love；　and　on　the　other　he　had　felt　like　a　hungry　animal。
　And　so　he'd　left　the　island。　He'd　left　the　island　in　search　of　a　beginning。　He　had　worked　hard　for　the　luncheonette。　It　was　still　owned　mostly　by　the　bank；　but　he　knew　now　that　he　would　never　go　hungry　again。　And　if　he　had　lost　something　else；　something　quite　dear　to　him；　he　had　another　sort　of　satisfaction；　and　this　satisfaction　was　in　his　stomach　and　his　bowels　where　perhaps　a　man　feels　it　most。
　The　sailor　sipped　at　his　coffee　and　thought　of　Fletcher；　Colorado。
　He　did　not　often　think　of　Fletcher　because　he　found　he　got　sad　whenever　he　did。　He　had　been　born　in　Fletcher；　and　he　learned　early　the　meaning　of　the　words　〃small　town〃。　When　a　place　is　called　a　small　town；　it　has　nothing　whatever　to　do　with　the　size　of　the　town。　A　giant　metropolis　can　be　a　small　town；　and　some　very　large　cities　are　small　towns　in　every　sense　of　the　word。　Fletcher；　Colorado；　was　just　like　every　other　small　town　in　the　United　States　of　America。　There　was　a　schoolhouse；　and　a　church；　and　a　row　of　stores。　There　were　DRIVE　…　CHILDREN　…　SLOW　signs；　and　SPEED　LIMIT　STRICTLY　ENFORCED　signs；　and　there　were　the　teenage　kids　hanging　out　in　the　corner　drugstore；　and　the　Boy　Scout　cookouts；　and　the　Little　League；　and　the　choir　practice；　and　the　Saturday　Evening　Post　route；　and　in　the　spring　the　forsythias　lined　the　highway　with　bright　yellow　and　there　was　the　bursting　pink　of　cherry　blossoms；　and　in　the　fall　he　would　go　hunting　for　deer　with　his　father　and　his　older　brother；　and　the　woods　would　shriek　with　color。　In　the　winter；　there　was　deep　snow　and　skiing。　The　mountains　surrounded　the　town。　You　could　always　see　the　mountains。　Everybody　in　town　knew　everybody　else　in　town。　He　met　Corrine　at　a　church　picnic　when　he　was　six　years　old。　By　the　time　they　were　eleven；　everybody　in　town　had　decided　that　one　day　they　would　get　married。　When　he　got　a　swimming　medal　in　his　freshman　year　at　high　school；　he　gave　it　to　Corrine。　He　went　everywhere　with　Corrine　and　did　everything　with　Corrine；　and　it　became　plain　to　him　after　a　while　that　Corrine　was　perfectly　happy　to　have　been　born　and　raised　in　a　town　like　Fletcher；　and　that　she　would　be　happy　to　get　married　there；　and　breed　kids　there；　and　eventually　to　die　there。　And　suddenly；　he　wondered　if　this　was　what　he　himself　wanted。
　Oh；　he　loved　Corrine；　it　wasn't　that。　He　supposed　he　loved　her。　She　had　very　straight　red　hair　that　she　wore　loose　around　her　shoulders；　and　she　had　very　bright　blue　eyes　and　a　nose　that　tilted　slightly　at　the　tip；　she　looked　exactly　like　those　pictures　of　small…town　American　girls　he　had　seen　on　the　covers　of　the　Saturday　Evening　Post　when　he　used　to　deliver　the　magazine。　And　he　liked　to　neck　with　her。　He　liked　to　touch　her；　too；　whenever　she　let　him；　which　wasn't　often；　and　he　never　could　figure　out　when　she　wanted　him　to　and　when　she　didn't　want　him　to；　he　supposed　he　loved　her　because　he　respected　her　wishes　in　the　matter。
　And　then；　one　day；　all　of　a　sudden；　he　decided　he　was　going　to　join　the　Navy。　When　his　parents　asked　him　why；　when　Gorrine　asked　him　why；　when　his　friends　asked　him　why；　he　told　them　he　would　be　drafted　soon　anyway；　and　he　might　just　as　well　go　into　the　Navy　where　a　fellow　didn't　have　to　go　on　hikes　or　sleep　in　the　mud。　That　was　what　he　told　all　these　people。　But　he　knew　why　he　was　really　joining　the　Navy。　He　was　joining　the　Navy　to　get　out　of　Fletcher。　He　was　joining　the　Navy　because　Fletcher　was　slowly　and　surely　suffocating　him；　and　he　could　feel　those　mountains　moving　in　closer　and　closer　every　day；　and　he　knew　that　one　day　he　would　no　longer　be　able　to　breathe；　that　one　day　he　would　be　crushed　by　everything　in　this　small　town。　When　he　left；　he　told　himself　he　would　never　return。　And　so　it　made　him　sad　to　think　about　Fletcher。
　Zip；　drinking　his　coffee；　studying　his　reflection　in　the　mirror　behind　the　counter；　did　not　feel　sad　at　all。　Zip　felt　pretty　damn　good。　Zip　felt；　at　last；　that　things　were　beginning　to　click。　They　had　never　clicked　for　him　in　that　ratty　neighborhood　downtown。　There'd　been　nothing　there　for　him　but　getting　kicked　by　the　older　kids。　Fat　Ass　Charlie；　they　used　to　call　him。　Fat　Ass　Charlie；　and　bam！　a　well…placed　kick　right　in　the　middle　of　that　fat　ass。　The　nickname　had　persisted　even　when　he　began　thinning　into　adolescence。　And　then　they'd　moved。
　And　suddenly；　he　wasn't　fat…assed　any　more；　and　he　wasn't　even　Charlie　any　more。　He　began　calling　himself　Zip；　and　he　began　feeling　that　there　was　opportunity　in　this　new　neighborhood；　the　opportunity　to　be　the　person　he　wanted　to　be；　and　not　the　person　everybody　else　thought　he　should　be。　He'd　met　Cooch；　and　Cooch　had　shown　him　the　ropes　and　suggested　that　they　join　the　biggest　club　in　the　neighborhood；　the　Royal　Guardians。
　But　Zip　had　ideas　of　his　own。　Why　bee　a　schnook　running　around　the　fringes　of　the　higher…ups　when　you　could　have　a　club　of　your　own？　And　so　he　suggested　the　Latin　Purples；　and　he　planned　to　start　it　small；　six；　seven　guys　to　begin　with　…　so　far　there　were　only　four。　And　Cooch's　sister…in…law　had　sewn　the　purple　jackets　for　them；　and　he　wore　his　jacket　with　a　great　deal　of　pride　now　because　the　jacket　meant　something　to　him；　the　jacket　meant　that　he　was　on　his　way。
　If　you'd　asked　him　where　he　was　going；　he　couldn't　have　told　you。
　But　he　knew　he　was　on　his　way；　and　he　knew　that　today　would　be　the　clincher；　today　would　be　the　day　he　realized　himself　fully　as　a　person。
　And　so　the　three　of　them　sat　with　their　separate　thoughts；　thoughts　which　were　strangely　similar；　and　when　the　sailor　finally　spoke；　both　Luis　and　Zip　knew　instantly　what　he　meant。
　The　sailor　said；　〃You　can　lose　yourself　in　Fletcher。　You　can　get　just　plumb　lost。〃　He　shook　his　head。　〃That's　why　I　left。　I　wanted　to　know　who　I　was。〃
　〃And　have　you　found　out？〃　Luis　asked。
　〃Give　him　time；〃　Zip　said。　〃You　think　a　guy　can　make　a　rep　in　one　day？〃
　〃I'll　find　out；　Louise；〃　the　sailor　said。
　〃How？　With　the　girls　from　La　Gallina？〃
　〃Huh？〃
　〃Sailor；　take　my　advice；〃　Luis　said。　〃Go　back　to　your　ship。　This　neighborhood　is　not　always　a　nice　place。〃
　〃Leave　him　alone；〃　Zip　said。　〃He　wants　a　girl；　I'll　help　him　find　one。〃　He　winked　at　the　sailor；　and　then　he　grinned　broadly。
　〃Don't　let　Sunday　morning　fool　you；〃　Luis　said。　〃Last　night；　there　was　drinking　and　guitars。　And　this　morning；　everyone　sleeps。　But　sometimes　。。。　sailor；　take　my　advice。　Go　back　to　your　ship。。。〃
　〃I　think　I'll　hang　around　for　a　while。〃
　〃Then　be　careful；　eh？　You　are　a　stranger　here。　Choose　your　pany。〃　He　looked　at　Zip　meaningfully。　〃There　are　good　and　bad；　entiende？　You　understand？　Take　care。〃
　The　sailor　swung　around　on　his　stool。　He　leaned　his　elbows　on　the　counter　top　and　drunkenly　looked　out　over　the　sun…washed　street。
　〃It　looks　nice　and　peaceful　to　me；〃　he　murmured。
　〃Can　you　see　through　the　walls；　sailor？〃　Luis　asked。　〃Do　you　know　what　goes　on　under　the　skin　of　the　buildings？〃
　
　
　3
　
　The　skin　of　the　building　which　housed　the　uniformed　cops　and　detectives　of　the　87th　Precinct　was　not　lovely；　nor　engaged；　nor　had　it　been　washed　in　more　than　half　a　century。　It　presented　a　characterless　gray　to　the　park　across　the　street；　a　gray　which　seemed　contradictory　to　the　bright　sunshine　that　filled　the　air。　The　gray　stones　were　rough　and　uneven；　covered　with　the　soot　and　grime　of　the　city；　relieved　only　by　the　hanging　green　globes　which　announced　in　white　numerals　to　the　world　at　large　that　this　was　Precinct　87。
　The　low；　flat　steps　of　the　front　stoop　led　to　a　pair　of　glass…fronted　doors　which　were　open　now　to　permit　the　entrance　of　whatever　scant　breeze　rustled　across　Grover　Park。　The　breeze；　unfortunately；　did　not　get　very　much　further　than　the　entrance　doors。　It　certainly　did　not　pass　into　the　muster　room　where　Sergeant　Dave　Murchison　sat　behind　his　high　desk　pulling　at　his　undershorts　and　cursing　the　heat。　A　rotating　electric　fan　sat　on　top　of　the　switchboard　to　the　left　of　the　desk。　The　switchboard；　at　the　moment；　wasn't　blinking　with　calls　from　the　violated　citizenry；　thank　God。　Murchison　wiped　sweat　from　his　brow；　tugged　at　his　undershorts；　and　wondered　if　it　was　any　cooler　upstairs。
　A　long　wooden　plaque；　painted　white　and　then　overlaid　with　the　black　letters　DETECTIVE　DIVISION；　pointed　to　a　flight　of　narrow　iron…runged　steps　which　led　upstairs　to　the　bull　pen。　The　flight　of　steps；　gathering　heat　only　from　a　small　window　where　the　steps　turned　back　upon　themselves　before　continuing　to　the　second　floor；　was　perhaps　the　coolest　spot　in　the　station　house。　Beyond　the　steps；　a　long　corridor　led　to　the　detective　squadroom　where　a　battery　of　elec