jherbert.sepulchre-第14部分

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aken　out　his　left　eye；　hurting　him　so　bad　that　he'd　had　to　leave　her　there　moaning　and　hollering　in　a　way　he'd　thought　nobody　could　with　a　snapped　neck　and　a　belly…full　of　bruises）。
　　Things　had　gotten　a　mite　tricky　after　that。　The　Pigs　had　a　description；　they　knew　who　they　were　looking　for。　Hooker　had　seen　him　around　before；　that　was　the　piss…puller；　seen　him　hanging　loose　with　Glass…Eye　Spangler　（an　inch　to　the　left　with　that　stiletto　heel　and　they'd　have　been　calling　him　Glass…Eye；　too）。　And　good　'ol　boy　Spangler　knew　his　drinking　buddy's　name；　where　he　was　from。　Turned　out　there　was　a　small　matter　of　an　unsolved　crime　and　a　missing　delinquent　back　there　in　Coatesville。　Nah；　not　the　two　boys；　two　chicks…one　drowning；　one　car　burning　（the　lighted　rag　stuck　into　the　gas　filler　had　blown　the　tank　right　under　the　backseat　which　the　boy　and　girl　were　using　for　a　make…out　pad　at　the　time）；　and　one　rape　with　strangling　as　the　dessert　（or　maybe　the　main　course；　it　was　hard　to　remember　now）；　not　those。　There　was　the　little　mystery　of　Mama　and　Uncle　Mort；　brother　and　sister；　found　locked　together　in　bed　（joined　at　the　loins；　that　is）　with　bed　bugs　buddying　up　with　maggots　on　what　must　have　been　one　sweltering；　rotten　feast…week；　and　Rosie　Monk's　sixteenyear…old；　the　one　they　figured　was　semi…imbecile　because　he　never　talked　much　and　lumbered　around　like　。　。　。　like　。　。　。　say　it　。　。　。　like　one　of　them　fuckin'　orangy…tans　and　just　about　as　smart　（this　was　in　the　days　before　Mr　Snaith）；　had　lit　out；　making　him　Number　One　suspect；　since　no　one　in　his　right　brain　would　even　think　about　kidnapping　the　big　fucker　（oh　yeah；　Theodore　Albert　aka　Ape　had　filled　his　fat　with　muscle　in　the　two　years　after　POT　power）；　after　bludgeoning　Mama　and　that　groin…groping　bastid　Uncle　Mort　with　his　battered　old　Jim　Fugosi　baseball　bat　in　the　bed　where　they'd　grunted　and　heaved　and　made　the　springs　sing　along。
　　So　the　Pigs　were　on　his　tail　again；　years　after　the　event；　hot　for　his　ass。　And　maybe　now　those　cops　were　finally　figuring　the　big　galoot　had　something　to　do　with　those　other　unexplained　homicides；　and　if　not；　why　not？　Neatened　up　things　to　hang　them　on　Monk　too。　Yeah；　let's　go　for　it；　let's　nail　the　mother…killer；　the　uncle…pounder；　let's　hand　him　the　check　for　them　all。　They　recalled　nobody'd　liked　the　fat　creep　anyway。
　　Escape。　To　Vegas。　Some　stuff　on　the　way；　most　of　it　a　blur　now。　Teaming　up　with　Slimeball　and　Rivas　in　the　glitz　city；　rolling　drunks　and　mugging　hookers　for　their　purses　nights；　dealing　crack　days。　Fine　until　the　pimps　ganged　up　（a　pimp　posse　no　less）；　sorely　aggrieved　that　their　take　margin　was　down　because　three　stooges　from　outa　town　hadn't　yet　learned　their　place　in　subsociety。　This　very　point　was　explained　to　Monk　one　night　by　a　big　buck　who　had　razor　blades　glued　to　the　insides　of　the　fingers　of　one　hand　so　that　when　he　slapped　palm　or　backhand；　made　no　difference；　the　blade　edges　stuck　out　from　either　side…neat　red　lines　would　criss…cross　your　cheeks　until　the　cuts　got　closer　and　closer　to　eventually　bee　one　huge　open　wound；　while　five　other　hoods　crushed　Slimeball　and　Rivas'　fingers　and　toes　before　chopping　off　an　ear　from　each　and　making　the　boys　chew　on　it　（each　other's　ear；　that　is）。　They　were　saving　him　for　something　else；　because　he　was　the　muscle　and　he　had　badly　altered　one　of　the　girls'　features　two　months　ago；　turning　her　into　an　asset　loss；　no　good　to　no　muthuh。
　　But　what　the　razor…toting　buck　hadn't　counted　on…he　had　a　crazy　grin　to　match　his　crazy　eyes…was　that　pain　hardly　meant　a　pig's　ass　to　Monk　（it　took　extreme　and　prolonged　agony　to　give　Monk　any　pleasure；　even　in　those　days）；　so　the　slicing　steel　could　have　been　chopping　cheese　for　all　he　cared。　Monk　did　what　he　had　e　to　know　best。　POT…Pay…Off…Time…had　arrived　for　the　nigguh　and　introduced　itself　in　the　form　of　Monk's　hawked　phlegm　in　his　eyes　（ol'　Uncle　Mort；　in　between　feeling　him　up；　had　taught　young　Theodore　Albert　how　to　do　that　to　dogs　straight　out　of　the　pick…up　windows）　and　a　grinding　of　the　black's　privates　by　Monk's　raised　knee。　The　buck's　own　razor…blade　fingers　were　used　to　sever　his　own　jugular。
　　This　last　upset　had　proved　too　much　for　the　rest　of　the　vigilante　squad　who；　pissed　enough　already　by　the　cash　loss；　decided　that　what　they'd　had　in　mind　for　the　ape…walking　creep　（their　girls'　description　had　pin…pointed　Monk　nicely）　wasn't　quite　special　enough。　This　bozo　required　something　more　permanent。
　　They　came　for　him　with　open　switch…blades　and　surgeon's　hatchets　（that　season's　in…weapon）　and　Monk　would　have　been　chopped　ape　if　he　hadn't　used　the　still…gurgling　black　man　as　a　battering　ram。
　　Oh　yeah；　he'd　gotten　away；　but　had　been　damaged　in　the　getting　（but　not　as　damaged　as　the　two　dead　he'd　left　behind）。　A　knife　stuck　firmly　in　his　shoulder…blade　had　proved　unfortable　as　well　as　a　bad　feature　for　walking　the　streets。　Fortunately；　a　shithead　who　knew　him　on　a　supplier/client　basis　and　whom　he　ran　into　several　blocks　away　obliged　him　by　tugging　the　knife　free　after　much　jiggling　and　muttering　'man…oh…man'　and　some　giggling。　Jiggle　and　giggle。　The　junkie　had　paid　for　the　enjoyment　with　a　windpipe　so　badly　flattened　that　he　talked　like　Popeye　for　the　rest　of　his　short　years。
　　Once　again；　Monk　was　on　the　hoof；　and　this　time　both　Pigs　and　Mob　were　after　him。　He　robbed　a　drugstore　for　some　travelling　money　（no　gun　necessary　for　a　crude　dude　like　Monk）；　leaving　the　druggist　seriously　splattered　among　his　pills　and　potions。
　　The　old　flaky　Dodge　he　stole　only　took　him　as　far　as　the　outskirts　of　town　before　coughing　oil　and　chunking　to　a　permanent　demise。
　　Shoulder　all　fiery　and　already　beginning　to　fester　in　the　heat；　ragged　oozy　cheeks　like　fast…food　counters　for　flies；　Monk　legged　his　way　down　US95　（maybe　he　had　Boulder　City　in　mind　he　wasn't　thinking　straight　by　then）；　a　fat　thumb　hoisted　（all　fingers　fisted；　no　POT　sign　this）　every　time　he　heard　an　engine　motoring　up　from　behind。　But　who　would　stop　for　a　hiker　with　a　dark　bubbly　stain　on　his　back　and　tomato…ketchup　spread　across　his　face？　Right。　No　fucker。　Nobody　normal。
　　Except　one　car　did　stop。
　　The　black　car；　its　windows　all　tinted　dark　and　mysterious；　glided　to　a　soundless　halt　beside　him；　the　movement　as　easy　as　a　vulture　landing　on　a　carcass。
　　Monk　shifted　his　bulk　so　that　he　was　facing　the　silent　car　（no　grace　in　his　movement；　none　at　all）；　pain　and　fatigue　stooping　him　by　now　（he'd　left　the　dead　Dodge　at　least　five　miles　behind）；　his　clothes　and　pony…tailed　hair　powdered　with　dust；　his　face；　with　its　scarlet…rose　cheeks；　puckered　up　into　a　shit…eating　grimace。　For　a　few　moments；　he　wondered　if　the　occupants　were　Big　Guys　who　kept　Small　Guys　down　（to　keep　the　law　in　your　pocket　you　had　to　maintain　a　certain　law　yourself）　and　he　waited　for　a　snub…nose　to　poke　through　a　lowered　window　like　some　black　viper　sliding　from　its　hole。
　　But　a　window　didn't　sink　down。　And　no　gun　was　pointed　towards　him　when　the　rear　passenger　door　was　opened　wide。
　　He　squinted　to　see　into　the　big　gloomy　interior　and　could　only　just　make　out　the　dark　shape　sitting　in　there　among　the　shadows。
　　Then　a　voice　said　in　a　persuasive　way：　'Need　a　lift；　Theo？'　（That　was　the　first　and　only　time　Kline　had　called　him　by　his　first　name。）
　　　
　　　
　　　12　NEATH
　　
　　'Not　far；　Liam；'　said　Cora；　leaning　forward　slightly　in　her　seat。　'Look　for　the　gates；　just　ahead　on　your　left。'　Kline；　beside　her；　opened　his　eyes　and　for　a　moment　that　seemed　no　less　than　infinite；　he　and　Halloran　stared　at　each　other　in　the　rearview　mirror。　It　was　Halloran　who　averted　his　gaze　and　he　was　surprised　at　the　effort　it　took　to　do　so。
　　Thick　undergrowth　and　trees　crowded　either　side　of　the　road；　the　greenery　even　more　dense　beyond；　the　few　gaps　here　and　there　almost　subterranean　in　their　gloom；　these　were　woodlands　of　perpetual　dusk。　The　high；　old…stone　wall　that　appeared　on　the　left　came　as　a　surprise：　it　looked　firmly　rooted　as　though　having　grown　with　the　trees；　a　natural　part　of　the　forest　itself；　organic　life　smothering　much　of　the　rough　stone　and　filling　cracks。　Twisted　branches　from　trees　on　the　other　side　loomed　over；　some　reaching　down　like　gnarled　tentacles　ready　to　snatch　unwary　ramblers。
　　He　noticed　the　opening　in　the　near…distance；　the　forest　withdrawing　there；　allowing　the　smallest　of　incursions　into　its　territory。　Halloran　slowed　the　Mercedes；　turning　into　the　drive；　the　roadway　here　cracked　and　uneven。　The　rusted　iron　gates　before　them　looked　impregnable；　like　the　forest　itself。　Letters　worked　into　the　wrought　iron　declared：　NEATH。
　　'Wait　for　a　moment；'　Kline　instructed　him。
　　Halloran　waited；　and　studied。
　　Tall　weathered　columns　hinged　the　gates；　stone　animals　mounted　on　each　（griffins？　he　wondered。　Too　decayed　to　tell）；　their　blank　eyes　glaring　down　at　the　car；　their　lichen…filled　mouths　wide　with　soundless　snarls。　The　gates　would　be　easy　to　scale；　he　noted；　as　would　be　the　walls　on　either　side。　No　barbed　wire　and；　as　far　as　he　could　tell；　no　electronic　warning　system。　And　all　the　cover　between　wall　and　road　that　any　would…be　intruder　could　desire。　Security　was　going　to　be　difficult。
　　Then　he　noticed；　beyond　the　gates；　the　lodge…house。
　　A　two…storey　building；　its　stone　as　seasoned　as　the　walls。　Its　windows　were　as　black　as　the　Devil's　soul。
　　Halloran　frowned　when　the　thought　sprang　into　his　mind　。
　　。　。　。　as　black　as　the　Devil's　soul。
　　A　phrase　remembered　from　early　years　in　Ireland；　only　then　it　had　been：　The　Divil's　owhn　soul。　Father　O'Connell；　thrashing　the　living　daylights　out　of　him；　had　said　it。　Thrashing　Liam　because　of　the　heinous　wickedness　he　had　led　the　two　Scalley　boys　into　（the　younger　one　had　confessed；　fearful　of　the　mortal　jeopardy　in　which　his　soul　had　been　placed　because　of　Halloran's　leadership）。　Thrashing　him　because　of　the　sacrilege　against　St　Joseph's；　breaking　into　the　church　in　the　hush　of　night；　leaving　the　dead　cat　the　boys　had　found　it　crushed　at　the　roadside…inside　the　holy　tabernacle；　the　animal's　innards　dripping　out　onto　the　soft　white　silk　lining　the　vessel's　walls；　its　eyes　still　gleaming　dully　when　Father　O'Connell　had　reached　in　for　the　chalice　the　next　morning。　Beyond　redemption　was　Liam's　soul；　the　priest　had　t