dk.coldfire-第14部分

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rnalism　as　she　knew　it　collecting　garbage　instead　of　dispensing　it…or　she　would　have　the　satisfaction　of　knowing　that　at　least　one　person　Portland　would　desperately　envy　her。　
　She　looked　at　the　wall　clock。　One…thirty　in　the　morning。　She　wasn't　sleepy。　She　didn't　want　to　go　home　and　lie　awake；　staring　at　the　ceiling　with　nothing　to　do　but　indulge　in　more　self　examination　and　self　pity　Well；　actually；　that　was　what　she　wanted；　because　she　was　in　a　wallow　in　it　mood；　but　she　knew　it　wasn't　a　healthy　thing　to　do。　
　Unfortunately；　she　was　without　alternatives：　weekday；　wee…hour　nightlife　in　Portland　was　twenty…four…hour　doughnut　shop。　
　She　was　less　than　a　day　away　from　the　start　of　her　vacation；　and　She　desperately　needed　it。　She　had　made　no　plans。　She　was　just　going　to　hang　out；　never　once　look　at　a　newspaper。　Maybe　see　some　movies。　
　maybe　read　a　few　books。　Maybe　go　to　the　Betty　Ford　Center　to　take　the　self　pity　detox　program。　
　She　had　reached　that　dangerous　state　in　which　she　began　to　brood　about　her　name。　Holly　Thorne。　Cute。　Real　cute。　What　in　God's　name　had　possessed　her　parents　to　hang　that　one　on　her？　Was　it　possible　to　imagine　the　Pulitzer　mittee　giving　that　grand　prize　to　a　woman　with　a　name　more　suitable　to　a　cartoon　character？　Sometimes…always　in　the　still　heart　of　the　night；　of　course…she　was　tempted　to　call　her　folks　and　demand　to　know　whether　this　name　thing　had　been　just　bad　taste；　a　misfired　joke；　or　conscious　cruelty。　
　But　her　parents　were　salt…of　the…earth　working…class　people　who　had　denied　themselves　many　pleasures　in　order　to　give　her　a　first…rate　education　；　and　they　wanted　nothing　but　the　best　for　her。　They　would　be　devastated　to　hear　that　she　loathed　her　name；　when　they　no　doubt　thought　it　was　clever　and　even　sophisticated。　She　loved　them　fiercely；　and　she　had　to　be　in　the　deepest　trenches　of　depression　before　she　had　the　gall　to　blame　them　for　her　shortings。　
　Half　afraid　that　she　would　pick　up　the　phone　and　call　them；　she　quickly　turned　to　her　puter　again　and　accessed　the　current…edition　file。　The　Press's　data…retrieval　system　made　it　possible　for　any　reporter　on　staff　to　follow　any　story　through　editing；　typesetting；　and　production。　
　Now　the　tomorrow's　edition　had　been　formatted；　locked　down；　and　sent　to　the　printer　she　could　actually　call　up　an　image　of　each　page　on　her　screen。　
　Only　the　headlines　were　big　enough　to　read；　but　any　portion　of　the　image　could　be　enlarged　to　fill　the　screen。　Sometimes　she　could　cheer　herself　a　little　by　reading　a　big　story　before　the　newspaper　hit　the　street；　it　sparked　in　her　at　cast　a　dim　glimmer　of　the　feeling　of　being　an　insider；　which　was　one　aspect　of　the　job　that　attracted　every　dream…besotted　young　person　to　a　vocation　in　journalism。　
　But　as　she　scanned　the　headlines　on　the　first　few　pages；　looking　for　an　interesting　story　to　enlarge；　her　gloom　deepened。　A　big　fire　in　St。　
　Louis；　nine　people　dead。　Presentiments　of　war　in　the　Mid…East。　An　oil　spill　off　Japan。　A　huge　storm　and　flood　in　India；　tens　of　thousands　homeless。　The　federal　government　was　raising　taxes　again。　She　had　always　known　that　the　news　industry　flourished　on　gloom；　disaster；　scandal；　mindless　violence；　and　strife。　But　suddenly　it　seemed　to　be　a　singularly　ghoulish　business；　and　Holly　realized　that　she　no　longer　wanted　to　be　an　insider；　among　the　first　to　know　this　dreadful　stuff　Then；　just　as　she　was　about　to　close　the　file　and　switch　off　the　puter；　a　headline　arrested　her　MYSTERIOUS　STRANGER　SAVES　BOY。　The　events　at　McAlbery　School　were　not　quite　twelve　days　in　the　past；　and　those　four　words　had　a　special　association　for　her。　Curiosity　triggered；　she　instructed　the　puter　to　enlarge　the　quadrant　in　which　the　story　began。　
　The　dateline　was　Boston；　and　the　story　was　acpanied　by　a　photograph。　
　The　picture　was　still　blurry　and　dark；　but　the　scale　was　now　large　enough　to　allow　her　to　read　the　text；　although　not　fortably。　She　instructed　the　puter　to　further　enlarge　one　of　the　already　enlarged　quadrants；　pulling　up　the　first　column　of　the　article　so　she　could　read　it　without　strain。　
　The　opening　line　made　Holly　sit　up　straighter　in　her　chair：　A　courageous　bystander；　who　would　say　only　that　his　name　was　Jim；　saved　the　life　of　Nicholas　O'Conner；　6；　when　a　New　England　Power　and　Light　pany　vault　exploded　under　a　sidewalk　in　a　Boston　residential　area　Thursday　evening。　
　Softly；　she　said；　〃What　the　hell。　。　。　？〃　She　tapped　the　keys；　instructing　the　puter　to　shift　the　field　of　display　rightward　on　the　page　to　show　her　the　multiply　enhanced　photo　that　acpanied　the　piece。　She　went　to　a　bigger　scale；　then　to　a　still　bigger　one；　until　the　face　filled　the　screen。　
　Jim　Ironheart。　
　Briefly　she　sat　in　stunned　disbelief；　immobile。　Then　she　was　stricken　by　a　need　to　know　more；not　only　an　intellectual　but　a　genuinely　physical　need　that　felt　not　unlike　a　sudden　and　intense　pang　of　hunger。　
　She　returned　to　the　text　of　the　story　and　read　it　through；　then　read　it　again。　The　O'Conner　boy　had　been　sitting　on　the　sidewalk　in　front　of　his　home；　directly　on　the　two…by…three…foot　concrete　lid　that　covered　the　entrance　to　the　power　pany's　vault；　which　was　spacious　enough　for　four　men　to　work　together　within　its　subterranean　confines。　The　kid　had　been　playing　with　toy　trucks。　His　parents　had　been　within　sight　of　him　on　the　front　porch　of　their　house；　when　a　stranger　had　sprinted　along　the　street　〃He　es　right　at　Nicky；〃　the　boy's　father　was　quoted；　〃snatches　him；　I　thought　sure　he　was　a　nutcase　child　molester　going　to　steal　my　son。〃　Carrying　the　screaming　child；　the　stranger　leaped　over　a　low　picket　fence　onto　the　O'Conners'　lawn；　just　as　a　17；000…volt　line　in　the　vault　exploded　behind　him。　The　blast　flipped　the　concrete　lid　high　into　the　air；　as　if　it　was　a　penny；　and　a　bright　ball　of　fire　roared　up　in　In　its　wake。　
　Embarrassed　by　the　effusive　praise　heaped　on　him　by　Nicky's　grateful　parents　and　by　the　neighbors　who　had　witnessed　his　heroism；　the　stranger　claimed　that　he　had　smelled　burning　insulation；　heard　a　hissing　ing　from　the　vault；　and　knew　what　was　about　to　happen　because　he　had　〃once　worked　for　a　power　pany。〃　Annoyed　that　a　witness　had　taken　his　photograph；　he　insisted　on　leaving　before　the　media　arrived　because；　as　he　put　it；　〃I　place　a　high　value　on　my　privacy。〃　
　That　hair's…breadth　rescue　had　occurred　at　7：40　Thursday　evening　a　Boston　at　4：40　Portland　time　yesterday　afternoon。　Holly　looked　at　the　office　wall　clock。　It　was　now　2：02　Friday　morning。　Nicky　O'Conner　had　been　plucked　off　that　vault　cover　not　quite　nine　and　a　half　hours　ago。　
　The　trail　was　still　fresh。　
　She　had　questions　to　ask　the　Globe　reporter　who　had　written　the　PIECE　But　it　was　only　a　little　after　five　in　the　morning　in　Boston。　He　wouldn't　the　at　work　yet。　
　She　closed　out　the　Press's　current…edition　data　file。　On　the　PUTER　screen；　the　standard　menu　replaced　the　enlarged　newspaper　text。　
　Through　a　modern　she　accessed　the　vast　network　of　data　services　to　which　the　Press　subscribed。　She　instructed　the　Newsweb　service　to　scan　the　stories　that　had　been　carried　by　the　wire　services　and　published　in　major　U。S。　newspapers　during　the　past　three　months；　looking　for　INSTANCES　in　which　the　name　〃Jim〃　had　been　used　within　ten　words　of　either　〃rescue〃　or　the　phrase　〃saved　the　life。〃　She　asked　for　a　printout　of　every　article；　if　there　should　be　any；　but　asked　to　be　spared　multiples　of　the　same　incident。　
　While　Newsweb　was　fulfilling　her　request；　she　snatched　up　the　phone　at　her　desk　and　called　long…distance　information　for　area　code　318；　then　212　then　714；　and　619；　seeking　a　listing　for　Jim　Ironheart　in　Los　angelese　Orange；　Riverside；　San　Bernardino；　and　San　Diego　counties。　
　None　of　the　operators　was　able　to　help　her。　If　he　actually　lived　in　southern　California　as　he　had　told　her　he　did；　his　phone　was　unlisted。　
　The　laser　printer　that　she　shared　with　three　other　workstations　was　humming　softly。　The　first　of　Newsweb's　finds　was　sliding　into　the　receiving　tray。　
　She　wanted　to　hurry　to　the　cabinet　on　which　the　printer　stood；　grab　the　first　printout；　and　read　it　at　once；　but　she　restrained　herself；　focusing　her　attention　on　the　telephone　instead；　trying　to　think　of　another　way　to　locate　Jim　Ironheart　down　there　in　the　part　of　California　that　locals　called　〃the　Southland。〃　
　A　few　years　ago；　she　simply　could　have　accessed　the　California　Department　of　Motor　Vehicles　puter　and；　for　a　small　fee；　received　the　street　address　of　anyone　holding　a　valid　driver's　license　in　the　state。　
　But　after　the　actress　Rebecca　Schaeffer　had　been　murdered　by　an　obsessed　fan　who　had　tracked　her　down　in　that　fashion；　a　new　law　had　imposed　restrictions　on　DMV　records。　
　If　she　had　been　an　acplished　puter　hacker；　steeped　in　their　arcane　knowledge；　she　no　doubt　could　have　finessed　entrance　to　the　DMV　records　in　spite　of　their　new　safeguards；　or　perhaps　she　could　have　pried　into　credit…agency　databanks　to　search　for　a　file　on　Ironheart。　
　She　had　known　reporters　who　honed　their　puter　skills　for　just　that　purpose；　but　she　had　always　sought　her　sources　and　information　in　a　strictly　legitimate　fashion；　without　deception。　
　Which　is　why　you're　writing　about　such　thrilling　stuff　as　the　Timber　Trophy；　she　thought　sourly。　
　While　she　puzzled　over　a　solution　to　the　problem；　she　hurried　to　the　vending　room　and　got　a　cup　of　coffee　from　the　coin…operated　brewer。　It　tasted　like　yak　bile。　She　drank　it　anyway；　because　she　was　going　to　need　the　caffeine　before　the　night　was　through。　She　bought　another　cup　and　returned　with　it　to　the　newsroom。　
　The　laser　printer　was　silent。　She　grabbed　the　pages　from　its　tray　and　sat　down　at　her　desk。　
　Newsweb　had　turned　up　a　thick　stack　of　stories　from　the　national　press　in　which　the　name　〃Jim〃　was　used　within　ten　words　of　〃rescue〃　or　〃saved　the　life。〃　She　counted　them　quickly。　Twenty…nine。　
　The　first　was　a　human…interest　piece　from　the　Chicago　Sun…Times；　and　Holly　read　the　opening　sentence　aloud：　〃Jim　Foster；　of　Oak　Park；　has　rescued　over　one　hundred　stranded　cats　from〃　She　dropped　that　printout　in　her　wastecan　and　looked　at　the　next　one。　It　was　from　the　Philadelphia　Inquirerù　〃Jim　Pilsbury；　pitching　for　the　Phillies；　rescued　his　club　from　a　humiliating　defeat〃　Throwing　that　one　aside；　as　well；　she　looked　a