dk.coldfire-第5部分

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ess；　the　names　of　his　friends　there　in　Portland。　
　〃No；〃　he　said。　
　〃No　what？〃　〃No；　I'm　not　giving　you　their　names。　They're　private　people；　nice　people；　I　don't　want　them　being　pestered。〃　
　〃I've　never　been　called　a　pest　before；〃　she　said。　
　〃No　offense；　Miss　Thorne；　but　I　just　wouldn't　want　them　to　have　to　be　in　the　paper　and　everything；　have　their　lives　disrupted。〃　
　〃Lots　of　people　like　seeing　their　names　in　the　newspaper。〃　
　〃Lots　don't。〃　
　〃They　might　enjoy　talking　about　their　friend；　the　big　hero。〃　
　〃Sorry；〃　he　said　affably；　and　smiled。　
　She　was　beginning　to　understand　why　she　found　him　so　appealing：　his　unshakable　poise　was　irresistible。　Having　worked　for　two　years　in　Los　Angeles；　Holly　had　known　a　lot　of　men　who　styled　themselves　as　laid…back　Californians；　each　portrayed　himself　as　the　epitome　of　self　possession；　Mr。　
　Mellow…rely　on　me　baby；　and　the　world　can　never　touch　either　of　us；　we　are　beyond　the　reach　of　fate　but　none　actually　possessed　the　cool　nerves　and　unflappable　temperament　to　which　he　pretended。　A　Bruce　Willis　wardrobe；　perfect　tan；　and　studied　insouciance　did　not　a　Bruce　Willis　make。　Self　confidence　could　be　gained　through　experience；　but　real　aplomb　was　something　you　were　either　born　with　or　learned　to　imitate…and　the　imitation　was　never　convincing　to　the　observant　eye。　
　However；　Jim　Ironheart　had　been　born　with　enough　aplomb；　if　rationed　equally　to　all　the　men　in　Rhode　Island；　to　produce　an　entire　state　of　cool；　unflappable　types。　
　He　faced　hurtling　trucks　and　a　reporter's　questions　with　the　same　degree　of　equanimity。　Just　being　in　his　pany　was　oddly　relaxing　and　reassuring。　
　She　said；　〃That's　an　interesting　name　you　have。〃　
　〃Jim？〃　He　was　having　fun　with　her。　
　〃Ironheart；〃　she　said。　〃Sounds　like　an　American　Indian　name。〃　
　〃Wouldn't　mind　having　a　little　Chippewa　or　Apache　blood；　make　me　lists　dull；　a　little　bit　exotic；　mysterious。　But　it's　just　the　Anglicized　version　of　the　family's　original　German　name…Eisenherz。〃　
　By　the　time　they　were　on　the　East　Portland　Freeway；　rapidly　approaching　the　Killingsworth　Street　exit；　Holly　was　dismayed　at　the　prospect　of　dropping　him　at　the　airline　terminal。　As　a　reporter；　she　still　had　a　lot　of　unanswered　questions。　More　important；　as　a　woman；　she　was　more　intrigued　by　him　than　she　had　been　by　any　man　in　ages。　She　briefly　considered　taking　a　far　more　circuitous　route　to　the　airport；　his　lack　of　familiarity　with　the　city　might　disguise　her　deception。　Then　she　realized　that　the　freeway　signs　were　already　announcing　the　uping　exit　to　Portland　International；　even　if　he　had　not　been　reading　them；　he　could　not　have　failed　to　notice　the　steady　air　traffic　in　the　deep…blue　eastern　sky　ahead　them。　
　She　said；　〃What　do　you　do　down　there　in　California？〃　〃Enjoy　life。〃　
　〃I　meant…what　do　you　do　for　a　living？〃　〃What's　your　guess？〃　he　asked。　
　〃Well。　。　。　one　thing　for　sure：　you're　not　a　librarian。〃　
　〃Why　do　you　say　that？〃　〃You　have　a　sense　of　mystery　about　you。〃　
　〃Can't　a　librarian　be　mysterious？〃　〃I've　never　known　one　who　was。〃　Reluctantly　she　turned　onto　the　airport　exit　ramp。　〃Maybe　you're　a　cop　of　some　kind。〃　
　〃What　gives　you　that　idea？〃　〃Really　good　cops　are　unflappable；　cool。〃　
　〃Gee；　I　think　of　myself　as　a　warm　sort　of　guy；　open　and　easy。　You　think　I'm　cool？〃　traffic　was　moderately　heavy　on　the　airport　approach　road。　She　let　it　slow　her　even　further。　
　〃I　mean；〃　she　said；　〃that　you're　very　self　possessed。〃　
　〃How　long　have　you　been　a　reporter？〃　〃Twelve　years。〃　
　〃All　of　it　in　Portland？〃　〃No。　I've　been　here　a　year。〃　
　〃Where'd　you　work　before？〃　〃Chicago。　。　。　Los　Angeles。　。　。　Seattle。〃　
　〃You　like　journalism？〃　Realizing　that　she　had　lost　control　of　the　conversation；　Holly　said；　〃This　isn't　a　game　of　twenty　questions；　you　know。〃　
　〃Oh；〃　he　said；　clearly　amused；　〃that's　exactly　what　I　thought　it　was　She　was　frustrated　by　the　impenetrable　wall　he　had　erected　about　himself；　irritated　by　his　stubbornness。　She　was　not　used　to　having　her　will　thwarted。　But　he　had　no　meanness　in　him；　as　far　as　she　could　see；　and　no　great　talent　for　deception；　he　was　just　determined　to　preserve　his　privacy　As　a　reporter　who　had　ever…increasing　doubts　about　a　journalist's　right　intrude　in　the　lives　of　others；　Holly　sympathized　with　his　reticence。　When　she　glanced　at　him；　she　could　only　laugh　softly。　〃You're　good。〃　
　〃So　are　you。〃　
　As　she　stopped　at　the　curb　in　front　of　the　terminal；　Holly　said；　〃NO；　if　I　were　good；　by　now　I'd　at　least　have　found　out　what　the　hell　you　do　for　a　living。〃　He　had　a　charming　smile。　And　those　eyes　〃I　didn't　say　you　were　as　good　as　I　am　just　that　you　were　good。〃　He　got　out　and　retrieved　his　suitcase　from　the　back　seat；　then　returned　to　the　open　front　door。　
　〃Look；　I　happened　to　be　in　the　right　place　at　the　right　time。　By　sheer　chance；　I　was　able　to　save　that　boy。　It　wouldn't　be　fair　to　have　my　whole　life　turned　upside　down　by　the　media　just　because　I　did　a　good　deed。〃　
　〃No；　it　wouldn't；〃　she　agreed。　
　With　a　look　of　relief；　he　said；　〃Thank　you。〃　
　〃But　I　gotta　say…your　modesty's　refreshing。〃　
　He　looked　at　her　for　a　long　beat；　fixed　her　with　his　exceptional　blue　eyes。　
　〃So　are　you；　Miss　Thorne。〃　
　Then　he　closed　the　door；　turned　away；　and　entered　the　terminal。　
　Their　last　exchange　played　again　in　her　mind：　Your　modesty's　refreshing。　
　So　are　you；　Miss　Thorne　She　stared　at　the　terminal　door　through　which　he　had　disappeared；　and　he　seemed　too　good　to　have　been　real；　as　if　she　had　given　a　ride　to　a　hitchhiking　spirit。　A　thin　haze　filtered　flecks　of　color　from　the　late…afternoon　sunlight；　so　the　air　had　a　vague　golden　cast　of　the　kind　that　sometimes　hung　for　an　instant　in　the　wake　of　a　vanishing　remnant　in　an　old　movie　about　ghosts。　
　A　hard；　hollow　rapping　noise　startled　her。　
　She　snapped　her　head　around　and　saw　an　airport　security　guard　tapping　with　his　knuckles　on　the　hood　of　her　car。　When　he　had　her　attention；　he　pointed　to　a　sign：　LOADING　ZONE。　
　Wondering　how　long　she　had　sat　there；　mesmerized　by　thoughts　of　Jim　Ironheart；　Holly　released　the　emergency　brake　and　slipped　the　car　in　gear。　
　She　drove　away　from　the　terminal。　
　Your　modesty's　refreshing。　
　So　are　you；　Miss　Thorne　All　the　way　back　into　Portland；　a　sense　of　the　uncanny　lay　upon　her；　a　perception　that　someone　preternaturally　special　had　passed　through　her　life。　She　was　unsettled　by　the　discovery　that　a　man　could　so　affect　her；　and　she　felt　unfortably　girlish；　even　foolish。　At　the　same　time；　she　enjoyed　that　pleasantly　eerie　mood　and　did　not　want　it　to　fade。　
　So　are　you；　Miss　Thorne　That　evening；　in　her　third…floor　apartment　overlooking　Council　city　park；　as　she　was　cooking　a　dinner　of　angel…hair　pasta　with　pesto　sauce　pine　nuts；　fresh　garlic；　and　chopped　tomatoes；　Holly　suddenly　wondered　how　Jim　Ironheart　could　have　known　that　young　Billy　Jenkins　was　in　danger　even　before　the　drunken　driver　in　the　pickup　truck　had　appeared　over　the　crest　of　the　hill。　
　She　stopped　chopping　in　the　middle　of　a　tomato　and　looked　out　the　kitchen　window。　Purple…red　twilight　was　settling　over　the　greensward　low。　Among　the　trees；　the　park　lamps　cast　pools　of　warm　amber　light　on　the　grass…flanked　walkways。　
　When　Ironheart　had　charged　up　the　sidewalk　in　front　of　McAlbery　School；　colliding　with　her　and　nearly　knocking　her　down；　Holly　started　after　him；　intending　to　tell　him　off　By　the　time　she　reached　the　intersection　；　he　was　already　in　the　street；　turning　right　then　left；　looking　a　little　agitated。　。　。　wild。　In　fact　he　seemed　so　strange；　the　kids　moved　around　him　in　a　wide　arc。　She　had　registered　his　panicked　expression　and　the　kids'　reaction　to　him　a　second　or　two　before　the　truck　had　erupted　over　the　hill　like　a　daredevil's　car　flying　off　the　top　of　a　stunt　ramp。　
　Only　then　had　Ironheart　focused　on　Billy　Jenkins；　scooping　the　boy　out　of　the　path　of　the　truck。　
　Perhaps　he　had　heard　the　roar　of　the　engine；　realized　something　was　approaching　the　intersection　at　reckless　speed；　and　acted　out　of　an　instinctive　perception　of　danger。　Holly　tried　to　remember　if　she　had　been　aware　of　the　racing　engine　as　early　as　when　Ironheart　had　collided　with　her；　but　she　could　not　recall。　Maybe　she　had　heard　it　but　had　not　been　as　alert　to　meaning　as　he　had。　Or　perhaps　she　hadn't　heard　it　at　all　because　she'd　been　trying　to　shake　off　the　indefatigable　Louise　Tarvohl；　who　had　insisted　on　walking　with　her　to　her　car；　she　had　felt　that　she'd　go　stark　raving　crazy　if　she　were　forced　to　listen　to　even　another　minute　of　the　poet's　chatter；　she　knew　she　had　been　distracted　by　the　desperate　need　to　escape。　
　Now；　in　her　kitchen；　she　was　conscious　of　only　one　sound：　the　vigorously　boiling　water　in　the　big　pot　on　the　stove。　She　should　turn　the　gas　down；　put　in　the　pasta；　set　the　timer。　。　。　。　Instead　she　stood　at　the　cutting　board；　tomato　in　one　hand　and　knife　in　the　other；　staring　out　at　the　park　but　seeing　the　fateful　intersection　near　the　McAlbery　School。　
　Even　if　Ironheart　had　heard　the　approaching　engine　from　halfway　down　the　block；　how　could　he　so　quickly　determine　the　direction　from　which　the　truck　was　approaching；　that　its　driver　was　out　of　control；　and　that　the　children　were　consequently　in　danger？　The　crossing　guard；　initially　much　closer　to　the　sound　than　Ironheart；　had　been　taken　by　surprise；　as　had　the　kids　themselves。　
　Okay；　well；　some　people　had　sharper　senses　than　others…which　was　why　posers　of　symphonies　could　hear　more　plex　harmonies　and　rhythms　in　music　than　could　the　average　concert　goer；　why　some　baseball　players　could　see　a　pop　fly　against　a　glary　sky　sooner　than　others；　and　why　a　master　viniculturist　could　appreciate　subtler　qualities　of　a　rare　vintage　than　could　a　stoned…blind　wino　who　was　only　concerned　with　the　effect。　
　Likewise；　some　people　had　far　quicker　reflexes　than　others；　which　was　part　of　what　made　Wayne　Gretzky　worth　millions　a　year　to　a　professional　ice　hockey　team。　She　had　seen　that　Ironheart　had　the　lightning　reflexes　of　an　athlete。　No　doubt　he　was　also　blessed　with　especially　keen　hearing。　Most　people　with　a　notable　physical　advantage　also　had　other　gifts：　it　was　all　a　matter　of　good　genes。　That　was　the　explanation。　
　Simple　enough。　Nothing　unusual。　Nothing　mysterious。　
　Certainly　nothing　supernatural。　Just　good