pzb.drawingblood-第12部分

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the　boy's　dollar。　〃I　usually　buy　new　customers　a　beer。　If　you're　under　twenty…one；　I'll　buy　you　a　Coke。〃
　　Trevor　tucked　a　neat　bundle　of　noodles　into　his　mouth。　〃I'm　twenty…five。　But　I　don't　drink。　I'll　take　a　Coke。〃　He　chewed　the　noodles；　then　frowned。　〃This　tastes　just　like　Oodles　of　Noodles。〃
　　Terry　snorted。　〃Kinsey　practices　what　you　call　'found　cuisine。'〃
　　〃The　broth　is　homemade；〃　Kinsey　said　coolly。　〃Would　you　like　your　dollar　back？　Either　of　you？〃
　　Terry　just　waved　an　impatient　hand。　Trevor　seemed　to　consider　it　for　a　moment；　then　shook　his　head。　〃No。　This　is　fine。〃
　　〃So　glad　it　meets　with　your　approval；〃　Kinsey　muttered；　turning　away　to　get　the　kid's　Coke。　Behind　him　he　heard　Terry　snort　again。　Kinsey　closed　his　eyes　and　took　several　deep　breaths。　It　was　going　to　be　a　long　night。
　　
　　An　hour　later　Gumbo　was　churning　away　onstage；　Trevor　Black　was　still　perched　on　his　stool　nursing　his　third　Coke；　and　the　bar　was　a　scene　of　utter　chaos。
　　Kinsey　had　gotten　a　local　kid　called　Robo　to　collect　money　at　the　door。　Robo；　at　eighteen；　was　well　on　his　way　to　being　Missing　Mile's　resident　stewbum…he　got　his　nickname　from　the　bottles　of　Robitussin　he　shoplifted　from　the　drugstore…but　Kinsey　figured　he　was　just　capable　of　counting　dollars；　stamping　hands；　and　managing　not　to　pocket　any　of　the　band's　proceeds　as　long　as　Kinsey　slipped　him　a　couple　of　beers　during　the　show。
　　The　club　was　packed。　Terry　and　R。J。　Miller；　Gumbo's　bass　player；　had　sat　in　with　Lost　Souls？　a　number　of　times　and　were　already　known　as　solid　players。　The　guitarist　was　a　glam…rock　dynamo；　a　kid　named　Calvin　who　in　fact　bore　a　strong　resemblance　to　the　Calvin　of　ic　strip　fame；　but　punked　out　and　tarted　up　considerably。　Gumbo　served　up　a　foot…stomping　set；　hot　as　Tabasco；　intoxicating　as　Dixie　beer。
　　Since　the　band　started；　Kinsey　had　been　drawing　constant　cups　of　draft；　popping　endless　bottletops。　Just　before　eleven　the　keg　of　Bud　ran　dry。　Kinsey　ducked　into　the　back　room　and　walked　a　new　one　onto　the　dolly。　The　kegs　were　heavy　and　awkward；　and　when　he　was　in　a　hurry　he　usually　managed　to　roll　them　off　the　dolly　and　right　onto　his　toes。
　　〃Shit！〃　he　said　loudly　as　this　very　thing　happened。　As　he　jerked　his　foot　away；　the　keg　teetered　and　threatened　to　tip。　Kinsey　grabbed　at　it。　If　it　went　over；　the　beer　inside　would　foam　unmercifully。　Customers　were　lined　up　three　deep　at　the　bar；　waiting　to　be　served；　and　last　call　was　just　an　hour　away。　Silently　he　cursed　the　treacherous　Rima；　wishing　he　had　busted　her　after　all；　if　only　for　the　cheap　satisfaction　it　would　give　him　right　now。
　　Then　suddenly　someone　was　beside　him；　wrestling　with　the　icy　keg；　pushing　Kinsey　toward　the　taps；　the　cooler；　the　impatient　mass　of　drinkers。　〃Go　wait　on　them…I'll　hook　it　up。　I　know　how。〃　Skinny　arms　wrapped　around　the　keg；　heaving　it　into　place；　deft　long…fingered　hands　were　already　tapping　the　valve。　Trevor　Black。　Kinsey　wondered　if　the　kid　really　was　twenty…five。　He　still　looked　more　like　nineteen；　and　the　Yew　could　get　busted　if　an　underage　person　was　caught　serving　beer。　Kinsey　shrugged　and　put　it　out　of　his　mind。　Taking　the　risk　was　better　than　losing　business。
　　Fifteen　minutes　or　so　into　the　rush；　Kinsey　could　tell　Trevor　had　done　this　kind　of　work　before。　He　was　quick　to　figure　out　where　everything　was；　he　was　able　to　duck　and　dodge　around　Kinsey　without　getting　in　his　way。　Since　he　didn't　know　the　prices；　he　just　served　drinks　as　fast　as　he　could　and　left　the　register　to　Kinsey。　Dollar　bills　flew　into　Kinsey's　hands。　The　tip　jar　jangled　with　change。　At　last　the　flood　of　customers　flowed　to　a　trickle；　then　stopped　altogether：　everyone　was　drunk　and　dancing；　getting　into　Gumbo。
　　Kinsey　went　up　front　with　a　round　of　Natty　Bohos　for　the　band。　Terry　flashed　him　a　big　smile　and　did　a　little　flourish　on　the　drums。　The　club　was　hot　and　steamy；　smelling　of　sweat　and　beer　and　clove　smoke；　the　faces　of　the　dancing　kids　were　slick　with　light；　lost　in　musical　rapture。
　　When　Kinsey　made　his　way　back　through　the　crowd；　Trevor　was　leaning　against　the　cooler　drinking　another　Coke。　His　smile　was　tentative；　barely　a　flicker。　〃Was　that　okay？　To　just　jump　in　like　that？〃
　　〃Absolutely　not。　You're　fired。〃　They　stared　at　each　other　for　a　moment；　then　Kinsey's　mouth　twitched；　and　all　at　once　both　were　laughing。　〃Seriously；　do　you　want　a　job？　You　can　keep　all　tonight's　tips；　and　I'll　start　you　at　four…fifty　an　hour。〃
　　Trevor　shrugged。　〃I　have　stuff　to　do　in　Missing　Mile…I　don't　need　a　job　right　away。　And　I'm　not　really　a　bartender。　I've　just　filled　in　for　one　a　couple　of　times。〃
　　Kinsey　raised　an　eyebrow。　〃You　could've　fooled　me。　Well；　you　can　fill　in　some　here　if　you　want。　Pick　up　a　shift　every　week　or　so。〃
　　Trevor　stared　at　the　floor。　〃Maybe。　It　depends。〃
　　Kinsey　decided　not　to　ask　what　it　depended　on。　He　seemed　to　have　wrecked　the　moment　of　camaraderie　already。　Trevor　was　an　odd　bird；　his　conversation　seeded　with　chill　winds　and　ice　pockets。　Kinsey　searched　for　a　neutral　topic　to　dissipate　the　tension。　〃So；　if　you're　not　a　bartender　by　profession；　〃what　is　it　you　do？〃
　　Trevor　kept　looking　at　the　floor；　scuffed　the　toe　of　a　ratty　black　sneaker　over　the　worn　boards。　〃I　draw　ics。〃
　　Kinsey　had　thought　the　name　was　familiar。　〃Trevor　Black　。　。　。　Didn't　you　have　a　page　in　Drawn　and　Quarterly？〃　This　was　an　underground　ics　magazine　featuring　some　of　the　newest；　most　bizarre　talent　around。
　　Trevor　looked　surprised；　then　a　little　disconcerted；　but　he　nodded。　〃Yes。　That　was　me。〃
　　〃It　was　a　good　strip。　You　know；　it　made　me　think　of…〃
　　A　second　wave　of　beer　drinkers　descended　upon　the　bar　clamoring　for　Natty　Bohos。　Trevor　turned　away　to　serve　them　so　quickly　that　Kinsey　wondered　whether　he　was　glad　to　get　off　the　subject。　As　Kinsey　rang　up　their　purchases；　his　mind　lingered　on　the　ic。　It　had　been　an　odd；　brief　tale；　an　epiphany　of　sorts；　something　about　a　flock　of　birds　rising　from　a　man's　charred　corpse　like　a　feathered；　jewel…eyed　soul。　Kinsey　had　been　about　to　say　how　much　the　ic's　style　had　reminded　him　of　the　late　Robert　McGee；　the　sharp　inking　and　clean；　graceful　lines。　He　was　sure　Trevor　had　read　Birdland。　Possibly　he　knew　McGee　had　died　here。　Kinsey　might　even　tell　him　about　the　time　he'd　fixed　the　McGees'　car；　just　before　the　tragedy。
　　But　the　band　was　winding　down。　The　rush　went　on　until　last　call；　and　then　it　was　closing　time；　money　to　count；　spills　to　wipe　up；　hundreds　of　cups；　cans；　bottles　to　find　and　empty　and　sort　for　tomorrow's　recycling　pickup。　By　the　time　they　finished　it　was　after　three。
　　Kinsey　popped　a　beer；　then　picked　out　a　tape　and　stuck　it　in　the　little　cassette　player　behind　the　bar。　Miles　Davis；　something　from　the　fifties。　The　sound　of　the　trumpet　filled　the　room；　easy　and　slow；　smooth　as　eggnog　spiked　with　whiskey。　Trevor　put　his　head　down　on　the　bar。　Kinsey　leaned　against　the　register　and　closed　his　eyes。
　　The　music　ended　and　an　announcer's　voice　came　on；　part　of　the　tape；　which　had　been　recorded　live　on　Fifty…second　Street　in　the　golden　bebop　days。　The　voice　was　deep；　white；　and　juicy；　and　somehow　seemed　a　distilled　essence　of　its　time；　you　could　easily　picture　the　guy　in　his　sharp　suit　with　its　deep…cut　lapels；　hair　slicked　back；　cool　ofay　cat。　〃Well！　Yeah！　Miiiiles　Davis。　Remember；　you　still　have　plenty　of　time　to　get　to　Birdland…〃
　　Kinsey　heard　a　strangled　sob。　He　opened　his　eyes　and　stared　at　Trevor；　who　was　rolling　his　head　back　and　forth　on　the　bar；　his　hands　clawing　at　the　scarred　wood。　His　lips　were　pulled　back　over　his　teeth；　and　tears　poured　from　his　eyes。　Kinsey　could　actually　see　them　forming　salty　little　pools　on　the　bar's　varnished　surface。　He　moved　toward　the　boy。　〃Hey；　Trevor？　What…〃
　　〃I　don't　have　plenty　of　time　to　get　to　Birdland！〃　Trevor　cried。　His　voice　sounded　as　if　it　were　being　pulled　out　of　him；　dragged　over　hot　coals　and　rusty　nails；　tortured　out　of　his　throat。　〃I　don't　have　any　time　at　all…and　I'm　scared…〃
　　〃Birdland？〃　Kinsey　said　softly。
　　Trevor　caught　the　puzzled　inflection。　He　looked　up　at　Kinsey；　the　pale　flesh　of　his　eyelids　swollen；　his　clear　eyes　naked　and　wet　and　terrified。　And　suddenly　Kinsey　knew　that　face：　a　five…year…old　boy；　in　bad　need　of　a　haircut　by　some　standards；　too　thin　and　hollow…eyed　by　any；　standing　on　the　side　of　a　country　road　staring　first　at　his　mother；　then　at　his　father。
　　〃Trevor　McGee；〃　said　Kinsey。
　　〃Oh；　goddamn　。　。　。〃　Miserably；　Trevor　nodded。　Then　he　was　sobbing　again。　Kinsey　went　around　the　bar；　put　a　cautious　hand　on　the　boy's　trembling　shoulder；　felt　the　muscles　bunch　up　and　flinch　away　from　his　palm。
　　〃Don't　touch　me！〃
　　〃Sorry。　I　didn't　mean…〃
　　〃No；　I　just　can't…〃
　　They　stared　helplessly　at　each　other。　Trevor's　face　was　flushed；　slick　with　tears。　Everything　in　the　way　he　held　himself…arms　crossed　over　his　chest；　shoulders　hunched　…　screamed　Don't　touch　me　as　loudly　as　Trevor's　mouth　had　done。　But　his　eyes　were　five　years　old　again；　and　begged　Hold　me。　Hold　me。　Help　me。
　　Trevor　might　hate　him；　might　even　think　Kinsey　was　hitting　on　him；　but　that　was　just　too　bad。　Kinsey　could　not　ignore　such　pain。　〃I　remember　you；〃　he　said。　〃I　was　the　mechanic　who　fixed　your　parents'　car。　I　wanted　to　help　you　then；　and　I　want　to　help　you　now。〃　Before　Trevor　could　flinch　again；　Kinsey　wrapped　his　long　arms　around　the　boy　and　held　on　tight。
　　He　felt　Trevor's　body　go　absolutely　rigid；　felt　him　try　to　pull　away。　If　he　had　kept　trying；　Kinsey　would　have　let　him　go。　But　after　a　few　seconds　of　struggle　Trevor　sagged　against　Kinsey's　chest。
　　〃I　remember　you　too；〃　he　said。　〃You　recognized　my　dad　。　。　。　but　he　was　ashamed　of　himself　。　。　。　ashamed　of　us　。。。〃
　　〃You　poor　child；〃　Kinsey　whispered；　〃you　poor；　poor　child。〃　The　thin　body　was　all　sharp　angles；　all　elbows　and　shoulder　blades；　it　felt　as　fragile　against　him　as　that　of　a　wounded　bird。　Kinsey　imagined　Trevor's　fear　unfolding　like　treacherous　wings　to　carry　him　back　to　that　house；　back　to　the　strange　and　painful　year　1972；　to　the　death　he　no　doubt　thought　he　had　deserved。
　　At　last　the　crying　faded　to　an　occasional　long　tremor　that　jerked　through　the　boy　like　an　electric　current。　He　had　been　leaning　hard　against　Kinsey；　his　sharp　chin　digging　into