pzb.drawingblood-第40部分

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　　Agent　Cover　believed。　He　was　beginning　to　understand　the　hacker　mindset。　It　required　nerves　of　steel　and　could　generate　feats　of　flamboyant　genius；　but　it　was　flawed。　It　was　megalomaniacal。　Eventually　it　would　slip　up　on　its　own　sheer　daring；　and　give　itself　away。
　　As　if　to　make　that　very　point；　Duplessis　had　also　told　them　about　the　article　Bosch　had　supposedly　planted　in　the　Times…Picayune。　〃Goddess　Seen　in　Bowl　of　Gumbo。〃　It　beat　anything　in　the　Weekly　World　News；　that　was　for　sure。　This　headline；　for　instance：　CLAM　OF　CATASTROPHE；　bannering　a　story　about　a　giant　shellfish　that　ate　deep…sea　divers；　or　some　such　shit。　What　sort　of　oxygen…deprived　mind　came　up　with　these　things？
　　Cover　closed　the　tabloid　wearily；　leaned　back　in　his　chair；　and　tugged　the　knot　of　his　tie　loose。　At　least　Bosch　had　some　imagination；　if　he　had　really　planted　that　story　in　the　Picayune。
　　The　other　hacker　swore　he　had；　though　the　reasons　he　gave　for　believing　so　were　flimsy　at　best。　He　just　〃knew〃　Bosch；　Duplessis　claimed；　this　was　just　his　〃style。〃　And　he　swore　up　and　down　that　the　girl　living　in　Bosch's　apartment；　Edwina　Sung；　had　nothing　to　do　with　any　of　it。　Agent　Cover　wondered。　Duplessis　had　obviously　known　Sung　at　least　long　enough　to　develop　a　sweaty…palmed；　hopeless　crush　on　her。
　　As　of　this　afternoon；　Sung's　records　revealed　a　bank　balance　of　just　over　three　thousand　dollars；　not　an　unreasonable　figure　for　a　young　Asian…American　who　could　afford　to　live　in　the　French　Quarter。　Most　likely　her　parents　were　in　some　lucrative　business　and　supported　her。　She　had　no　outstanding　credit　card　balances；　owed　no　taxes；　had　no　police　record；　her　employment　history　was　spotty。　Probably　she　was　just　another　scrap　of　bohemian　flotsam；　adrift　on　the　warm　alcoholic　seas　of　New　Orleans　subculture。
　　But　Zach　Bosch　meant　something　to　her。　That　much　had　been　plain　during　today's　raid。　They　might　be　acplices；　lovers；　or　even　blood　relations…in　an　old　school　ID　photo　they'd　found　overlooked　in　his　desk；　Bosch　appeared　extremely　young；　defiant；　and　faintly　Asian。　But　whatever　they　were；　Cover　thought　the　girl　cared　enough　about　Bosch　to　keep　track　of　his　movements　if　she　could。　Maybe　she　even　knew　where　he　was　now。　She　ought　to　be　questioned　again。
　　For　that　matter；　her　bank　records　should　be　examined　more　closely。　A　routine　balance　check　wasn't　good　enough　when　a　hacker　might　be　involved。　They　ought　to　get　records　of　all　her　transactions　for　the　past　month；　and　see　whether　she　had　made　any　large　deposits　or　withdrawals　in　the　last　couple　of　days。
　　Frank　Norton；　the　stocky　gray…haired　agent　who　had　the　next　cheerless　office　over；　came　in　and　dropped　a　greasy　brown　paper　bag　on　his　desk。　〃Here's　that　sandwich　you　wanted。〃
　　〃Tuna？〃
　　〃No。　Egg　salad。　It　was　all　the　cafeteria　had　left。　Don't　you　ever　go　home？〃
　　〃Sure。　I　stopped　by　a　couple　days　ago。　Thanks；　Spider。〃　Norton　had　had　the　nickname　since　his　days　with　the　DBA；　when　he'd　managed　to　get　bitten　by　a　tarantula　during　a　drug　raid　on　the　docks。　He　claimed　someone　had　thrown　it　on　him。　The　drug　runners　swore　the　huge　hairy　spiders　lived　inside　bunches　of　bananas；　every　fool　knew　that；　and　Norton　shouldn't　have　stuck　his　hand　in　those　bananas　even　if　there　were　five…pound　bags　of　cocaine　hidden　in　them。
　　Alone　again；　Cover　unwrapped　his　sandwich。　The　sulfurous　odor　of　boiled　eggs　in　mayonnaise　floated　up　to　him。　He　hated　egg　salad。　Eating　the　putrid　mush　anywhere　was　bad　enough；　eating　it　in　New　Orleans；　where　you　could　get　some　of　the　best　food　in　the　world；　was　almost　unbearable。　But　his　hands　were　shaking。　He　was　half…starved。
　　He　took　a　bite　of　the　sandwich；　and　a　generous　glob　of　egg　salad　oozed　out　from　between　the　slices　of　stale　brown　bread；　hung　precariously　for　a　moment；　then　fell。　It　left　a　long　curdy　streak　down　Agent　Cover's　tie　and　shirtfront。　When　he　tried　to　scoop　it　up；　half　of　it　plopped　onto　his　pants。
　　〃Shit；　shit；　shit。〃　He　crumpled　the　paper　bag　furiously；　hurled　it　in　the　direction　of　the　trash　can；　missed。　These　fancy　suits　he　had　to　wear　were　damned　expensive；　and　Cover　had　no　idea　whether　mayonnaise　would　stain　the　pants。　His　wife　would　know。　Maybe　he　should　go　home　for　a　while；　get　a　decent　meal。　He　could　deal　with　little　Ms。　Sung　tomorrow。
　　Fucking　eggs。　He　hated　them　anyway。
　　
　　　
　　　Chapter　Fifteen
　　
　　Let's　get　some　sheets；〃　said　Trevor。　〃That　mattress　is　pretty　dirty。〃
　　〃How　about　a　fan？〃
　　〃Yeah；　and　a　coffeepot。〃
　　Zach　smirked。　〃Gee；　I　feel　so　domestic。〃
　　〃Well；　if　you　don't　want　to　。　。　。〃　Trevor　looked　sidelong　at　Zach；　then　stared　at　the　floor　in　embarrassment。
　　〃Hey；　hey；　joking。　I've　never　set　up　housekeeping　with　anyone　before；　is　all。〃
　　〃It　makes　you　nervous？〃　A　small　line　appeared　between　Trevor's　brows　as　he　frowned。　It　seemed　to　cost　him　an　effort　to　understand　moods　and　motivations　that　would　have　been　immediately　obvious　to　most。　Zach　guessed　Trevor　was　probably　the　most　weirdly　socialized　person　he　had　ever　met。
　　〃It　makes　me　hyper。〃
　　〃Want　some　Excedrin？〃
　　That　was　Zach's　favorite　thing　about　weirdly　socialized　people：　anything　that　popped　into　their　heads　usually　made　it　out　of　their　mouths。　〃No　thanks；　I'm　fine；〃　he　said；　and　they　caught　each　other's　eye　and　started　laughing。
　　In　the　giddy　rush　that　followed　waking　and　more　fucking；　they　had　put　their　clothes　on　and　driven　downtown　with　the　idea　of　getting　something　to　eat。　Instead　they　had　wound　up　in　Potter's　Store；　wandering　the　dim；　dust…scented　aisles；　browsing　through　the　shelves　crammed　full　of　junk　and　plunder。
　　Zach　watched　Trevor's　hands　plunge　into　a　bin　of　fifty…cent　clothing；　sorting　out　only　the　black　items　and　quickly　discarding　them；　finally　selecting　a　single　plain　T…shirt。　Zach　thought　of　grasping　those　hands；　of　turning　them　over　and　kissing　the　palms。
　　But　Potter's　Store　was　full　of　old　rednecks；　mostly　the　reformed　drunks　from　the　Salvation　Army　who　ran　the　place。　Zach　supposed　they　were　used　to　trendy　kids　thrift…shopping；　but　he　had　no　desire　to　attract　extra　attention。　Hell；　these　people　weren't　just　Christians；　they　were　probably　Republicans。　If　the　right　kind　of　G…man　flashed　a　badge　at　them；　they'd　not　only　tell　him　anything　he　wanted　to　hear；　they'd　lick　his　asshole　clean　while　they　did　it。　Goddamn　John…Wayne…loving　John…Birch…worshiping　good　country　people。
　　〃What　are　you　scowling　about？〃
　　〃Oh。〃　He　looked　up　into　Trevor's　face　and　forgot　it　all。　〃Nothing。〃
　　Their　eyes　locked　on　each　other；　and　for　a　long　moment　they　might　as　well　have　been　back　in　bed；　tangled　in　the　sweaty　blanket；　stewing　in　one　another's　juices。　Then　Trevor　glanced　over　Zach's　shoulder。　〃Hey；　there's　Kinsey。　I　bet　he'd　let　us　take　a　shower　at　his　house。〃
　　〃Feed　us　too？〃
　　〃Maybe。〃
　　〃Go　for　it。〃
　　Trevor　grabbed　his　coffeepot　and　Zach　his　fan；　and　they　slipped　through　the　aisles　and　homed　in　on　Kinsey's　tall　form　like　two　hungry　cats　who　know　which　porch　to　go　to。
　　
　　Kinsey　sat　at　his　kitchen　table　and　listened　to　the　shower　blasting　away。　It　had　done　so　for　thirty　minutes　now；　and　though　the　bathroom　was　way　at　the　other　end　of　the　hall；　the　kitchen　windows　had　begun　to　fog　up。　If　they　went　on　much　longer；　his　zucchini…mushroom　lasagna　would　be　ready　to　e　out　of　the　oven　and　he　would　have　to　eat　it　by　himself。　The　house　was　getting　unbearably　hot　and　muggy。
　　He　went　into　the　hall　and　switched　on　the　air…conditioning。　From　behind　the　bathroom　door　he　could　hear　water　hitting　skin；　the　rattle　of　the　shower　curtain；　a　sound　that　could　have　been　a　laugh　or　a　sob。　Were　they　making　love　in　the　steam　and　spray？　Were　they　crying　in　there？
　　He　did　not　even　try　to　guess　where　the　nasty…looking　cut　on　Zach's　lip　had　e　from；　or　why　Trevor　wasn't　carrying　his　sketchbook。
　　Kinsey　had　been　surprised　when　they　came　up　to　him　in　Potter's　Store　all　rumpled　and　bright…eyed　and　reeking　of　sex；　as　obviously　connected　as　if　they　were　clutching　hands。　Of　all　the　things　Kinsey　might　have　predicted　for　Trevor's　first　week　in　Missing　Mile；　getting　laid　was　not　among　them。　But　he　had　sent　Zach　out　there；　and　now　here　they　were。　He　wondered　if　he　had　averted　something；　or　only　made　the　house　dangerous　for　two　boys　instead　of　one。
　　Kinsey　hadn't　been　feeling　very　good　about　his　own　judgment　since　yesterday；　since　hearing　that　Rima　had　cracked　up　her　car　and　died　on　the　highway　outside　of　town。　It　must　have　happened　right　after　she　left　the　Sacred　Yew。　If　he　hadn't　been　worrying　about　the　stupid　dinner　special；　if　he'd　taken　the　time　to　talk　to　the　girl；　to　ask　the　right　questions；　or　better　yet；　to　listen　。　。　。
　　（〃Listen？　Ask　the　right　questions？〃　Terry　had　raged　at　him。　〃You　fuckin'　hippie！　You　caught　that　bitch　with　her　hand　in　the　fuckin'　till。〃
　　〃But　maybe　if　I'd　given　her　the　money…〃
　　〃THEN　SHE　WOULD　HAVE　BOUGHT　MORE　COKE！　Give　it　up；　Kinsey！　Give　it　the　fuck　UP！〃）
　　In　his　heart　Kinsey　knew　Rima　had　probably　been　a　lost　cause。　But　her　mindless；　meaningless　death　made　him　wonder　how　far　his　good　intentions　could　reach；　how　much　he　could　ever　do　for　these　lost　kids　he　wanted　so　much　to　help　on　their　way。
　　Well；　time　would　tell。　This　was　Kinsey's　unofficial　philosophy　on　nearly　all　matters　that　did　not　require　his　immediate　attention。
　　He　opened　the　oven　door　and　poked　at　the　lasagna　with　a　fork。　A　sullen　little　cloud　of　steam　rose　from　its　pale　greenish　surface。　It　was　still　a　bit　wet；　but　by　the　time　Trevor　and　Zach　finished　whatever　they　were　doing　in　the　bathroom；　he　thought　it　might　be　cooked　through。　Kinsey　sliced　a　loaf　of　whole…grain　bread；　spread　it　with　butter；　opened　a　bottle　of　sweet　red　wine；　and　began　to　brew　a　pot　of　strong　coffee。
　　He　might　not　be　able　to　help　them；　but　at　least　he　could　feed　them　well。
　　Zach　stared　at　the　huge　green　lump　of　food　on　his　plate。　Trevor　was　eating　automatically；　his　fork　rising　and　falling；　his　green　lump　quickly　disappearing；　washed　down　with　cup　after　cup　of　black　coffee。　He　had　grown　up　in　an　orphanage；　he　could　probably　eat　most　anything　put　in　front　of　him。
　　But　Zach　just　couldn't　get　started。　Though　he　was　usually　disposed　to　like　things　that　began　with　Z；　he　thought　zucchini　might　be　his　least　favorite　ve