sk.runningman-第10部分

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　　〃Pritchard。　That's　right；〃　Richards　said　resignedly。　The　Games　Building　was　dwindling　behind　them。　A　psychological　shadow　seemed　to　be　dwindling　proportionally　in　his　mind；　in　spite　of　the　bad　luck　with　the　cabby。
　　〃Jesus；　you　got　balls；　buddy。　I'll　say　that。　You　really　do。　Christ；　they'll　killya。　You　know　that？　They'll　killya　fuckin…eye　dead。　You　must　really　have　balls。〃
　　〃That's　right。　Two　of　them。　Just　like　you。〃
　　〃Two　of　'm！〃　the　cabby　repeated。　He　was　ecstatic。　〃Jesus；　that's　good。　That's　hot！　You　mind　if　I　tell　my　wife　I　hadja　as　a　fare？　She　goes　batshit　for　the　Games。　I'll　hafts　reportcha　too；　but　Christ；　I　won't　get　no　hunnert　for　it。　Cabbies　gotta　have　at　least　one　supportin　witness；　y'know。　Knowin　my　luck；　no　one　sawya　gettin　in。〃
　　〃That　would　be　tough；〃　Richards　said。　〃I'm　sorry　you　can't　help　kill　me。　Should　I　leave　a　note　saying　I　was　here？〃
　　〃Jesus；　couldja？　That'd　be…〃
　　They　had　just　crossed　the　Canal。　〃Let　me　out　here；〃　Richards　said　abruptly。　He　pulled　a　New　Dollar　from　the　envelope　Thompson　had　handed　him；　and　dropped　it　on　the　front　seat。
　　〃Gee；　I　didn't　say　nothin；　did　I？　I　dint　meanta…〃
　　〃No；〃　Richards　said。
　　〃Couldja　gimme　that　note…〃
　　〃Get　stuffed；　maggot。〃
　　He　lunged　out　and　began　walking　toward　Drummond　Street。　Co…Op　City　rose　skeletal　in　the　gathering　darkness　before　him。　The　cabbie's　yell　floated　after　him：　〃I　hope　they　getya　early；　you　cheap　fuck！　〃
　　
　　Minus　078　and　COUNTING
　　Through　a　backyard；　through　a　ragged　hole　in　a　cyclone　fence　separating　one　barren　asphalt　desert　from　another；　across　a　ghostly；　abandoned　construction　site；　pausing　far　back　in　shattered　shadows　as　a　cycle　pack　roared　by；　headlamps　glaring　in　the　dark　like　the　psychopathic　eyes　of　nocturnal　werewolves。　Then　over　a　final　fence　（cutting　one　hand）　and　he　was　rapping　on　Molie　Jernigan's　back　door…which　is　to　say；　the　main　entrance。
　　Molie　ran　a　Dock　Street　hockshop　where　a　fellow　with　enough　bucks　to　spread　around　could　buy　a　police…special　move…along；　a　full…choke　riot　gun；　a　submachine　gun；　heroin；　Push；　cocaine；　drag　disguises；　a　styroflex　pseudo…woman；　a　real　whore　if　you　were　too　strapped　to　afford　styroflex；　the　current　address　of　one　of　three　floating　crap…games；　the　current　address　on　a　swinging　Perverto　Club；　or　a　hundred　other　illegal　items。　If　Molie　didn't　have　what　you　wanted；　he　would　order　it　for　you。
　　Including　false　papers。
　　When　he　opened　the　peephole　and　saw　who　was　there；　he　offered　a　kindly　smile　and　said：　〃Why　don't　you　go　away；　pal？　I　never　saw　you。〃
　　〃New　Dollars；〃　Richards　remarked；　as　if　to　the　air　itself。　There　was　a　pause。　Richards　studied　the　cuff　of　his　shirt　as　if　he　had　never　seen　it　before。
　　Then　the　bolts　and　locks　were　opened；　quickly；　as　if　Molie　were　afraid　Richards　would　change　his　mind。　Richards　came　in。　They　were　in　Moue's　place　behind　the　store；　which　was　a　rat　warren　of　old　newsies；　stolen　musical　instruments；　stolen　cameras；　and　boxes　of　black…market　groceries。　Moue　was　by　necessity　something　of　a　Robin　Hood；　a　pawnbroker　south　of　the　Canal　did　not　remain　in　business　long　if　he　became　too　greedy。　Molie　took　the　rich　uptown　maggots　as　heavily　as　he　could　and　sold　in　the　neighborhood　at　close　to　cost…sometimes　lower　than　cost　if　some　pal　was　being　squeezed　hand。　Thus　his　reputation　in　Co…Op　City　was　excellent；　his　protection　superb。　If　a　cop　asked　a　South　City　stoolie　（and　there　were　hundreds　of　them）　about　Molie　Jernigan；　the　informant　let　it　be　known　that　Molie　was　a　slightly　senile　old…timer　who　took　a　little　graft　and　sold　a　little　black　market。　Any　number　of　uptown　swells　with　strange　sexual　tendencies　could　have　told　the　police　differently；　but　there　were　no　vice　busts　anymore。　Everyone　knew　vice　was　bad　for　any　real　revolutionary　climate。　The　fact　that　Molie　also　ran　a　moderately　profitable　trade　in　forged　documents；　strictly　for　local　customers；　was　unknown　uptown。　Still；　Richards　knew；　tooling　papers　for　someone　as　hot　as　he　was　would　be　extremely　dangerous。
　　〃What　papers？〃　Molie　asked；　sighing　deeply　and　turning　on　an　ancient　gooseneck　lamp　that　flooded　the　working　area　of　his　desk　with　bright　white　light。　He　was　an　old　man；　approaching　seventy…five；　and　in　the　close　glow　of　the　light　his　hair　looked　like　spun　silver。
　　〃Driver's　license。　Military　Service　Card。　Street　Identicard。　Axial　charge　card。　Social　Retirement　card。〃
　　〃Easy。　Sixty…buck　job　for　anyone　but　you；　Bennie。〃
　　〃You'll　do　it？〃
　　〃For　your　wife；　I'll　do　it。　For　you；　no。　I　don't　put　my　head　in　the　noose　for　any　crazy…ass　bastard　like　Bennie　Richards。〃
　　〃How　long；　Molie？〃
　　Molie's　eyes　flashed　sardonically。　〃Knowin　your　situation　as　I　do；　I'll　hurry　it。　An　hour　for　each。〃
　　〃Christ；　five　hours　。　。　。　can　I　go…〃
　　〃No；　you　can't。　Are　you　nuts；　Bennie？　A　cop　es　pullin　up　to　your　Development　last　week。　He's　got　a　envelope　for　your　of　lady。　He　came　in　a　Black　Wagon　with　about　six　buddies。　Flapper　Donnigan　was　standin　on　the　corner　pitchin　nicks　with　Gerry　Hanrahan　when　it　transfired。　Flapper　tells　me　everythin。　The　boy's　soft；　you　know。〃
　　〃I　know　Flapper's　soft；〃　Richards　said　impatiently。　〃I　sent　the　money。　Is　she…〃
　　〃Who　knows？　Who　sees？〃　Molie　shrugged　and　rolled　his　eyes　as　he　put　pens　and　blank　forms　in　the　center　of　the　pool　of　light　thrown　by　the　lamp。　〃They're　four　deep　around　your　building；　Bennie。　Anyone　who　sent　to　offer　their　condolences　would　end　up　in　a　cellar　talkin　to　a　bunch　of　rubber　clubs。　Even　good　friends　don't　need　that　scam；　not　even　with　your　of　lady　flush。　You　got　a　name　you　want　special　on　these？〃
　　〃Doesn't　matter　as　long　as　it's　Anglo。　Jesus；　Molie；　she　must　have　e　out　for　groceries。　And　the　doctor…〃
　　〃She　sent　Budgie　O'Sanchez's　kid。　What's　his　name。〃
　　〃Walt。〃
　　〃Yeah；　that's　it。　I　can't　keep　the　goddam　spics　and　micks　straight　no　more。　I'm　gettin　senile；　Bennie。　Blowin　my　cool。〃　He　glared　up　at　Richards　suddenly。　〃I　remember　when　Mick　Jagger　was　a　big　name。　You　don't　even　know　who　he　was；　do　ya？〃
　　〃I　know　who　he　was；〃　Richards　said；　distraught。　He　turned　to　Moue's　sidewalk…level　window；　frightened。　It　was　worse　than　he　thought。　Sheila　and　Cathy　were　in　the　cage；　too。　At　least　until…
　　〃They're　okay；　Bennie；　〃　Molie　said　softly。　〃Just　stay　away。　You're　poison　to　them　now。　Can　you　dig　it？〃
　　〃Yes；〃　Richards　said。　He　was　suddenly　overwhelmed　with　despair；　black　and　awful。　I'm　homesick；　he　thought；　amazed；　but　it　was　more；　it　was　worse。　Everything　seemed　out　of　whack；　surreal。　The　very　fabric　of　existence　bulging　at　the　seams。　Faces；　whirling：　Laughlin；　Burns；　Killian；　Jansky；　Molie；　Cathy；　Sheila…
　　He　looked　out　into　the　blackness；　trembling。　Molie　had　gone　to　work；　crooning　some　old　song　from　his　vacant　past；　something　about　having　Bette　Davis　eyes；　who　the　hell　was　that？
　　〃He　was　a　drummer；〃　Richards　said　suddenly。　〃With　that　English　group；　the　Beetles。　Mick　McCartney。〃
　　〃Yah；　you　kids；〃　Molie　said；　bent　over　his　work。　〃That's　all　you　kids　know。〃
　　
　　Minus　077　and　COUNTING
　　He　left　Moue's　at　ten　past　midnight；　twelve　hundred　New　Dollars　lighter。　The　pawnbroker　had　also　sold　him　a　limited　but　fairly　effective　disguise：　gray　hair；　spectacles；　mouth　wadding；　plastic　buck…teeth　which　subtly　transfigured　his　lip　line。　〃Give　yourself　a　little　limp；　too；〃　Molie　advised。　〃Not　a　big　attention…getter。　Just　a　little　one。　Remember；　you　have　the　power　to　cloud　men's　minds；　if　you　use　it。　Don't　remember　that　line；　do　ya？〃
　　Richards　didn't。
　　According　to　his　new　wallet　cards；　he　was　John　Griffen　Springer；　a　text…tape　salesman　from　Harding。　He　was　a　forty…three　year…old　widower。　No　technico　status；　but　that　was　just　as　well。　Technicos　had　their　own　language。
　　Richards　reemerged　on　Robard　Street　at　12：30；　a　good　hour　to　get　rolled；　mugged；　or　killed；　but　a　bad　hour　to　make　any　kind　of　unnoticed　getaway。　Still；　he　had　lived　south　of　the　Canal　all　his　life。
　　He　crossed　the　Canal　two　miles　farther　west；　almost　on　the　edge　of　the　lake。　He　saw　a　party　of　drunken　winos　huddled　around　a　furtive　fire；　several　rats；　but　no　cops。　By　1：15　A。m。　he　was　cutting　across　the　far　edge　of　the　no…man's…land　of　warehouses；　cheap　beaneries；　and　shipping　offices　on　the　north　side　of　the　Canal。　At　1：30　he　was　surrounded　by　enough　uptowners　hopping　from　one　sleazy　dive　to　the　next　to　safely　hail　a　cab。
　　This　time　the　driver　didn't　give　him　a　second　look。
　　〃Jetport；〃　Richards　said。
　　〃I'm　your　man；　pal。〃
　　The　airthrusters　shoved　them　up　into　traffic。　They　were　at　the　airport　by　1：50。　Richards　limped　past　several　cops　and　security　guards　who　showed　no　interest　in　him。　He　bought　a　ticket　to　New　York　because　it　came　naturally　to　mind。　The　I。　D。　check　was　routine　and　uneventful。　He　was　on　the　2：20　speed　shuttle　to　New　York。　There　were　only　forty　or　so　passengers；　most　of　them　snoozing　businessmen　and　students。　The　cop　in　the　Judas　hole　dozed　through　the　entire　trip。　After　a　while；　Richards　dozed；　too。
　　They　touched　down　at　3：06；　and　Richards　deplaned　and　left　the　airport　without　incident。
　　At　3：15　the　cab　was　spiraling　down　the　Lindsay　Overway。　They　crossed　Central　Park　on　a　diagonal；　and　at　3：20；　Ben　Richards　disappeared　into　the　largest　city　on　the　face　of　the　earth。
　　
　　Minus　076　and　COUNTING
　　He　went　to　earth　in　the　Brant　Hotel；　a　so…so　establishment　on　the　East　Side。　That　part　of　the　city　had　been　gradually　entering　a　new　cycle　of　chic。　Yet　the　Brant　was　less　than　a　mile　from　Manhattan's　own　blighted　inner　city…also　the　largest　in　the　world。　As　he　checked　in；　he　again　thought　of　Dan　Killian's　parting　words：　Stay　close　to　your　own　people。
　　After　leaving　the　taxi　he　had　walked　to　Times　Square；　not　wanting　to　check　into　any　hotel　during　the　small　morning　hours。　He　spent　the　five　and　a　half　hours　from　3：30　to　9：00　in　an　all…night　perverto　show。　He　had　wanted　desperately　to　sleep；　but　both　times　he　had　dozed　off；　he　had　been　snapped　awake　by　the　feel　of　light　fingers　crawling　up　his　inner　thigh。
　　〃How　long　will　you　be　staying；　sir？〃　the　desk　clerk　asked；　glancing　at　Richards's　registration　as　John　G。　Springer。
　　〃Don't　know；〃　Richards　said；　trying　for　meek　affability。　〃All　depends　on　the　clients；　you　understand。〃　He　paid　sixty　New　Dol