cb.imajica1-第14部分

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dited　version　of　the　truth；　making　no　mention　of　Esta…brook's　murder　plot　but　explaining　that　Jude　was　ill　and　had　requested　his　presence。　Klein　didn't　deliver　the　tirade　that　Gentle　had　anticipated。　He　simply　observed；　rather　wearily；　that　if　Gentle's　word　was　worth　so　little　after　all　the　effort　he；　Klein；　had　put　into　finding　work　for　him；　it　was　perhaps　best　that　they　end　their　business　relationship　now。　Gentle　begged　him　to　be　a　little　more　lenient；　to　which　Klein　said　he'd　call　Gentle's　studio　in　two　days'　time　and；　if　he　received　no　answer；　would　assume　their　deal　was　no　longer　valid。
　〃Your　dick'll　be　the　death　of　you；〃　he　mented　as　he　signed　off。
　The　flight　gave　Gentle　time　to　think　about　both　that　re…；　mark　and　the　conversation　on　Kite　Hill；　the　memory　of　which　still　vexed　him。　During　the　exchange　itself　he'd　moved　from　suspicion　to　disbelief　to　disgust　and　finally　to　acceptance　of　Estabrook's　proposal…　But　despite　the　fact　that　the　man　had　been　as　good　as　his　word；　providing　ample　funds　for　the　trip；　the　more　Gentle　returned　to　the　conversation　in　memory；　the　more　that　first　response…suspicion…was　reawakened。　His　doubts　circled　around　two　elements　of　Estabrook's　story：　the　assassin　himself　（this　Mr。　Pie；　hired　out　of　nowhere）　and；　more　particularly；　around　the　man　who'd　introduced　Estabrook　to　his　hired　hand：　Chant；　whose　death　had　been　media　fodder　for　the　past　several　days。
　The　dead　man's　letter　was　virtually　inprehensible；　as　Estabrook　had　warned；　veering　from　pulpit　rhetoric　to　opiate　invention。　The　fact　that　Chant；　knowing　he　was　going　to　be　murdered　（that　much　was　cogent）；　should　have　chosen　to　set　these　nonsenses　down　as　vital　information　was　proof　of　significant　derangement。　How　much　more　deranged；　then；　a　man　like　Estabrook；　who　did　business　with　this　crazy？　And　by　the　same　token　was　Gentle　not　crazier　still；　employed　by　the　lunatic's　employer？
　Amid　all　these　fantasies　and　equivocations；　however；　there　were　two　irreducible　facts：　death　and　Judith。　The　former　had　e　to　Chant　in　a　derelict　house　in　Clerkenwell；　about　that　there　was　no　ambiguity。　The　latter；　innocent　of　her　husband's　malice；　was　probably　its　next　target。　His　task　was　simple：　to　e　between　the　two。
　He　checked　into　his　hotel　at　52nd　and　Madison　a　little　after　five　in　the　afternoon；　New　York　time。　From　his　window　on　the　fourteenth　floor　he　had　a　view　downtown；　but　the　scene　was　far　from　weling。　A　gruel　of　rain；　threatening　to　thicken　into　snow；　had　begun　to　fall　as　he　journeyed　in　from　Kennedy；　and　the　weather　reports　promised　cold　and　more　cold。　It　suited　him；　however。　The　gray　darkness；　together　with　the　horn　and　brake　squeals　rising　from　the　intersection　below；　fitted　his　mood　of　dislocation。　As　with　London；　New　York　was　a　city　in　which　he'd　had　friends　once；　but　lost　them。　The　only　face　he　would　seek　out　here　was　Judith's。
　There　was　no　purpose　in　delaying　that　search。　He　ordered　coffee　from　Room　Service；　showered；　drank；　dressed　in　his　thickest　sweater；　leather　jacket；　corduroys；　and　heavy　boots；　and　headed　out。　Cabs　were　hard　to　e　by；　and　after　ten　minutes　of　waiting　in　line　beneath　the　hotel　canopy；　he　decided　to　walk　uptown　a　few　blocks　and　catch　a　passing　cab　if　he　got　lucky。　If　not；　the　cold　would　clear　his　head。　By　the　time　he'd　reached　70th　Street　the　sleet　had　bee　a　drizzle；　and　there　was　a　spring　in　his　step。　Ten　blocks　from　here　Judith　was　about　some　early　evening　occupation：　bathing；　perhaps；　or　dressing　for　an　evening　on　the　town。　Ten　blocks；　at　a　minute　a　block。　Ten　minutes　until　he　was　standing　outside　the　place　where　she　was。
　
　Marlin　had　been　as　solicitous　as　an　erring　husband　since　the　attack；　calling　her　from　his　office　every　hour　or　so；　and　several　times　suggesting　that　she　might　want　to　talk　with　an　analyst；　or　at　very　least　with　one　of　his　many　friends　who'd　been　assaulted　or　mugged　on　the　streets　of　Manhattan。　She　declined　the　offer。　Physically；　she　was　quite　well。　Psychologically　too。　Though　she'd　heard　that　victims　of　attack　often　suffered　from　delayed　repercussions…depression　and　sleeplessness　among　them…neither　had　struck　her　yet。　It　was　the　mystery　of　what　had　happened　that　kept　her　awake　at　night。　Who　was　he；　this　man　who　knew　her　name；　who　got　up　from　a　collision　that　should　have　killed　him　outright　and　still　managed　to　outrun　a　healthy　man？　And　why　had　she　projected　upon　his　face　the　likeness　of　John　Za…charias？　Twice　she'd　begun　to　tell　Marlin　about　the　meeting　in　and　outside　Bloomingdale's；　twice　she'd　rechanneted　the　conversation　at　the　last　moment；　unable　to　face　his　benign　condescension。　This　enigma　was　hers　to　unravel；　and　sharing　it　too　soon；　perhaps　at　all；　might　make　the　solving　impossible。
　In　the　meantime；　Marlin's　apartment　felt　very　secure。　There　were　two　doormen：　Sergio　by　day　and　Freddy　by　night。　Marlin　had　given　them　both　a　detailed　description　of　the　assailant；　and　instructions　to　let　nobody　up　to　the　second　floor　without　Ms。　Odell's　permission；　and'even　then　they　were　to　acpany　visitors　to　the　apartment　door　and　escort　them　out　if　his　guest　chose　not　to　see　them。　Nothing　could　harm　her　as　long　as　she　stayed　behind　closed　doors。　Tonight；　with　Marlin　working　until　nine　and　a　late　dinner　planned；　she'd　decided　to　spend　the　early　evening　assigning　and　wrapping　the　presents　she'd　accumulated　on　her　various　Fifth　Avenue　sorties；　sweetening　her　labors　with　wine　and　music。　Marlin's　record　collection　was　chiefly　seduction　songs　of　his　sixties　adolescence；　which　suited　her　fine。　She　played　smoochy　soul　and　sipped　well…chilled　Sauvignon　as　she　pottered；　more　than　content　with　her　own　pany。　Once　in　a　while　she'd　get　up　from　the　chaos　of　ribbons　and　tissue　and　go　to　the　window　to　watch　the　cold。　The　glass　was　misting。　She　didn't　clear　it。　Let　the　world　lose　focus。　She　had　no　taste　for　it　tonight。
　There　was　a　woman　standing　at　one　of　the　third…story　windows　when　Gentle　reached　the　intersection；　just　gazing　out　at　the　street。　He　watched　her　for　several　seconds　before　the　casual　motion　of　a　hand　raised　to　the　back　of　her　neck　and　run　up　through　her　long　hair　identified　the　silhouette　as　Judith。　She　made　no　backward　glance　to　signify　the　presence　of　anyone　else　in　the　room。　She　simply　sipped　from　her　glass；　and　stroked　her　scalp；　and　watched　the　murky　night。　He　had　thought　it　would　be　easy　to　approach　her；　but　now；　watching　her　remotely　like　this；　he　knew　otherwise。
　The　first　time　he'd　seen　her…all　those　years　ago…he'd　felt　something　close　to　panic。　His　whole　system　had　been　stirred　to　nausea　as　he　relinquished　power　to　the　sight　of　her。　The　seduction　that　had　followed　had　been　both　an　homage　and　a　revenge：　an　attempt　to　control　someone　who　exercised　an　authority　over　him　that　defied　analysis。　To　this　day　he　didn't　understand　that　authority。　She　was　certainly　a　bewitching　woman；　but　then　he'd　known　others　every　bit　as　bewitching　and　not　been　panicked　by　them。　What　was　it　about　Judith　that　threw　him　into　such　confusion　now；　as　then？　He　watched　her　until　she　left　the　window；　then　he　watched　the　window　where　she'd　been；　but　he　wearied　of　that；　finally；　and　of　the　chill　in　his　feet。　He　needed　fortification：　against　the　cold；　against　the　woman。　He　left　the　corner　and　trekked　a　few　blocks　east　until　he　found　a　bar；　where　he　put　two　bourbons　down　his　throat　and　wished　to　his　core　that　alcohol　had　been　his　addiction　instead　of　the　opposite　sex。
　At　the　sound　of　the　stranger's　voice；　Freddy；　the　night　doorman；　rose　muttering　from　his　seat　in　the　nook　beside　the　elevator。　There　was　a　shadowy　figure　visible　through　the　ironwork　filigree　and　bulletproof　glass　of　the　front　door。　He　couldn't　quite　make　out　the　face；　but　he　was　certain　he　didn't　know　the　caller；　which　was　unusual。　He'd　worked　in　the　building　for　five　years　and　knew　the　names　of　most　of　the　occupants'　visitors。　Grumbling；　he　crossed　the　mirrored　lobby；　sucking　in　his　paunch　as　he　caught　sight　of　himself。　Then；　with　chilled　fingers；　he　unlocked　the　door。　As　he　opened　it　he　realized　his　mistake。　Though　a　gust　of　icy　wind　made　his　eyes　water；　blurring　the　caller's　features；　he　knew　them　well　enough。　How　could　he　not　recognize　his　own　brother？　He'd　been　about　to　call　him　and　find　out　what　was　going　on　in　Brooklyn　when　he'd　heard　the　voice　and　the　rapping　on　the　door。
　〃What　are　you　doing　here；　Fly？〃
　Fly　smiled　his　missing…toothed　smile。　〃Thought　I'd　just　drop　in；〃　he　said。
　〃You　got　some　problem？〃
　〃No；　everything's　fine；〃　Fly　said。　Despite　all　the　evidence　of　his　senses；　Freddy　was　uneasy。　The　shadow　on　the　step；　the　wind　in　his　eye；　the　very　fact　that　Fly　was　here　when　he　never　came　into　the　city　on　weekdays：　it　all　added　up　to　something　he　couldn't　quite　catch　hold　of。
　〃What　you　want？〃　he　said。　〃You　shouldn't　be　here。〃
　〃Here　I　am；　anyway；〃　Fly　said；　stepping　past　Freddy　into　the　foyer。　〃I　thought　you'd　be　pleased　to　see　me。〃
　Freddy　let　the　door　swing　closed；　still　wrestling　with　his　thoughts。　But　they　went　from　him　the　way　they　did　in　dreams。　He　couldn't　string　Fly's　presence　and　his　doubts　together　long　enough　to　know　what　one　had　to　do　with　the　other。
　〃I　think　I'll　take　a　look　around；〃　Fly　was　saying；　heading　towards　the　elevator。
　〃Wait　up！　You　can't　do　that。〃
　〃What　am　I　going　to　do？　Set　fire　to　the　place？〃
　〃I　sa