pzb.drawingblood-第43部分

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lty　corner　of　Zach's　eye；　rounded　the　curve　of　Zach's　cheekbone；　slipped　back　into　Zach's　mouth。　Zach　pressed　gratefully　against　him；　and　Trevor　felt　himself　wanting　it　all　to　happen　again。　He　didn't　know　if　it　was　possible　so　soon。　But　Zach　seemed　to　be　showing　him　that　anything　was　possible。
　　It　lasted　much　longer　this　time。　Zach's　hands　worked　him　expertly；　stroking；　squeezing；　fingering　and　probing；　building　up　a　rhythm　so　exquisite　that　Trevor　thought　he　would　spend　his　seed　between　Zach's　warm　slick　palms。　That　would　have　been　fine；　but　Zach　began　to　make　his　way　back　down；　kissing　him　everywhere；　tracing　a　wet　glistening　maze　of　spit　along　his　body；　then　sucking　him　deep　and　slow；　excruciatingly；　maddeningly　slow。　It　was　almost　painful；　yet　Trevor　wanted　it　to　go　on　for　hours。
　　Zach　was　sprawled　between　Trevor's　legs；　his　left　arm　wrapped　loosely　around　Trevor's　waist；　his　right　hand　doing　something　ingenious。　Trevor　felt　Zach's　penis　growing　insistently　hard　against　his　thigh。　He　moved　his　leg　against　it；　reached　down　and　barely　managed　to　graze　it　with　his　fingertips。　He　wanted　to　do　something　to　make　Zach　feel　good　too。
　　〃Can　I…how　do　we　both…〃
　　Without　breaking　rhythm；　Zach　shifted　so　that　his　hips　were　beside　Trevor's　head；　his　boner　within　easy　reach　of　Trevor's　mouth。　This　position　seemed　a　marvel　of　physics；　but　Trevor　grasped　its　advantages　immediately；　it　leaned　their　weight　into　each　other；　pressed　the　flat　planes　of　their　bodies　tightly　together；　and　stretched　their　throats　wide　open。　It　seemed　as　if　they　could　go　on　for　hours　this　way。　And　so　they　did；　until　their　exhausted　bodies　were　all　but　bound　together　by　a　moist　web　of　spit　and　sweat　and　semen。
　　Then　they　slept　again；　easy　sated　sleep　that　lasted　into　the　afternoon。　The　house　was　silent　around　them。　Their　dreams　were　set　only　to　the　soft　patter　of　rain　on　the　roof；　to　the　slow　even　rhythm　of　one　another's　breathing。
　　
　　　
　　　Chapter　Fourteen
　　
　　A　tourist　from　Atlanta　was　found　murdered　Tuesday　in　a　warehouse　used　to　store　Mardi　Gras　parade　floats。　Elizabeth　Linhardt；　36；　had　reportedly　been　mutilated　and　an　attempt　made　to　burn　her　corpse。　An　anonymous　source　stated　that　the　victim's　head　was　found　in　the　mouth　of　a　ten…foot　bust　of　Bacchus；　partially　chewed　。　。　。
　　
　　Travis　Rigaud　of　St。　Tammany　Parish　accidentally　shot　himself　while　cleaning　his　collection　of　handguns…five　different　times　with　five　different　guns；　twice　in　the　left　foot；　once　in　the　right　calf；　and　once　in　each　hand；　severing　two　fingers。　〃I　finally　sold　the　handguns；〃　said　Rigaud；　〃but　I　still　have　my　rifles　and　this　bad　luck　won't　keep　me　home　e　hunting　season；　even　if　I　should　miss　everything　by　a　mile；　no；　cherie　。　。　。〃
　　
　　A　man　was　pulled　over　by　state　troopers　near　Chalmette　with　148　poisonous　snakes　in　his　car　。。。
　　
　　Eddy　let　the　newspaper　slip　to　the　floor　and　draped　her　forearm　across　her　tired　eyes。　She　wore　only　a　pair　of　black　bikini　panties。　Her　armpits　were　dusted　with　the　fine　dark　hair　she'd　allowed　to　grow　since　she　quit　the　Pink　Diamond。　She　still　wore　small　silver　rings　in　her　nipples；　but　she　had　undipped　the　delicate　chain　that　usually　connected　them。　She　could　smell　the　sweat　on　her　skin；　a　faint　odor　of　lemons　and　musk；　and　thought　soon　she　might　get　up　and　take　a　shower。
　　After　the　cops　left；　she　had　gone　straight　to　the　bank；　then　scored　the　Tuesday　morning　and　afternoon　editions　of　the　Times…Picayune。　Now　she　was　lying　on　top　of　seven　thousand　dollars　reading　every　article　and　squib　and　photo　caption；　looking　for　more　clues　from　Zach。　Her　fingers　were　smudged　with　cheap　black　ink。　She　paid　special　attention　to　the　weird　news；　but　it　was　midsummer　in　New　Orleans　and　there　was　plenty　of　genuinely　strange　shit　going　on。
　　But　could　anyone　really　shoot　himself　five　times　with　five　different　guns？　Eddy　frowned。　It　didn't　seem　possible。
　　She　picked　up　the　paper　again　and　reread　the　article；　and　a　bell　went　off　in　her　head。　Zach's　mother's　maiden　name　had　been　something　Cajun。　She　was　pretty　sure　it　was　Rigaud。　The　other　fake　story　had　had　a　byline　of　Joseph　something…or…other。　Joseph　was　Zach's　father's　name。
　　Eddy　thought　these　obscure　references　to　the　people　who　had　spent　fourteen　years　abusing　him　strange；　sad；　and　slightly　perverse；　but　there　they　were。　And　this　improbable　item　had　his　scent　all　over　it；　from　the　gibe　at　trigger…happy　rednecks　to　the　corny　patois。　〃Even　if　I　should　miss　everything　by　a　mile；　no；　cherie？〃　What　the　fuck　was　that　supposed　to　mean？
　　No；　Cherie　。。。　N　。。。　C　。。。
　　She　got　up　and　pawed　through　the　books　Zach　and　the　Secret　Service　had　left；　but　of　course　there　was　no　road　atlas。　Either　Zach　had　never　had　one；　or　he'd　taken　it　himself；　or　They　had　snagged　it；　maybe　hoping　he'd　plotted　his　escape　route　in　yellow　highlighter。　She　should　have　gotten　a　map　of　North　Carolina　yesterday；　when　Zach's　first　clue　appeared　in　the　paper。
　　Eddy　pulled　on　a　pair　of　denim　cutoffs　and　selected　a　black　T…shirt　from　the　pile　Zach　had　left　behind。　An　artfully　torn　rag　printed　with　the　Bauhaus…like　logo　of　Midnight　Sun；　a　dreadful　Gothic　sextet　that　had　played　around　the　Quarter　clubs　last　year；　then　disappeared　into　whatever　void　was　reserved　for　truly　bad　bands。　She　couldn't　imagine　why　Zach　had　the　shirt；　unless　he　had　fucked　one　of　the　band　members。　Probably　he　had；　they'd　all　been　beautiful　and　stupid。
　　Those　faithful　old　twin　parasites；　anger　and　pain；　tried　to　worm　up　inside　her。　Eddy　pushed　them　back　down。　Never　mind　who　Zach　had　fucked。　She　had　put　up　with　it　and　called　herself　his　friend。　If　she　really　was　his　friend；　then　she　had　to　stay　several　steps　ahead　of　his　enemies；　or　try　anyway。
　　Outside；　the　daily　cloudburst　had　e　and　gone；　and　the　streets　were　still　steaming。　Trash　piles　at　the　back　doors　of　bars　and　restaurants　gave　off　a　melange　of　smells：　stale　beer；　rotting　vegetables；　fishbones　touched　with　grease　and　cayenne。　She　passed　a　bushel　basket　of　oyster　shells　still　slick　with　the　mollusks'　gluey　residue；　and　caught　a　whiff　of　the　salty　seawater　odor　that　always　made　her　wonder　for　an　instant　if　she　needed　a　bath。
　　I　was　going　to　shower　before　I　came　out；　Eddy　remembered。　I　probably　smell　a　little　like　old　oyster　shells　myself。　But　it　didn't　matter。　Nobody　was　going　to　get　close　enough　to　her　to　care；　and　she　had　more　important　business　to　worry　about。
　　A　few　blocks　up　Chartres　was　a　used…book　store　Eddy　and　Zach　had　often　frequented　together。　They　could　spend　hours　in　there；　enveloped　in　the　delicately　dusty；　dry；　alluring　scent　of　books；　poring　over　leather…bound　volumes　with　gilt…edged　pages；　stacks　of　ancient　magazines；　battered　paperbacks　whose　corners　were　rounded　and　softened　with　age。　The　proprietor；　an　old　Creole　lady　who　smoked　a　fragrant　pipe　and　read　incessantly；　never　seemed　to　mind　having　them　natter　and　browse。
　　But　when　Eddy　asked　for　a　U。S。　atlas；　the　old　lady　shook　her　head。　〃Maps　from　the　1920s　would　be　useless　to　you；　no；　chere？　Try　the　Bookstar　by　Jax　Brewery　or　one　of　the　chains　up　on　Canal。〃
　　〃Okay；　I　guess　I　will。〃
　　Eddy　turned　to　go；　but　the　old　lady　must　have　seen　some　fleeting　sadness　in　her　face；　for　she　put　a　wrinkled　hand　on　Eddy's　arm　and　stopped　her。　The　skin　of　her　palm　was　cool　and　faintly　silken；　and　three　gaudy　rings　sparkled　on　her　gnarled　fingers。　〃Where　is　that　handsome　young　man　you　e　in　with？〃
　　〃He's；　uh　。　。　。〃　Eddy　stared　at　the　old　lady's　hands；　at　the　stacks　of　books　on　the　counter。　〃He　had　to　leave　town。〃
　　〃Love　trouble？〃
　　〃Law　trouble。〃
　　〃Ahhh。〃　The　old　lady　nodded　sadly。　〃For　him；　burn　a　green　candle　and　a　yellow　one。　Are　you　in　trouble　too？〃
　　〃Maybe。〃
　　〃For　you；　take　an　egg　and　。　。　。　Have　you　been　questioned　by　a　policeman？〃
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃How　many？〃
　　〃Well　。　。　。〃　Eddy　tried　to　tally　broad　blue　backs　and　sharp　gray　suits　in　her　head。　〃Just　one；〃　she　said；　reasoning　that　Agent　Cover　was　the　only　cop　who　had　really　questioned　her。
　　〃Write　his　name　on　an　egg；〃　the　old　lady　advised　her；　〃and　throw　the　egg　up　on　your　roof。　Make　sure　it　breaks。　The　police　will　not　return。〃
　　〃Okay；〃　said　Eddy；　genuinely　grateful。　She　needed　any　edge　she　could　get。　〃Thank　you。　I　will。〃
　　〃Mais　non。　The　poor　boy。　He　is　so　beautiful；　so　full　of　the　spirit　of　life。〃
　　〃Yes；〃　Eddy　agreed。　〃That　he　is。〃
　　〃But　always　there　will　be　some　sort　of　trouble　for　him；　I　think。　There　is　a　Creole　saying　。。。　he　has　le　coeur　me　un　artichaud。〃
　　Eddy　fumbled　for　her　high　school　French。　〃A　heart　like　an　artichoke？〃
　　〃Oui。　He　has　a　leaf　for　everyone；　but　makes　a　meal　for　no　one。〃
　　
　　After　a　hot　exhaust…choked　walk　up　Peter　Street　to　the　bookstore；　Eddy　cut　back　through　the　shady；　humid　side　streets　of　the　Quarter；　stopping　at　a　corner　market　to　buy　a　green　candle；　a　yellow　candle；　and　a　carton　of　eggs。　Back　home；　she　locked　the　door　behind　her　and　spread　out　her　new　book　of　maps　on　the　bed。
　　She　found　the　state　of　North　Carolina　and　began　scanning　it　closely；　paying　special　attention　to　the　small　towns　just　off　the　main　roads；　noting　odd　names。　Here　were　places　called　Pumpkin　Center；　Climax　。　。　。　Deep　Gap；　Blowing　Rock；　Bat　Cave　。　。　。　Silk　Hope；　Fuquay…Varina　。　。　。　M