MILO QUESTIONED HER a bit longer, honing in on Lauren's finances, any jobs she might've worked between seventeen and twenty-five, any business acquaintances.
"Modeling," said Jane. "That's the only work I know about."
"Fashion modeling."
Nod.
"How'd she get into that, ma'am?"
"I guess she just. . . applied1 and got work. She's—was a beautiful girl."
"Did she ever mention an agent? Someone who got her work?"
Jane shook her head. She looked miserable2. I've seen the same thing happen to other surviving parents. The pain of ignorance, realizing they'd raised strangers. "She paid her own way, Detective, and that's more than you can say for a lot of kids."
She unlaced her hands, glanced toward the elevator. "I don't like it when he gets too quiet. As is, I barely sleep—always worried about something happening to him." Sickly smile. "This is a bad dream, right? I'll wake up and find out you were never here."
She sprang up, ran to the elevator. We saw ourselves out, trudged3 back to the Seville. From somewhere in the hills, an owl4 hooted5. Plenty of owls6 in L.A. They eat rats.
Milo looked back at the house. "So she knows nothing. Think it's true?"
"Hard to say. When you asked her about Lauren's travel, her eyes got jumpy. Also, when she began talking about Lauren's modeling. So maybe she knows—or suspects—about how Lauren really paid the rent."
"Something else," he said. "She was quick to tell us about her prenup with Mel. But even if she did marry him for the loot, I can't see what that has to do with Lauren. Still, I think I'll follow the money trail—Lauren's finances. This one smells [ike money."
"Sex and money," I said.
"Is there a difference?"
I got behind the wheel and turned the key. The dash clock said 1:14 A.M. "Too late for Lyle in Reseda?"
He stretched the seat belt over his paunch. "Nah, never too late for fun."
I drove back to Van Nuys Boulevard, turned right and picked up the 101 west at Riverside. The freeway had nearly emptied, and the exits before the Reseda Boulevard off-ramp zipped by like snapshots.
As I got off Milo said, "Daddy and Mommy live pretty close. Wonder if they had any contact."
"Mommy says no."
"So near and yet so far—nice metaphor8 for alienation9, huh? Not that I'm in any mood for that kind of crap."
Lyle Teague's street was a scruffy10, treeless stretch, south of Roscoe, smelling of infertile11 dirt and auto12 paint. Apartments that looked as if they'd been put up over the weekend mingled13 uneasily with charmless single-family boxes. Old pickups and cars that had rolled off the assembly line without much self-esteem crowded curbs15 and front lawns. Crushed beer cans and discarded fast-food containers clumped17 atop storm gutters18. My slow cruise brought forth19 a chorus of canine20 outrage21. Dogs that sounded eager to bite.
The Teague residence squatted22 on a third-acre table of what looked to be swept dirt. Eight-foot chain link gave the property a prison-yard feeling. Something in common with his ex-wife: They both liked being boxed off.
But this house was dark, no outdoor lighting23. Milo used his penlight to sweep the property. The narrow beam made it a lengthy24 exercise, alighting on windows and doors, lingering long enough to arouse suspicion,but neither that nor the continuing hound concerto25 brought anyone out to check.
The flashlight continued to roam, found a GUARD DOG ON DUTY sign, but no animal materialized to back up the warning. A chain heavy enough to moor26 a yacht tied the gate to the fence. A fist-sized padlock completed the welcome. The house was a basic box with a face as flat as Spike's but none of my pooch's personality. Pale stucco on top, dark wood siding below. A few feet away sat a prefab carport. A long-bed truck with grossly oversized tires and chromium pipes rested in front of the opening. Too tall to fit inside.
"No squawk box, no bell," said Milo, scrutinizing28 the gate.
"Different tax bracket than Jane's."
"Could make a fellow irritable29." He rattled30 the chain, called out, "Hello?" got no response, pulled out his cell phone, dialed, waited. Five rings, then a voice on the other end barked loud. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone was clear.
"Mr. Teague— Sir, please don't hang up— This is Detective Sturgis of the Los Angeles Police Force. . . . Yes, sir, it's for real, it's about your daughter . . . Lauren. . . . Yes, sir, I'm afraid I am. . . . Sir, please don't hang up— This isn't a prank31. . . . Please come outside, we're right in front of your house. . . . Yes, sir, at the gate— Please, sir. Thank you, sir."
He pocketed the phone. "Woke him up and he's not pleased."
We waited. Two minutes, three, five. Milo muttered, "Tobacco Road," checked his watch.
Still no lights on in the little house. Finally, the door opened and I saw the outline of a figure standing32 in the opening.
Milo called out, "Mr. Teague? We're over here."
No answer. Twenty seconds passed. Then: "Yeah, I see you." Gravel33 voice. Thicker than I remembered, but I didn't remember much about Lyle Teague. "Whyn't you show some I.D.?"
Milo flashed the badge and waved it. The skimpy moon provided little help, and I wondered what Teague could see from this far.
"Do it again."
Milo's black brows rose. "Yes, sir." Another wave.
"How do I know it's not a Tijuana special?"
"Department's not that hard up, sir," said Milo, forcing himself to keep his voice light. Teague took a few steps closer. Silent steps. Bare feet, I could see them now. Saw the barrel of his bare chest. Wearing nothing but shorts. One hand tented his eyes, the other remained pinioned34 to his side. "I've got a shotgun, here, so if you're not who you claim to be, this is fair warning. If you are, don't lose your cool, I'm just protecting myself."
Before the speech was complete, Milo had stepped in front of me. His hand was under his jacket, and his neck was taut35. "Put the shotgun down, sir. Go back inside your house, phone the West L.A Division at a number I'm going to give you, and check me out: Milo Sturgis, Detective Three, Homicide." He recited his badge number, then the station's exchange.
Teague's shotgun arm flexed36, but the weapon remained sheathed37 in darkness.
Milo said, "Mr. Teague, put the shotgun down, now. We don't want any accidents."
"Homicide." Teague sounded uncertain.
"That's right, sir."
"You're saying . . . This is about Lauren? You're saying she . . . ?"
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Teague."
"Shit. What the hell happened*."
"We need to sit down and talk, sir. Please put down the shotgun."
Teague's gun arm remained pressed to his side. He stumbled closer, catching38 just enough moonlight to limn39 his flesh. But the light didn't reach above his shoulders, and he turned into a headless man: white torso, arms, legs, making their way toward us unsteadily.
"Fuck," whispered Milo, stepping back. "Put the gun down, sir. Now."
"Lauren ..." Teague stopped, spit, kneeled. Placed the shotgun on the ground, straightened, shot both arms up at the sky. Laughed and spit again. Close enough so I could hear the plink of saliva40 hitting dirt.
"Lauren— Lord, Lord, this is fucked."
He made his way over to the gate, head down, arms stiff and swinging. Reaching into a shorts pocket, he took a long time to produce a key, tried to spring the padlock, fumbled41 around the hole, cursed, began punching the chain link.
Milo said, "Let me help you with that, sir."
Teague ignored him and gave the lock another stab, with no more success. Breathing hard. I could smell his sweat, vinegary, overlaid with the rotted malt of too many beers. He pounded the fence again, cursed raggedly42. Getting a closer look at him sprang a memory latch43 in my head. Same face, but his features had coarsened and his eyes had regressed to piggish slits44. A clot45 of scar tissue weighed down on the right eye. Still bearded with a full head of long, wavy46 hair, but the strands47 were gray and drawn48 back in a ponytail that dangled49 over one beefy shoulder, and the once-barbered facial pelt50 was an unruly bramble.
As he attacked the fence his biceps bunched and his chest swelled52. Big, slablike muscles but slackened—drained of bulk, like goatskins emptied of wine.
"Give that to me," said Milo.
Teague ceased punching, stared at the lock, panted, tried once more to fit the key into the hole. His knuckles53 were bloody54, and wild hairs, pale and brittle55 as tungsten filament56, had come loose from the ponytail. The shotgun, lying in the dirt like a felled branch, might've made him feel younger, sharper.
Finally, he succeeded in springing the lock, ripped the chain free, and flung it behind him. It clattered57 in the dirt, and he yanked the gate open, holding his hands out defensively, letting us know he didn't want to be comforted.
"Inside," he said, hooking a thumb at his house. "Fuck if I'm going to let any of these bastards58 see it." Squinting59 at me, he stared, and I prepared myself for recognition. But he turned his back on both of us and began marching toward his front door.
We walked along with him.
Milo said, "By the bastards you mean the neighbors?"
"Neighbor troubles?" asked Milo.
"Why do you think I came out carrying? If the assholes were human, they'd be neighbors. They're fucking animals. Couple of months ago they poisoned my Rottweiler. Tossed in meat laced with antifreeze, the damn dog got kidney failure and started shitting green. Since the summer we've had three drive-bys. All those shitty apartments crammed61 with low life. Fucking wetbacks, cholos, gangbangers— I'm not prejudiced, hired plenty of them in my day, for the most part they worked their asses62 off. But that scum, over there?" His lower jaw63 shot out and beard hairs bris-tied. "I'm living in a war zone—this used to be a decent neighborhood."
The shotgun was in reach. Milo got to it first, emptied the weapon, pocketed the shells.
Teague laughed. "Don't worry, I'm not blowing anyone's head off. Yet." He stared at me again, looked puzzled, turned away.
"Yet," said Milo. "That's not too comforting, sir."
"It's not my goddamn job to comfort you." Teague stopped, placed his hands on his hips64, spit into the dirt, resumed walking. The shorts rode lower, and strands of white pubic hair curled above his waistline. I remembered the way he'd dressed to showcase his body. "Your job is to find the low-life motherfucker who killed my daughter and bust65 his fuckin' ass14."
"Agreed," said Milo. "Any suggestions in that regard?"
Teague halted again. "What're you getting at?"
"Any specific low-life motherfucker in mind?"
"Nah," said Teague. "I'm just talking logic66. . . . How'd they—What did they do to her?"
"She was shot, sir."
"Bastards. . . . Nah, I can't tell you a damn thing. Lauren never told me a damn thing." Wolfish grin. "See, we didn't relate. She thought I was a piece of shit and told me so whenever she had the opportunity."
We reached the house. The door was still open. Reaching in, Teague switched on a light. A bare bulb hung from the raw fir ceiling of a twelve -by-twelve living room paneled in rough knotty67 pine. Red linoleum68 floors, faded hooked rug, brown-and-black-plaid sofa, coffee table hosting a Budweiser six-pack and five empties. A green tweed La-Z-Boy faced a big-screen TV. Illegal cable converter on top. Very little space to walk. Two openings along the rear wall, one leading to a cramped69 kitchen, the other exposing a chunky corridor with two doors to the right. The smell of must and lager and salted nuts, but no clutter70. The carpet was old but clean, the linoleum rubbed dull. Different tax bracket.
Teague said, "You can sit if you want, I'm staying on my feet." Standing next to the recliner, he folded his arms across his chest. The scar tissue over his eye was the color of cheap margarine. A hairline scar ran from the corner of the socket71 down to his jaw. The right eye was filmy. Not inert72, but lazier than its mate. Milo and I remained standing. Teague looked us over, tilting73 his head so his left eye caught a full view of my face. "Do I know you?"
"Alex Delaware. Lauren was my patient—"
"The shrink!" His jaw shoveled74. "Oh, fuck—what are you doing here?"
Milo said, "Dr. Delaware's a police consultant76. In the case of your—"
One of the hallway doors opened and a woman's voice called out, "Lyle, everything okay?"
"Go back inside," Teague barked. The door shut quietly. "Consultant? What the hell does that mean? You're saying you know something about Lauren? She's been seeing you again?"
"No," I said. "Lauren went missing and your ex-wife called me because she'd heard I had police contacts—"
"Police contacts." Teague grabbed the bottom of his beard, twisted, let go. To Milo: "What Mthis bullshit?"
"Just what the doctor said. Now, I'd like to ask you—"
"Missing?" said Teague. "For how long?"
"Several days."
"From where?"
"Her apartment."
"Where's that? She never told me where she was bunking77 down."
"Hauser Street, in L.A."
"She used to live all over," said Teague. "The streets. After she ran away. She got wild—which any idiot could see coming."
"Where on the streets, sir?"
"Hell if I know. Jane used to call me up to go looking for her, I could never find her. Hauser . . . That where it happened?"
"She was found on the Westside," said Milo. "Back of a furniture store on Sepulveda. Someone shot her and left her body in an alley78."
Spitting out the details matter-of-fact, watching Teague's reaction.
Teague said, "West L.A. We used to live there, over near Rancho Park." He began to draw himself up. Gave up and slumped79. "This is shit. My life can't be this fucked up."
The door opened again, and the hallway light went on. A woman stepped out wearing a long blue Dodgers80 T-shirt and nothing else. Seeing us, she threw a protective hand over her belly81, ducked back inside, reappeared seconds later wearing acid-washed jeans under the same shirt."Lyle? Something the matter?"
"I said go inside."
The woman stared at us. "What's going on?" Bleary eyes, faint southern inflection. A good deal younger than Teague—maybe thirty, with long, limp, brown hair, grainy skin, wide hips, dimpled knees. Full face distorted by confusion. Well-proportioned but forgettable features. As a child she'd probably been adorable.
"Lyle?"
Teague swiveled fast and faced her. "They're the goddamn police. Lauren got herself murdered tonight."
The woman's hand slapped over her mouth. "Oh my God—Omigod!"
"Go back to bed."
"Omigod—"
Milo extended his hand. "Detective Sturgis, ma'am."
The woman blubbered, shivered, hugged herself. Took the hand. "Tish. Tish Teague—"
"Patricia," corrected her husband. "Keep it down. Don't wake up the kids."
"The kids," said Tish Teague, dully. "You don't need them, do you?"
"Oh, Jesus," said Teague. "Why the hell would he need them". Get back in and go to sleep. It doesn't concern you. You and Lauren had nothing, you can't do any good."
The young woman's lips trembled. "I'll be here if you need me, Lyle."
"Yeah, yeah—go, git."
"Nice to meet you," said Tish Teague.
"Bye, ma'am," said Milo.
Biting her lip, she fled.
"I left Lauren's mother for her," said Teague, laughing. "Met her on a construction job. She was this nineteen-year-old piece of ass, drove one of the roach coaches. Now we got two kids."
"How old are your children?" said Milo.
"Six and four."
"Girls, boys?"
"Two girls. When you called and said something happened to my daughter, I was thinking one of them. That's what confused me." He shook his head. "Lauren. Didn't see much of Lauren."
"When's the last time you did see her?"
"Long time," said Teague. "Real long time. She held it against me."
"Held what?"
"Everything. The divorce, bad luck—life. Anything shitty was my fault. She told me so. Called me up a few years ago and told me I was a selfish motherfucker who didn't deserve to live." Sick smile. "Because I didn't want to stick around with that cold thing called Jane." He hitched82 up his shorts. "Our marriage was crap from day one." To me: "That was the problem, that's what screwed Lauren up. Us. Jane and me. The whole thing—bringing Lauren to you—was a goddamn con7. My wife's idea. 'Cause she doesn't like to face reality. Like Lauren was gonna straighten out, living in our shitty environment. She—Jane—wasn't gonna be honest with you, she was just conning83 you, pal27. One big happy family. That's why I ended it. We were wasting your time and my money. Load of bullshit."
Hands on hips again. His good eye bore into mine. My silence made his neck tendons fan.
"Why's he have to be here?" he demanded of Milo.
"I want to solve your daughter's murder. Dr. Delaware's been helpful to us on a lot of cases. If it's a big deal, I can have him wait in the car. But I'd think you'd be interested in helping84 us get down to brass85 tacks86."
Teague's eyes brightened. "My daughter. Every time you say that I flash to Brittany and Shayla." To me: "You haven't changed much, you know? Got that young face—smooth. I remember your hands, man—real smooth. Nice easy life, huh?" Back to Milo: "Brass tacks, huh? Well, I can't give you any kind of tack51 at all. After the divorce, I didn't see Lauren for ... must be what? Four, five years. Then she drops in one night, tells me I'm a piece of shit, Merry Christmas."
"She visited on Christmas?"
"Deck the goddamn halls— Yeah, it was four years, Shayla'd been born a few months before—October. Lauren musta found out somehow, though I don't know how. 'Cause she came by, said she wanted to see the baby, she'd never seen Brittany and she was already two, she had a right to see her sisters. A right. She brought gifts for the girls. I guess cussing me out was her Christmas present to me."
Phil Harnsberger's party had taken place four years ago in November. The next day Lauren had come to my office, talked about her father remarrying. No mention of her half sisters, but soon after she'd come to meet them.
Moving around to the front of the La-Z-Boy, Teague sat down on the edge. The chair rocked, and he stilled the movement by bracing87 his feet. "Go ahead, sit, there's no fleas88."
We settled on the plaid couch.
"Four years ago," said Milo. "Did she visit again?"
"Not till a year ago," said Teague. "Christmas again, same damn thing. She just showed up with presents. We were in the middle of putting up the tree. Presents for the kids, not me and Patricia. She made that clear. Patricia never did a thing to her, so I don't know what she had against her, but she wouldn't give her the time of day, just blanked her out like she didn't exist. She brought armloads of shit—toys, candy, you name it. Walked right past me and Patricia and headed for the girls. I could've kicked her out, but what the hell, it was Christmas. The girls didn't know who the hell she was, but they loved those toys and candy. Patricia offered her a piece of pie, she said no, thanks, I went to get a beer, and when I came back, she was gone."
"Any other visits?"
"No—wait, yeah. Once more, a few months after . . . Easter. Same thing, toys, crapola for the kids. These huge chocolate bunnies and some kids' dresses from an expensive place in Beverly Hills—some French shit."
"No contact since last Easter?"
"Nope." Teague scowled89. "Both times she turned the kids hyper, it took days to settle them down." Looking to me for confirmation90.
I said, "Overstimulation."
His good eye winked91. "Hey, that's a good one."
Milo said, "During those three visits, did she talk to you at all, tell you what she was up to?"
"Nah, just a fuck-you look, where are the kids, walk right past me, dump the gifts, good-bye."
"Nothing about her life? Not a single detail?"
"She bragged92, some," said Teague.
"About what?"
"College plans. Having money. She was dressed expensive, especiallythe last time—Easter. Fancy suit, fancy shoes. I had my theories about where she was getting money, but I kept my mouth shut. Why start up?"
"What kind of theories, sir?"
"You know."
Milo shrugged93, gave an innocent look.
Teague eyed him skeptically. "You've gotta know—the wild life."
"Illegal activities?"
"Whoring," said Teague. "She got in trouble for that a few years back. You don't know about it, huh?"
"The investigation94 has just begun."
"Well, start by checking your own goddamn records. Lauren got busted95 for hooking when she was nineteen. Reno, Nevada. Got her ass thrown in jail with no money on her, called me to make her bail96—no hide or hair of her for years, and she calls me. Then nothing for a couple of years till that Christmas, and all of a sudden she's a big shot and I'm shit."
Making no mention of the arrest as one of Gretchen Stengel's girls. The Westside Madam's name had hit the news big time, but none of her call girls had been exposed. Nor had the clients.
Milo scrawled97 in his pad. "So there was another contact before the Christmas visit."
"I wasn't counting phone calls," said Teague.
"Any other calls?"
"Nope."
"Did you send her bail money?"
"No way. I said forget it, you made your own bed, now sleep in it. She cussed me out and hung up."
Teague snorted. "She tried to bullshit me, told me the whole thing had been a mistake, she'd been working at one of the casinos, escorting rich guys, nothing illegal, the cops had 'overreacted.' She said she just got caught with no cash on her, all she needed to do was get home to her credit cards, she'd fix it if I'd float her the dough98. Credit cards—letting me know she was living the high life and here I was stuck, recuperating99."
"You were sick?" said Milo.
Teague touched the scar clump16. "I used to have my own electrical business, was doing a job out in Calabasas. Someone fucked up, I ended up duking it out with a mass of rebar. I was in a coma100 for a week, had dou-ble vision for months. I still get headaches." Glancing at the beer cans. "I sued, tied myself up for years, the lawyers took most of it. Then she tells me she's pregnant." Cocking his head toward the bedroom. "I was on painkillers101, halfway102 groggy103 most of the time, and Lauren calling out of nowhere, whining104 about the police overreacting."
Defiance105 spiked106 his voice. Even in death Lauren pushed his buttons.
"How'd she make her bail?" said Milo.
"How should I know?" Teague shook his head, picked something out of his beard. "I could've thrown her out the first Christmas, but I wanted to be decent. She might not've considered herself my daughter. But I was too mature to let that get to me."
"She said she didn't consider herself your daughter?"
Teague laughed. "That's just one of the things she unloaded on me. Big truckload of shit, and I just sat there, being cool. That's the way I always was with her—when she was a kid. She'd open up a big mouth and I'd just shine her on."
Long silence.
Teague said, "Lauren and I, we never— She was always a handful. From day one she always tried to make me feel . . . like an idiot. Everything I said and did was insensitive. And stupid." He placed his palm over his heart. "Lauren was— Sometimes there're people you just can't get along with, no matter what the hell you do. I was hoping maybe one day she'd grow up, understand, maybe she'd start being . . . polite."
He shook his head. Moisture in his eyes, for the first time. "Least I got two others. . . . They love me, those two. No shit outta their mouths— You really have no idea who did it?"
"Not yet," said Milo. "Why?"
"No why. I was just thinking it couldn't be any big mystery. Look for a low life, pal. 'Cause Lauren chose a low-life lifestyle. Fancy clothes and all. Last time she was here, bragging107 about enrolling108 in college, I had my doubts."
"About what?"
"About her being a student. I figured it was another one of her cons75." To me: "She lied since she got out of diapers—whether you saw it or not, that's the truth. When she was four, five years old she'd point to red, tell you it was blue, just about convince you. To me, she didn't look like a student, never seen a student dress like that, flash all that jewelry109."
"Expensive stuff," said Milo.
"To my eye, but what the hell do I know—I don't shop on Rodeo. Her mother liked all that crap too, used to lean hard on my checkbook. I had a good business back then, but who wants to blow it on that crap?" He pitched forward. Smiled. "She married an old guy. My ex. Senile old bag of shit. She's soaking him for his dough, waiting for him to croak— Did you tell her about Lauren yet?"
"Just came from her place, sir."
Teague's smile died. Suspicion slitted his eyes. "She probably told you I was an asshole."
"We didn't discuss you," said Milo. "Only Lauren. And by the way, Lauren was enrolled110 at the U."
"Yeah? Well, look where that got her." Teague sat back in the recliner. The footrest shot out, and he stretched his legs. The soles of his feet were black and callused. He breathed in, let the air out. Beneath his rib111 cage his belly swelled. "I know you think I'm an asshole. 'Cause I'm not faking out that everything was cool between me and Lauren. But at least I'm honest. Okay, so Lauren was in school. But that doesn't mean she wasn't still hanging around with low life. You won't hear that from my ex—she's living in a dreamworld, Lauren was some angel— How'd she take it?"
"Hard," said Milo. "Any contact between you and your ex?"
"Same as Lauren. Every so often, she used to call, throw it in my face."
"When was the last time?"
Teague thought. "Years ago." His smile was reborn. "It's not like she's gonna come visit the kids. That pisses her off—my having kids. She and I tried real hard to have a bunch and all we could squeeze out was Lauren. Clear to see it was her problem— Anyway, check out Lauren's lifestyle, that's my suggestion. She was living the life, riding high on the wave. But it wasn't for free."
"Few things are," said Milo.
"Wrong," said Teague. "Nothing is."
收听单词发音 |
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applied
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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owl
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hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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metaphor
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alienation
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scruffy
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infertile
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auto
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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curbs
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| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的第三人称单数 ) | |
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clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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clumped
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| adj.[医]成群的v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的过去式和过去分词 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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18
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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19
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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20
canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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21
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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22
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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23
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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24
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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25
concerto
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| n.协奏曲 | |
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26
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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27
pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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28
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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29
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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30
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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31
prank
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| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
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32
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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33
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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34
pinioned
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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36
flexed
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| adj.[医]曲折的，屈曲v.屈曲( flex的过去式和过去分词 )；弯曲；（为准备大干而）显示实力；摩拳擦掌 | |
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37
sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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38
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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39
limn
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| v.描画；描述 | |
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40
saliva
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| n.唾液，口水 | |
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41
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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42
raggedly
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| 破烂地，粗糙地 | |
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43
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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44
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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45
clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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46
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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47
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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49
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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50
pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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51
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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52
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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53
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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54
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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55
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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56
filament
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| n.细丝；长丝；灯丝 | |
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57
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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58
bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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59
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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60
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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61
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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62
asses
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| n. 驴，愚蠢的人，臀部 adv. (常用作后置)用于贬损或骂人 | |
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63
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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64
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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65
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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66
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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67
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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68
linoleum
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| n.油布，油毯 | |
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69
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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70
clutter
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| n.零乱，杂乱；vt.弄乱，把…弄得杂乱 | |
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71
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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72
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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73
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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74
shoveled
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| vt.铲，铲出（shovel的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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75
cons
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| n.欺骗，骗局( con的名词复数 )v.诈骗，哄骗( con的第三人称单数 ) | |
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76
consultant
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| n.顾问；会诊医师，专科医生 | |
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77
bunking
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| v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的现在分词 )；空话，废话 | |
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78
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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79
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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80
dodgers
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| n.躲闪者，欺瞒者( dodger的名词复数 ) | |
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81
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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82
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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83
conning
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| v.诈骗，哄骗( con的现在分词 )；指挥操舵( conn的现在分词 ) | |
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84
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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85
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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86
tacks
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| 大头钉( tack的名词复数 )； 平头钉； 航向； 方法 | |
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87
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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88
fleas
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| n.跳蚤( flea的名词复数 )；爱财如命；没好气地（拒绝某人的要求） | |
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89
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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91
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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92
bragged
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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94
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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95
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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96
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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97
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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99
recuperating
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| v.恢复（健康、体力等），复原( recuperate的现在分词 ) | |
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100
coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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101
painkillers
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| n.止痛药( painkiller的名词复数 ) | |
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102
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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103
groggy
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| adj.体弱的；不稳的 | |
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104
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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105
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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106
spiked
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| adj.有穗的；成锥形的；有尖顶的 | |
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107
bragging
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的现在分词 )；大话 | |
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108
enrolling
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| v.招收( enrol的现在分词 )；吸收；入学；加入；[亦作enrol]( enroll的现在分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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109
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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110
enrolled
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| adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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111
rib
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| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
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