ROBIN1 SAID, "First the daughter, now the mother?"
We were on the big couch in the living room. She was sitting at the far end, just out of reach, still wearing her work overalls2 and her red T-shirt. I'd come home determined3 to put everything aside, had ended up talking about all of it: Lauren's aborted4 therapy, Phil Harnsberger's party, Mi-chelle, Shawna, Jane Abbot, Mel Abbot's senescent terror.
Death kills confidentiality5.
"You're making it sound like a confession," she said.
"Whose?"
"Yours. The whole sordid6 tale. As if you've done something wrong. As if you're a main player in all of it and not just an extra." She looked away. "It's almost as if she's seduced7 you—Lauren. Not sexually—you know what I mean. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Seduction's how she made a living."
"I don't see that at all."
She got up, went into the kitchen, returned with two bottles of water, and handed me one. Sitting just as far.
"What's wrong?" I said.
"You saw this girl, what—twice, ten years ago?—yet you've convinced yourself that you're obligated to clarify every detail of her life. People like that don't lend themselves to solutions. For them it's always problems."
"People like that."
"Outcasts, troubled souls—patients, call them what you will. Didn't you tell me one thing you had to learn so as not to become a toxic8 sponge was how to let go?"
"It's not a matter of letting go—"
"What, then, Alex?" Her voice was low, but there was no mistaking the edge.
"Is there anything else that's bothering you?" I said.
"That," she said, "was very shrinky."
"Sorry—"
"Your mind's a fine piece of machinery9, Alex. I've never encountered anything like it. You're like a precisely10 tuned11 watch, always ticking— relentless12. But sometimes I think you use what God gave you to dig ditches. Lowering yourself. . . these people ..."
I reached for her, and she allowed me to touch her fingertips. But she exerted no stretch that would have allowed me to hold her.
"The thing is," she said, "you get yourself on a track and you just keep running. People around this girl tend to die, Alex, and you haven't even considered the possibility that you might be in danger."
"The people who've died knew her well—"
She sighed and got up. "Listen, I've got work to catch up on—catch you later."
"What about dinner?"
"Not hungry."
"You are wot happy with me."
"On the contrary," she said. "I'm very happy with you. With us. That's why I'd like us both to keep breathing for a while."
"There's no danger. I wouldn't do that to you again."
"To me? Why don't you start thinking of yourself? Check out your own boundaries—what you'll allow in and what you won't."
She bent13 and kissed my forehead. "I don't mean to be cruel, baby, but I'm weary of all this surmising14 and ugliness. You did what you could. Keep telling yourself that."
I spent the night alone, listening to music but ingesting no harmony, trying to read—anything but psychology—waiting for Robin to come back in the house. By eleven she hadn't, and I went to bed—early for me—and woke at 4:30 A.M., fighting the urge to bolt, exhausted15 yetcharged, using every relaxation16 trick in my repertoire17 to fall back asleep. I endured the tension for two more hours until Robin's eyes opened and I pretended to be ready to greet the day.
She smiled at me, tousled my hair, showered alone but made coffee for both of us, and sat down with the first section of the paper. If Jane Abbot's murder had made the edition, she didn't say. I took the Metro18 pages. Nothing there.
By eight she'd headed back to the studio and I was running up in the hills, harder than usual, punishing my joints19, trying to sweat off adrenaline. I'd promised myself to avoid the paper, but when I got back I thumbed quickly and found the summary of Jane Abbot's death on page 25. Worded nearly exactly as I'd predicted: senile husband, shocked neighbors, domestic tragedy, investigation21 pending22.
I finished up some court reports—a couple of personal injury cases where kids had experienced psychological sequelae and a custody23 battle with wealthy protagonists24 that might never end unless the principals died. Printing, signing, sealing, and addressing my findings to various judges, I reviewed my ledger25 books and tried to figure out if I'd owe taxes in April. By eleven I still hadn't figured it out. By eleven-thirty Robin bopped in, Spike26 in tow, and informed me she had to deliver two repaired D'Angelico archtops to the Los Feliz home of a movie star who was considering playing Elvis in an upcoming flick27.
"Elvis never played D'Angelicos," I said.
"That should be the worst of it. This guy's got a tin ear." A peck on the cheek—hard, maybe dismissive—and she was off.
By noon I was jumping out of my skin.
At twelve-eighteen I gave up and drove away.
West. Toward Santa Monica. The ocean. Figuring I'd just cruise by Ben Bugger's high-rise, then take a nice, relaxed drive north on Ocean Front, down the ramp28 to Pacific Coast Highway.
Malibu. Day at the beach. Nothing to do with Lauren, because Lauren had left no clues in Malibu, and why should I avoid an entire coastline?
I could be as Californian as anyone.
But when I passed the building, Dugger was standing29 out in front, and I reduced my speed to a crawl. Standing alone. Checking his watch. Looking rumpled30 and tense in a tan corduroy sport coat, white shirt, gray slacks. Flicking31 his wrist again. Glancing at the ramp of the underground parking garage.
Circling the block, I returned, cruising as slowly as I could without drawing the ire of other motorists. That left me mere32 seconds to stare, but it was enough to catch a glimpse of a green-jacketed figure— the diminutive33 Gerald—pulling up in Bugger's old white Volvo, getting out, saluting34, opening the door for Bugger.
Bugger gave him a tip and got in.
I drove fifty feet, veered35 to the curb36, parked in front of a hydrant, waited until the Volvo chugged by. Allowing three cars to get between us, I began the tail, knowing this time I couldn't risk discovery. Figuring I could pull it off. No reason for him to suspect.
He turned right onto Wilshire, headed east to Lincoln, picked up the 10 east freeway and transferred to the 405 south. The route to Newport Beach. Probably just checking out the office; soon the Seville and I would be several dozen miles older with nothing to show.
It beat sitting around the house working at mellow37.
But instead of continuing to Orange County, he exited at Century Boulevard and continued west.
LAX signs all over. Flying somewhere? I hadn't seen luggage, but perhaps the car was already packed.
He headed into the airport. Maintaining the three-car shield, I stayed with him as he entered a parking lot opposite Terminal 4. Several airlines shared the lot, most prominently American. The driver in front of me had trouble figuring out how to take the ticket from the machine, and by the time I got inside the Volvo was nowhere in sight.
No parking spaces on ground level, and I took the ramp down, hoping Bugger had done the same. Sure enough, I spotted38 the Volvo's square back just as Bugger nosed into a corner space between two SUVs. He got out and alarm-locked the car, carried no luggage as he headed for the elevators. I chanced parking the Seville in an illegal space and hurried after him.
I hid behind a concrete pylon39 as he stepped into the lift. Ran over in time to read the illuminated40 numbers. Two flights up. The footbridge to American Airlines. Vaulting41 up the stairs, I cracked the stairwell door andsaw him lope past. But he didn't take the right turn toward the escalator that led down to the ticket gates. Continuing straight toward the army of phony nuns42 and preachers hawking43 for nonexistent charities, he dropped a coin in a cup and walked hurriedly to the metal detectors44.
Long queue of travelers at the single device in service and one sleepy-looking security attendant, so no problem putting space between us there. I watched Dugger place his wallet and keys in a plastic dish and keep his eyes on them as he sailed through. But the two people in front of me set off the machine, and I was forced to cool my heels as Dugger disappeared around a bend.
Finally, I got through and walked briskly through hordes45 of travelers and loved ones, flight attendants and pilots. No sign of Dugger. During the moments I'd lost sight of him he could've gone anywhere—the men's room, a shop, any of the gates.
I strolled up the corridor trying to look casual, searching for a flash of tan jacket. Then I came to an elevator that led to the private lounge—the Admirals Club. Members Only. A woman sat behind a counter to the right, busy at her computer.
Dugger was a rich kid—why not? Affluence46 could also explain no luggage: He might have turnkey access to hideouts in Aspen, the Hamptons, Jackson Hole, Santa Fe.
As I approached the elevator the woman behind the counter smiled. "May I please see your membership card, sir?"
I smiled back and walked away. The elevator was in open view of the terminal's main artery47. If Dugger was in there, I had no way to observe his comings and goings without being spotted myself. . . . No, there he was, twenty feet in front of me, stepping out of a men's room.
I ducked behind an automated48 insurance machine and pretended to estimate actuarial odds49 as Dugger whipped out a handkerchief and blew his nose. A nice, heavy rush of newly arrived travelers added further cover. Dugger stashed50 the hankie and consulted his watch again. Paused at a bank of TV monitors set into the wall, resumed walking. Checking arrivals.
Not going anywhere. Meeting someone.
I stayed behind Dugger as he entered the main reception area—a wide, circular, noisy space around which the big-bodied jets docked. Hebought a pretzel at a kiosk, took a nibble51, frowned, tossed what was left into a trash basket.
Yet another consultation52 of his watch.
Nervous.
A newsstand-sourdough bread outlet53 occupied the center of the terminal, and I stationed myself at the paperback54 rack, pulled out a Stephen King, and stuck my nose between the covers. I had a good clear view of Dugger as he made his way to Gate 49A, walked up to the glass wall that offered a view of the landing strip, and peered through. A big, fat 767 sat in the bay.
He walked over to the desk, asked the ground clerk something, remained expressionless as she nodded. Plenty of empty seats in the arrival lounge, but he stayed on his feet. Paid further homage55 to his watch. Took another gander at the plane.
Very nervous.
I was too far away to read the flight information at 49A. Placing the book back on the rack, I edged closer. The flight numbers remained blurry56, but I was able to make out "New York."
Dugger remained near the glass wall for a while before pacing some more. Tugging57 at his collar. Rubbing the crown of his scalp where the hair had deserted58 it. When the door to 49A finally opened, he gave a small start and hurried forward.
He edged to the front of the greeting crowd, standing with three uniformed livery drivers holding signs and a young, shapely woman rocking two-year-old twins in a dual59 stroller.
The limo drivers' clients emerged first—a white-haired couple, a bespectacled black giant in a five-button cream-colored suit, and a bedraggled, sallow, unshaven wraith60 in his twenties, wearing dark shades and a food-stained T-shirt, whom I recognized as an actor on a cheesy TV comedy.
Thickset, swarthy man in his mid-forties, wearing a well-cut black suit and glossy62 black silk shirt, buttoned to the neck. Black hair in a dense63, dark crew cut. Beetle64 brows, simian65 hairline—only inches from the shelf of his brow.
Not tall—five-eight or nine—but at least one ninety, maybe more. A dense, cubic mixture of muscle and fat. His brown neck bulged66 over the collar of the silk shirt. Suggestions of upper-body bulk and massive strength were enhanced by good tailoring. Flat, prizefighter's nose. Huge hands. Squinty67 eyes, thin lips.
He toted a single piece of carry-on: a sleek68 black-leather bag that Dug-ger offered to take.
Black Suit refused, scarcely nodded at Dugger. Barely touched Dugger's hand as they shook. No smiles exchanged, just a curt69 nod from Black Suit and the two of them were off, Black Suit running a palm over his bristly head.
Dugger hurried to keep pace as the stocky man pressed toward the GROUND TRANSPORTATION/BAGGAGE CLAIM sign. Then Black Suit pointed70 to the newsstand. Looked right in my direction. Said something. Changed direction and headed toward me.
How could he have seen me— No, there was no alarm in his eyes, just that same solid . . . flatness.
I backed away just in time to find an observation point behind a support column as the two of them reached the newsstand. They didn't enter, remained near the register—in front of the candy rack, where Black Suit stopped and considered chewing gum options. Lifting packs, reading ingredients. Finally, he settled on a double-decker Juicy Fruit, popped two sticks in his mouth, pocketed the wrappers, chewed energetically as Dugger paid the cashier.
The two of them exited the reception hall.
Black Suit's luggage was among the first to bounce down the ramp onto the carousel71. A pair of midsized valises in that same expensive-looking ebony leather. Probably calfskin. First Class tags. Once again Black Suit rebuffed Dugger's attempt to tote, swinging the strap72 of the carry-on over his shoulder and hefting a suitcase in each hand with no apparent strain. I'd hovered73 at the neighboring carousel, well concealed74 among a group of arrivals from Denver. Keeping Dugger and Black Suit in steady view—trying, without success, to read their lips.
Very little conversation anyway. Mostly one-sided: Dugger made an occasional comment while Black Suit chomped75 his gum and played Sphinx.
I stuck with them on their rapid march to the parking lot, was two minutes behind the Volvo as it left the airport. Back on the 405 freeway. North. Return to L.A.
This time Dugger took the Wilshire west exit and drove into Brent-wood, and I assumed he'd be heading for his L.A. office—soon to be the exclusive headquarters for his alleged76 consulting group.
But once again he proved me wrong, passing the black-and-white office building and continuing into Santa Monica. Back to the Ocean Front high-rise? Then why hadn't he switched to the 10 west? No, he was swinging a quick right onto Nineteenth Street.
I turned too, in time to see him hook another right.
Nosing into an alley77 that fed into a parking lot behind several storefronts. Stationing the Volvo in an empty slot behind a rear door.
Red, white, and green sign: BROOKLYN PIZZA GUYS. Plastic pie above the lettering.
I stopped, backed up to the mouth of the alley, the Seville's grille barely extending past a drive-up dry cleaners, just close enough to see the white car.
Dugger stepped out of the Volvo, looked at his watch yet again. Black Suit was more relaxed than he'd been at the airport, swinging his legs out with unexpected grace, looking up at the sky, stretching, yawning. Still chewing like mad.
Dugger made for the door to the restaurant, but Black Suit just stood there, and Dugger stopped.
The thickset man squeezed his eyes into slits78. Scratched his head. Buttoned his suit jacket and rolled his neck. Working out kinks after the cross-country flight. But other than this gesture showing no signs of discomfort79. No anxiety, either, on his broad, brown mask of a face. Mr. Tough Guy.
He said something to Dugger, who returned to the car and produced a white tissue. Black Suit extricated80 his gum, wrapped it in the paper, placed the paper in his pocket. Then he nodded, waited as Dugger held open Brooklyn Pizza Guys' back door and passed through with an imperial air.
Gourmet81 lunch for a goombah? The guy had Brooklyn all over him.
The way she was hog-tied and head-shot tells me this was all business.
Central casting goombah. I was willing to bet the pizza joint20 sported checked tablecloths82 and straw-wrapped Chianti bottles hanging from the ceiling. Sometimes people defy stereotypes83. Mostly, they lack imagination.
Goombah traveling first-class with expensive luggage.
High-priced specialist. A guy who lived well when a well-heeled client was paying the bills.
I drove up the alley, exited at Twentieth Street, drove to the drugstore where Bugger had bought goodies for the church-school kids, and bought a cheap camera. The wonders of technology—for a few bucks84 you could get one with a zoom85.
Then back to Nineteenth, where I parked on the street and returned on foot to Brooklyn Pizza Guys' alley entrance. Stationed myself behind a dumpster and hoped no one would spot me. I was lucky. The neighboring businesses were a hearing aid store and an employment agency, and neither seemed to be meriting any rear-entrance traffic. But the dumpster reeked86 of rotten produce, and it was thirty-three smelly minutes before Bugger and Black Suit reemerged.
The restaurant's air conditioner chugged away, more than loud enough to cover the sound of my click click click.
Nice, clear medium shot of the two of them, side by side.
Close-up of Bugger, biting his lip.
Then one of Black Suit's impassive face and flat, dark eyes.
I kept the camera going as they made their way back to the Volvo, filling the roll with side- and rearviews. Caught them walking in step. No amiability87. All business.
Bugger backed the Volvo diagonally across the alley and aimed it west. I gave him a two-minute lead before starting my own engine.
收听单词发音 |
1
robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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aborted
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| adj.流产的，失败的v.（使）流产( abort的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）（某事物）中止；（因故障等而）（使）（飞机、宇宙飞船、导弹等）中断飞行；（使）（飞行任务等）中途失败 | |
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confidentiality
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| n.秘而不宣，保密 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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toxic
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| adj.有毒的，因中毒引起的 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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surmising
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的现在分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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repertoire
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| n.(准备好演出的)节目，保留剧目；(计算机的)指令表，指令系统， <美>(某个人的)全部技能；清单，指令表 | |
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metro
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| n.地铁；adj.大都市的；(METRO)麦德隆(财富500强公司之一总部所在地德国，主要经营零售) | |
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joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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protagonists
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| n.（戏剧的）主角( protagonist的名词复数 )；（故事的）主人公；现实事件（尤指冲突和争端的）主要参与者；领导者 | |
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ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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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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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flicking
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的现在分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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pylon
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| n.高压电线架，桥塔 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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vaulting
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| n.（天花板或屋顶的）拱形结构 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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hawking
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| 利用鹰行猎 | |
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detectors
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| 探测器( detector的名词复数 ) | |
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hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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artery
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| n.干线，要道；动脉 | |
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automated
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| a.自动化的 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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50
stashed
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| v.贮藏( stash的过去式和过去分词 )；隐藏；藏匿；藏起 | |
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nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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52
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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paperback
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| n.平装本，简装本 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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blurry
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| adj.模糊的；污脏的，污斑的 | |
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tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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dual
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| adj.双的；二重的，二元的 | |
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wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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simian
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| adj.似猿猴的；n.类人猿，猴 | |
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bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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squinty
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| 斜视眼的，斗鸡眼的 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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carousel
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| n.旋转式行李输送带 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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chomped
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| v.切齿，格格地咬牙，咬响牙齿( chomp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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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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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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extricated
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| v.使摆脱困难，脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gourmet
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| n.食物品尝家；adj.出于美食家之手的 | |
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tablecloths
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| n.桌布，台布( tablecloth的名词复数 ) | |
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stereotypes
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| n.老套，模式化的见解，有老一套固定想法的人( stereotype的名词复数 )v.把…模式化，使成陈规( stereotype的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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zoom
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| n.急速上升；v.突然扩大，急速上升 | |
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reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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