The sign on the shrink's door says: 'Dr Goosens.' What a crack. Goosens. Whoever invented the Cold Light of Day sure went to fucken town on it, boy. On the ride over here I had a truckload of ideas about how to act crazy, maybe pull some Kicked Dog, some Spooked Deer and all, like Mom does. I even thought I could maybe drop a load in my pants or something, as a last resort. It's a slimy secret, I know it. I even loosened my asshole in case it came to that. But now, in the cold light of day, I just hope I flossed enough.
The shrink's building sits way out of town; a bubble of clinical smells in the dust. A receptionist with spiky2 teeth, and a voicebox made from bees trapped in tracing paper, sits behind a desk in the waiting room. She gives me the fucken shiver, but the jail guards don't seem to notice her at all. I have an urge to ask her name, but I don't. I can imagine her saying, 'Why, I'm Graunley Stelt,' or 'Achtung Beed,' or something way fucken bent3. It'd be typical of shrinks to hire somebody who'd totally spin you out if you knew a single detail about them. If you weren't edgy4 when you came in, you would be after you met the fucken receptionist.
'Bloop,' an intercom hoots5 behind her desk.
'Didn't you get my email?' asks a man.
'No, Doctor,' says the receptionist.
'Please monitor the systems, there's no point upgrading our technology if you don't monitor the systems. I emailed you three minutes ago for the next patient.'
'Yes, Doctor.' She taps at her keyboard, scowls6 at the monitor, then looks at me. 'The doctor will see you now.'
My Nikes chirp7 over black and green linoleum8, through a door, and into a room with supermarket lighting9. Two armchairs sit by a window; an ole stereo rests beside one of them, with a notebook computer on top. At the back of the room stands a hospital bunk10 on wheels, with a towel over it. And there's Dr Goosens; round, soft, butt11-heavy, and as smug as a Disney worm. He smiles sympathetically, and waves me to an armchair.
'Cindy, bring the client's file, please.'
Check my fucken face now. Cindy! It slays12 me. Now I'm just waiting for her to say, 'Groovy, Wayne,' and bounce through the door in a little tennis skirt or something. She doesn't though, not in the cold light of day. She trudges13 past in socks and sandals, and hands a file to Goosens. He thumbs through the pages and waits for her to leave the room.
'Vernon Gregory Little, how are you today?'
'Okay, I guess.' My Nikes tap each other.
'Alrighty. What can you tell me about why you're here?'
'The judge must think I'm crazy, or something.'
'And are you?' He gets ready to chuckle14, like it's obvious I ain't. It might help if the judge thought I was bananas, but looking at Ole Mother Goosens just makes me want to tell him how I really feel, which is that everybody backed me into a nasty corner with their crashy fucken powerdimes.
'I guess it ain't up to me to say,' I tell him. It doesn't seem enough though; he stares and waits for more. As I catch his eye, I feel the past wheeze16 up my throat in a raft of bitter words. 'See, first everybody dissed me because my buddy17 was Mexican, then because he was weird18, but I stood by him, I thought friendship was a sacred thing - then it all went to hell, and now I'm being punished for it, they're twisting every regular little fact to fit my guilt19 …'
Goosens raises a hand, and smiles gently. 'Alrighty, let's see what we can discover. Please continue to be candid20 - if you open yourself up to this process, in good faith, we won't have a problem at all. Now, tell me - how do you feel about what's happened?'
'Just wrecked21. Wrecked dead away. And now everybody's calling me the psycho, I know they are.'
'Why do you think they might be doing that?'
'They need a skate-goat, they want to hang somebody high.'
'A scapegoat22? You feel something intangible caused the tragedy?'
'Well, no, I mean - my friend Jesus ain't around, in person, to take any blame. He did all the shooting, I was just a witness, not even involved at all.' Goosens searches my face, and makes a note in his file.
'Alrighty. What can you tell me about your family life?'
'It's just regular.' Goosens holds his pen still, and looks at me. He knows he just found a major bug23 up my ass1.
'The file notes that you live with your mother. What can you tell me about that relationship?'
'Uh, it's just - regular.' The whole subject drags a major tumor24 out of my ass, don't fucken ask me why. It just lies there on the floor, throbbing25, glistening26 with gut-slime. Goosens even leans back in his chair, to avoid the heaving tang of my fucken family life.
'No brothers?' he asks, wisely steering27 east. 'No uncles, or - other male influences in your familial network?'
'Not really,' I say.
'But you had - friends …?' My eyes drop to the floor. He sits quiet for a moment, then reaches over to rest a hand on my leg. 'Believe me, Jesus touched me too - the whole affair touched me deeply. If you're able, tell me what happened that day.'
I try to dodge28 the spike29 of panic you get when you hear yourself fixing to bawl30. 'Things had already started when I got back.'
'Where had you been?' asks Goosens.
'I got held up, running an errand.'
'Vernon, you're not on trial here - please be specific.'
'I needed the bathroom on the way back from an errand Mr Nuckles sent me on.'
'The school bathroom?'
'No.'
'You took a leak outside school?' He leans his head over, as if the information might splat in his face.
'Uh - not a leak, actually.'
'You had a bowel31 movement, outside school? At the time of the tragedy?'
'Sometimes I can be kind of unpredictable.'
Silence fills the forty years Fate gives me to recognize the import of things. This would never happen to Van Damme. Heroes never shit. They only fuck and kill.
A shine comes to Goosens's eyes. 'You told the court this?'
'Hell no.'
He blinks and folds his arms. 'Forgive me, but - forensically32, doesn't a fresh stool, situated33 away from the scene of the crimes - automatically rule you out as a suspect? Fecal matter can be accurately35 dated, you know.'
'I guess that's right, huh?' You can tell Goosens is giving me extra service. He's only supposed to suck information for the court, but here he is, prepared to take a chance and give me a revelation along the way. He clamps his lips tight, to hit home the significance of it all. Then his eyes fall.
'I hear you say you're kind of - unpredictable?'
'It's no big deal,' I draw circles on the floor with a Nike.
'Is it a diagnosed condition - sphincter weakness, or suchlike?'
'Nah. Anyway, I almost don't get it anymore.'
Goosens runs his tongue over his upper lip. 'Alrighty, so tell me - do you like girls, Vernon?'
'Sure.'
'Can you name a girl you like?'
'Taylor Figueroa.'
He chews his lip, and makes a note in the file. 'Have you had physical contact with her?'
'Kind of.'
'What do you remember most about your contact with her?'
'Her smell, I guess.'
Goosens frowns into the file, and makes another entry. Then he sits back. 'Vernon - have you ever felt attraction towards another boy? Or a man?'
'No way.'
'Alrighty. Let's see what we can discover.'
He reaches for the stereo and presses 'Play'. A military drum beats out, softly at first, but growing in power, threatening, like a bear coming out of a cave, or a bear going into the cave, and you're in the fucken cave.
'Gustav Holst,' says Goosens. 'The Planets - Mars. This'll rouse some glory in a boy's soul.' He walks to the bed and smacks36 it with the flat of his hand. The powerdime takes a reckless shift.
'Get undressed for me, please, and come lie up here.'
'Un-dressed?'
'Sure - to finish the exam. We psychiatrists37 are medical doctors first, you know - don't confuse us with your everyday psychologists.'
He pulls on a pair of clear welding goggles38; light filters hot onto his cheeks. Folding my Calvin Kleins takes a while, in order to stop loose change falling from the pocket. Even though my loose change is in a plastic bag at the sheriff's office. Brass39 stomps40 black and twisted over the drums from the stereo as I climb onto the bed. Goosens points at my underwear.
'Off, please.'
A thought comes to me; it is that a breeze on the butt, in the presence of supermarket lighting, should only be felt by the dead. I'm a naked fucken animal. But even naked animals need bail41. Especially naked animals need it.
'On your stomach,' says Goosens. 'Spread your legs.'
'Ta-t-t-t, TA-TA-TA.' Musical hellfire accompanies the touch of two fingers on my back. They trace a line down my body, then turn into hands, and grab both cheeks of my ass.
'Relax,' he whispers, spreading my cheeks. 'Does this make you think of Taylor?'
'TA-TA-TA, TA-T-T-T!'
'Or - something else?' His breathing quickens with the march of his fingers, they trace a tightening42 circle around the rim34 of my hole. A line of violent cussing forms in my throat. The bail thought stops it.
'Doctor, this don't seem right,' I say. What a fuckhole, I swear. I should jam a table-leg through his fucken eye, make him grunt43 like a tied hog44. Jean-Claude would do it. James Bond would do it with a fucken cocktail45 in his hand. Me, I just squeak46 like a brownie. He takes no fucken notice anyway. A cool finger invades me as the music explodes to a climax47. I grunt like a tied hog.
'Al-righty, one for Jesus. Just relax, this next procedure won't hurt a bit - in fact, don't be embarrassed if you experience arousal.' He grabs a pair of steel salad tongs48, adjusts his goggles, and lowers his face to my ass.
'I don't fucken think so,' I quiver, spinning upright. Cobwebs of spit fly from my mouth. Goosens recoils49, forearms held up like a surgeon.
He slowly reaches for the towel on the bed, and wipes his middle finger. Huge gingery50 eyes stare through the goggles. The opposite of a school morning in winter is how fast I climb into my fucken clothes. I don't button my shirt, I don't tie my laces. I don't fucken look back.
'Think carefully, Vernon,' says Goosens. 'Think very carefully before jeopardizing51 your bail application.' He stops to sigh a moment, and shake his head. 'Remember there are only two kinds of people in your position: glorious, powerful boys, and prisoners.'
Music whips twisters behind me as I scramble52 out through the waiting room. Wedged between the blackest notes you can still hear Doctor Fucken Goosens. 'Okay - alrighty …'
I sit under a personal cloud in back of the jail van, like a sphinx, a sphinxter, to the beat of that rude orchestra music by Goosestep Holster. It does nothing to erase53 memories of the shrink, and his fucken ass-banditry. I try not to think what his report will say. I just watch the scenery pass by my window. Dead products dot the roadside on the way back to town: an abandoned shopping cart, a sofa skeleton. Under a tree sits a busted54 TV, empty of wacky antics. Pumpjacks poke55 dirty fingers into the landscape, but we drive past all of it, including the sky and the distance, ignorant of the fence wire that twangs a straight line to Mexico.
Mexico. Another coupon56 tacked57 onto the pile I'll redeem58 when I get some power in my fucken life. Look around this life and all you see is folks' coupons59 tacked everywhere, what they'll do if, what they'll do when. Warm anticipation60 for shit that ain't even going to happen.
'Kid,' says one of the guards, 'you ain't haulin your stalk back there, are ya?' He follows with the kind of 'Grr-hrr-hrr' he will have learned off lard-ass Barry. I swear these guys must share that one joke around, ole Barry must give fucken smut classes after work or something. Snatches of their talk filter back to me.
'Uh-huh, Vaine Gurie petitioned the county for a SWAT team.'
'Over the sheriff's head?'
'Uh-huh. Barry upgraded their in-surance same fuckin day.'
'He told you that?'
'Tuck says.'
'Tuck What's-his-name, at the morgue? What's he know about Barry's in-surance?'
'Tuck sells goddam in-surance. Dropped Amway to sell fuckin in-surance.'
'No shit.'
I sense a learning: that much dumber people than you end up in charge. Look at the way things are. I'm no fucken genius or anything, but these spazzos are in charge of my every twitch61. What I'm starting to think is maybe only the dumb are safe in this world, the ones who roam with the herd62, without thinking about every little thing. But see me? I have to think about every little fucken thing.
*
As I sit, then lay, then pace, then sit again in my cell, waiting for my next court appearance, time, being an agent of Fate, slows way the fuck down. Thursday eats Wednesday, and Jesus' last breath drags ten days into the past, towing Nuckles's silence behind it, as if he was never even there, like the truth was my shadow alone. To stretch things even further, Mom calls to say Lally has been contracted to shoot another report from Martirio. It's typical of where things are at with Fate, slowing time down all over the place, calling the weirdest63 fucken people Cindy. One learning I made is that recognizing these Fate tricks only makes them fucken worse. Even as I pass on to you these amazing life insights, I curse you with making them fucken worse. Because once you know about them, you fucken wait for them to happen.
The day of my court appearance is hot and soupy. I sense dogs across town, chilling under window-mounted air-conditioners, letting any ole cat pass by, and cats letting any ole rat pass by, and rats - probably too fucken lathered64 to even want to pass by. I'm the only one passing by, in fact, on my way to the classroom. I mean, courtroom.
'All-a rise.'
Court froths with sighs and the stench of hot clothes this Friday. Everybody stares at me. 'Oh Lord,' as Pam would say. Pam might come by later, but Mom can't make it. Faces disfigured with memories of black blood and gray skin dot the crowd. Kin15 of the fallen. Mr Lechuga stares death-rays at me, and he ain't even Max's real daddy. Lorna Speltz's mom is here, like a damp kind of turtle. I get waves of sadness, not for me but for them, all mangled65 and devastated66. I'd give anything for them to be vastated again.
Vaine is gone, her table is occupied by a shiny man wearing black and white. Judge Gurie catches his attention. 'Mr Gregson, I take it you're appearing for the State?'
'One hundred percent correct, ma'am - all the way to the district court.' Perky fucker.
The judge picks Goosens's file off her desk and waves it at the prosecutor67. 'I have a report on the defendant's state of mind.'
'We vigorously oppose bail, your honor.'
'On what grounds?' asks the judge.
The prosecutor fights a smile. 'In common parlay - the kid's stole more damn chain than he can swim with. We're afraid he'll go down with it, and we'll never see him again!' A chuckle runs through the court. It stops at the judge, who scowls at Goosens's file, then turns to Abdini. 'Any further submissions68 in respect of this application?'
Abdini stops fussing at his table and looks up. 'Is family boy, have many interest …'
'I know all that,' the judge flaps her hand, 'I mean anything new, like the - digestive condition mentioned in this report, for instance.'
'A-ha, the toilet …' says Abdini, mostly to himself.
'If your honor pleases,' says Gregson, 'we'd object to the court doing the defense's homework for them.'
'Very well. They clearly haven't been instructed, so I'll leave the clues at that.'
'Also, ma'am, we'd like to enter a statement from the witness, Marion Nuckles,' says Gregson.
The judge's eyebrows69 become airborne. Breathing dies in the room. 'I was told no statement could be taken until March next year!'
'It's a transcript70 of digital media taken at the crime scene, Judge. A reporter from CNN sourced it for us, in the public interest.' Motherfucker Lally flashes to mind. Makes you wonder which poor suck he's fucking over right now.
'Well that's very public-spirited of them. Is the defendant's alibi71 supported by the witness?' asks the judge.
'Not our brief, your honor. Our statement concerns the possible whereabouts of another firearm - I'm sure we all agree, that casts a serious light on the prisoner's bail application.'
Judge Gurie puts on her glasses, reaching for the document. She scans it, frowning, then lays it down and peers at the prosecutor. 'Counsel, the actual murder weapon was found at the outset. Are you saying you can link a second gun to these crimes?'
'Very possibly, ma'am.'
'Do you have that gun?'
'Not as such, but officers are investigating.'
The judge sighs. 'Well, it's obvious neither of you has seen the psychiatric report. In the absence of hard evidence, I'll be ruling on the basis of this assessment73.'
An itchy silence falls over the room, measured in tens of thousands of years. The crowd divides its attention between me and the bench, all the while juggling74 the decent, downtown skills that let them soak it up without looking like they're at a traffic accident and fucken enjoying it. They juggle75 those skills with their eyebrows.
Judge Gurie sits still for a moment, then surveys the court. It freezes. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I think it's fair to say we've had enough. We're fed up - outraged76! - at these continual damned breaches78 of our rightful peace.' Applause erupts; some asshole even whoops79 like a TV audience. You wait for the chant, 'Gu-rie! Gu-rie! Gu-rie!'
The judge pauses to straighten her collar. 'My decision today takes into account the feelings of the victims' families, as well as those of the wider community. I also acknowledge that, despite the defendant's stable, if not very affluent80 background, he is a standing81 candidate to stand trial as an accessory to these crimes.' The typist looks over at my corral, probably to boost the polish on her own dumb kids. None of them in jail today, no sirree. 'Vernon Gregory Little,' says the judge, 'in light of the disorder82 identified in this report, and taking into account submissions by both counsels - I am releasing you …'
'My babies, my poor dead babies,' squeals83 a lady at the back. Outrage77 spews through the room.
'Silence! Let me finish,' says the judge. 'Vernon Little, I am releasing you into the care of Dr Oliver Goosens, starting Monday, on an outpatient basis. Failure to comply with the doctor's schedule of treatment, in any way whatsoever84, will result in your further detention85. Do you understand?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
She stretches over the bench and lowers her voice. 'One more thing - if I were defending, I'd seriously consider expanding on this, ehm - bowel thing.'
'Thank you, ma'am.'
I'll be damned. I burrow86 through the mess of onlookers87 and float out of the courthouse into the sun, just like that. Reporters buzz around me like flies at a shit-roast. I'm full of feelings, but not the ones I dreamed of. Instead of true joy, I feel waves; the kind that make you look forward to the smell of laundry on a rainy Saturday, the type of drippy hormones88 that trick you into saying I Love You. Security they fucken call it. Watch out for that shit. Those waves erode89 your goddam bravery. I even get a wave of gratitude90 for the judge - go fucken figure. I mean, Judge Gurie's been good to me, but - expand on the bowel thing? - I don't fucken think so.
'How do we find your turds?' they'd ask. 'Why,' I'd say, 'my logs are over there, in the den72 behind the bushes - right there, next to the goddam gun y'all are looking for.' To be honest, the gun ain't such a big deal. The fingerprints91 on the gun are my fucken problem. Thinking about it brings a whole new set of waves. I decide to ignore them, for my own safety. You just can't afford waves when you have to be in Mexico by daybreak.
The Mercury sits with two doors open, dripping ants all over Gurie Street. Mrs Binney, the florist92, almost has to stop her brand-new Cadillac to get past. Mrs Binney doesn't wave today. She pretends not to see me. Instead she watches Abdini decoy some reporters on the steps, and floats right by with a fresh mess of tributes for the Lechugas' front porch.
'We happy we allow home to continue our young life,' says Abdini, like he's me, or we're fucken brothers or something. 'And we cantinue inbestigation into whappen that terryball day …'
I got me some learnings in court, I have to say. The way everybody acts, court is like watching TV-trailers; a shade of this movie, a bite of that show. The one where the kid gets cancer, and everybody speaks haltingly. The one where the rookie cop decides whether to be a bag-man for bribes93, or to blow his crusty partner's cover. I personally wouldn't recommend playing that one, though; everybody ends up being on the take, like even the mayor. And don't fucken ask what show I got stuck with. 'America's Dumbest Assholes' or something. 'Ally McBowel.'
The Mercury bitches under Pam's sandals. That's because she uses both pedals at once. 'No point having a brake pedal if your foot's a mile away on the other side of the car,' she'll tell you if you ever bring it up. I only brought it up once. 'Might as well throw the darned pedal out the door.' Camera people scatter94 as we lunge up Gurie Street. I see the TV pictures in my mind, the shot of my ole mutton head looking back from the Mercury.
'But, what kind of meals did you get?' asks Pam.
'Regular stuff.'
'But like, what? Like, pork 'n' beans? Did you get dessert?'
'Not really.'
'Oh Lord.'
She spins the car into the Barn drive-thru. One good thing about Pam's TV-movie; you know how the thing's going to end. That's the kind of life I want, the life we were fucken promised. A fuzzy ole show with some flashes of panty and a happy ending. One of those shows where the kid's baseball coach takes him camping, and teaches him self-respect, you've seen that show, with electric piano notes tinkling95 in the background, soft as ovaries hitting oatmeal. When you hear that piano it means somebody's hugging, or a woman is crumpling96 her lips with overwhelming joy, down by a lake. Boy, the life I could have with the right music behind me. Instead I watch Liberty Drive screen through the window, with Galveston playing in back. We pass the place where Max Lechuga sucked his last breath. He said some words, but you couldn't hear them. Heat comes to my eye, so I spark up a distraction97.
'Ma home?' I ask.
'Waiting on the fridge delivery,' says Pam.
'You're kidding.'
'Humor her, she's going through a lot. No harm in just waiting.'
'That'll be one long wait.'
Pam just sighs. 'You'll be sixteen in a few days. We won't let anything spoil your birthday.'
I cushion myself in this familiar ole cream; family, with all its flavors of smell. I've only been gone a week, but my ole routines seem like a past life. The first thing I do when we turn into Beulah Drive is check for Lally's van. I try to see past a knot of reporters in the road, but then the Seldome Motel's new minibus pulls up by the Lechugas' teddy farm. Strangers lean out, take pictures, bow their heads, then the van pulls away toward the mantis98 market. Lally's space under the willow99 is empty.
'Take these fries to your ma,' says Pam through a mouthful of drumstick.
'Not coming in?'
'I have pinball right now.' Playing pinball is healthy, according to Pam.
Reporters jostle me all the way to the front door. I slip inside, locking the door behind me, then just hang, soaking up the familiar whiff of ketchup100 and wood polish. All's quiet inside, except for the TV. I go to leave the fries on the breakfast bar, but just as I reach the kitchen, I hear a noise up the hallway. Like a sick dog. Then comes a voice.
'Wait - I'm sure I heard the door …'
It's Mom.
'God, unghh, ugh, Lalito, Lally - wait!'
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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spiky
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bent
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edgy
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hoots
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scowls
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chirp
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linoleum
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lighting
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bunk
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butt
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slays
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trudges
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chuckle
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kin
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wheeze
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buddy
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weird
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guilt
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candid
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wrecked
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tumor
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throbbing
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glistening
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steering
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spike
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| n.肠(尤指人肠)；内部，深处 | |
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32
forensically
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| adv.forensic（法庭的，法庭用的；法医的；公开辩论的，论争的）的变形 | |
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33
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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34
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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35
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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36
smacks
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| 掌掴（声）( smack的名词复数 )； 海洛因； （打的）一拳； 打巴掌 | |
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37
psychiatrists
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| n.精神病专家，精神病医生( psychiatrist的名词复数 ) | |
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38
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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39
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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40
stomps
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的第三人称单数 ) | |
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41
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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42
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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43
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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44
hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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45
cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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46
squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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47
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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48
tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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49
recoils
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| n.（尤指枪炮的）反冲，后坐力( recoil的名词复数 )v.畏缩( recoil的第三人称单数 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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50
gingery
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| adj.姜味的 | |
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51
jeopardizing
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| 危及，损害( jeopardize的现在分词 ) | |
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52
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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53
erase
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| v.擦掉；消除某事物的痕迹 | |
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54
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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poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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56
coupon
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| n.息票，配给票，附单 | |
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57
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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58
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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59
coupons
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| n.礼券( coupon的名词复数 )；优惠券；订货单；参赛表 | |
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60
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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61
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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62
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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weirdest
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| 怪诞的( weird的最高级 )； 神秘而可怕的； 超然的； 古怪的 | |
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64
lathered
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| v.（指肥皂）形成泡沫( lather的过去式和过去分词 )；用皂沫覆盖；狠狠地打 | |
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65
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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66
devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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67
prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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68
submissions
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| n.提交( submission的名词复数 )；屈从；归顺；向法官或陪审团提出的意见或论据 | |
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69
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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70
transcript
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| n.抄本，誊本，副本，肄业证书 | |
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71
alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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72
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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73
assessment
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| n.评价；评估；对财产的估价，被估定的金额 | |
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74
juggling
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| n. 欺骗, 杂耍(=jugglery) adj. 欺骗的, 欺诈的 动词juggle的现在分词 | |
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75
juggle
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| v.变戏法，纂改，欺骗，同时做；n.玩杂耍，纂改，花招 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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77
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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78
breaches
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| 破坏( breach的名词复数 )； 破裂； 缺口； 违背 | |
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79
whoops
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| int.呼喊声 | |
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80
affluent
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| adj.富裕的，富有的，丰富的，富饶的 | |
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81
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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82
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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83
squeals
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| n.长而尖锐的叫声( squeal的名词复数 )v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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85
detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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86
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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87
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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88
hormones
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| n. 荷尔蒙，激素 名词hormone的复数形式 | |
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89
erode
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| v.侵蚀，腐蚀，使...减少、减弱或消失 | |
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90
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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91
fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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92
florist
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| n.花商；种花者 | |
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93
bribes
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| n.贿赂( bribe的名词复数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂v.贿赂( bribe的第三人称单数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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94
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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95
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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96
crumpling
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| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的现在分词 )； 变皱 | |
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97
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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98
mantis
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| n.螳螂 | |
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99
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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100
ketchup
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| n.蕃茄酱，蕃茄沙司 | |
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