I sit on a jail toilet feeling a little hopeful, to be frank, just letting my worldly pressures crackle through my lower tract1. I know I shouldn't say it, but exercising your tract is one of the greatest hits, boy. It's another thing you're never taught about life. In fact, it not only doesn't get taught, but they teach you the opposite, like it's the Devil's Work or something. It's like my mom invented all the damn rules of the world, when you think about it.
But I don't think about it at all. It's morning, and the air in the shade has that hazy2, wet crispness you get in winter. I have some time before they load me into the wagon3 for the trip back to court, so I hang here in the bathrooms nearest to the prison yard. I even have a Camel to smoke, a brand-spanking-new Camel Filter, from Detiveaux, who's on trial for grand theft. He's feeling generous on account of his girlfriend brought their new baby to visit. I told him the kid looks just like him, which it kind of does, even though it's a girl. Now here's me sucking wads of blue smoke, and trying to ash between my legs without burning my reproductive apparatus4. All my troubles jump out of my tract like rats from an airplane, and I just get lighter5 and clearer every second. Making plans like crazy. Tracts6, boy, damn.
The journey into court is gray and regular. From the make-up room, I hear helicopters thumping7 over the courthouse, in case I escape, or something. Ha. Like: yeah, right. They wish I'd escape, just so's they can avoid the hard core of regret they have coming when my innocence8 struts9 out. They're going to have to eat that ole dish cold. I sit stiff with this kind of righteous optimism during make-up today, eating fries. They must whiff that ole truth around the corner, to suddenly feed me fries. Only problem is they cuff10 me extra-tight for the walk to my cage, and I have to hunch11 my shoulder up to my cheek, where I smeared12 ketchup13. As I try to clean the ketchup, I watch a shaft14 of sunlight swivel slowly over the courtroom floor, until the witness stand is lit up like Mount Sinai. The sound of tattered15 leather scuffles up the stairs towards the back. Without even looking, you know it's Mom, leaving. She gets her picture took arriving each morning, but she can't handle the guts16 of the day. Pam'll be outside in the Mercury, both feet on the pedals.
The judge arrives, nods to everybody, and I sit back to watch my Fate played out before me.
'The State calls Taylor Figueroa.'
Taylor steps through the crowd in a gray business suit with short skirt. She throws back her hair, fixes the cameras with a girl-next-door smile, then stands tall like a majorette to take her oath. Goodness but she's pretty. A taste crawls through me of how things could have been. I kill it.
'Ms Figueroa,' says the prosecutor17, 'please state your age and occupation.'
Taylor bites her lip, like she's thinking about it. When she speaks, her inflection rises, then dips, then rises again at the end, like a car changing gear. The school smell effect.
'I just turned nineteen, and like, I was a student, but now I'm kind of, trying out for a career in media.'
The prosecutor nods sympathetically, then frowns. 'I don't want to cause undue18 distress19, but you'll appreciate these proceedings20 demand that some delicate questions be asked - please, hold up a hand if this becomes too uncomfortable.'
Taylor scrapes a tooth over her lip. 'It's okay, whatever.'
'You're very brave.' The prosecutor hangs his head. 'Ms Figueroa - have you ever been - stalked?'
'Stalked?'
'That is, has a disproportionate interest ever been shown toward you by a stranger, or a casual acquiantance?'
'I guess so, yeah, one guy.'
'What made you think this person's interest was unusual?'
'Well like, he just turned up out of the blue, and started confessing to all these crimes and whatever.'
'Had you known him previously21?'
'Uh-huh, kind of, I mean - I think I saw him outside a party once.'
'Outside a party?'
'Yeah, like, he wasn't invited or anything.'
'Was anyone else outside this - party?'
'No.'
The prosecutor nods at the floor. 'So - this person was alone, outside a party he couldn't attend. And he talked to you?'
'Uh-huh. He helped me into the back of this car.'
'He helped you into the back of a car? What happened next?'
'Like, my best friend turned up, from inside the party or whatever, and this guy went away.'
My eyes move over the jury members, revising their age up to where they all have daughters like Taylor. Their eyebrows23 show a new slant24.
The prosecutor waits for it all to sink in. Then he asks, 'So where did you next see this person?'
'In Houston.'
'Did he reside in Houston, or in Harris County somewhere?'
'No. He was on his way to, like - Mexico.'
'From where?'
'Martirio.'
The prosecutor shoots a meaningful glare at the jury. 'Martirio to Mexico via Houston is quite a detour25.'
'Yeah, like, I couldn't believe it, he just came to see me, and he confessed to all this stuff and whatever …'
'And then what happened?'
'My cousin turned up, and he ran away.'
Taylor drops her head now, and everybody holds their breath, in case she cries or something. She doesn't though. The prosecutor waits till he's sure she ain't, then he lets go the cannonball. 'Do you see that person in the courtroom?'
Taylor doesn't lift her head, she just points at my cage. I lower my face to try and snag her gaze, but it's glued to her shoes. The prosecutor tightens26 his lips, and launches himself, business-like, into nailing the rest of my cross.
'Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant27, Vernon Gregory Little. Ms Figueroa, you will have heard the defense28 claim that Vernon Little was in Mexico at the time of the most recent murders. They say you knew he was there. Did you know he was there?'
'Well, like - he was there when I arrived.'
'How long can you definitely say the defendant was in Mexico?'
'Three hours maybe, tops.'
'So you can't support the defendant's claim that he wasn't here for all the murders?'
'I guess not.'
The prosecutor moves to the witness box, rests one arm on the railing, and smiles caringly at Taylor. 'It's nearly over,' he says softly. 'Just tell us, in your own time - what transpired29 during those hours in Mexico?'
Taylor stiffens30. She takes a breath. 'He tried to, like - make love to me.'
'Was this when he confessed to the murders?'
'Uh-huh.'
Breath is intaken across the room, across the world, probably, followed by a buzz of murmurs31. My soul screams out with the sting of it, but my attorney nails me quiet with an eye. The green buzzer32 in my cage starts to look inviting33 as, ever so slowly, the room, the cameras, and the world, turn to study me in greater detail. The prosecutor just smiles, moves to his table, and presses a button on a machine there.
'Yeah,' my voice scratches through the court. 'I did it for you.' It plays over and over. 'I did it for you, for you, for you. I did it.'
Brian puts on a real hooshy face for the cross-examination. He puts his hands in his pockets, and stands in front of Taylor, like her dad or something. He just stares at her, as if what she's about to say is the dumbest excuse he ever heard. Her eyes flick34 down a little, then widen like, 'What?'
'You saw the defendant for three hours in Mexico?'
'Uh-huh.'
'So, as far as you're concerned, he could've been anywhere in the world, outside those three hours?'
'I guess so.'
'Why did Vernon Little come to meet you in Mexico?'
Taylor rolls her eyes - a girl's hoosh. 'Well, to have sex, or confess, or whatever.'
'You paid him to have sex with you?'
'So no money changed hands between you that day?'
'No, well like …'
'Yes or no answer, please.'
'See, but …'
'Yes. Or no.'
'Yes.'
'So you gave Vernon Little some money - three hundred dollars, in fact.' Brian turns to the gallery, raises one eyebrow22. 'Darned boy must be good.' A chuckle36 scurries37 through the back.
'Objection!' barks the prosecutor.
'Sustained,' says the judge.
Brian throws me a bitty wink38, then turns back to Taylor with his most fatherly stare. 'Did Vernon Little know you would be in Mexico that day?'
'See - but, like …'
'You surprised him, didn't you? You used a cash offer to entice39 him - a confused, innocent, desperate teenager - to a place where you appeared, out of the blue. Is that the truth?'
Taylor's mouth flaps emptily for a second. 'Yeah, but I was told …'
My attorney raises his hand to her, then folds his arms. 'I put it to you that you were employed to enact40 this stunt41. You were employed to entrap42 the defendant, not by the police, and not necessarily with cash, but lured43 with promises of celebrity44 by the man behind this entire charade45.'
She just stares at Brian.
'Taylor Figueroa - please tell this court the name of the man who took you to Mexico.'
'Eulalio Ledesma.'
'No further questions.'
Lally appears at the top of the stairs, dressed all in white. His face is waxy46. Angry puckers47 squirm on each cheek as he grinds his teeth inside. The crowd turn to look at him as he steps down the aisle49, into the light. I turn to look at the crowd. You can tell they love him. The prosecutor is first to examine.
'Eulalio Ledesma - you've been in a unique position to observe the defendant, first as a close family friend, and later, I'm sure, as a concerned citizen …'
'Tch, excuse me,' says Lally, 'I have a meeting with the Secretary of State - will this take long?'
'I can't speak for the defense, but I'll keep it brief,' says the prosecutor. 'Just tell us, please - if you could characterize the defendant in a word, what would it be?'
'Psychopath.'
'Objection!' shouts Brian.
'Sustained - the jury will ignore both question and answer.' The judge rotates a hard eye to the prosecutor. 'And Counsel will remember a young man could well be executed as a result of these proceedings.'
The prosecutor gestures to the jury like his hands are being tied, but the judge quickly scowls50 him out of it. He skulks51 back to Lally. 'Perhaps you'll tell the court, Mr Ledesma - did the defendant say anything to you, privately52, about the school tragedy?'
Lally draws his lips tight, the way your best buddy53 does when he has to tell his mom you ate the last cookie. 'Not as such,' he says.
'Did anything he do suggest his involvement?'
Lally takes a deep breath. He looks at me with black, swollen54 eyes, and shakes his head. 'He talked in his sleep some nights.' His bottom lip starts to bounce. 'Growled55 in his sleep, more like it -"Boom," he would say. "Take that - booom …"' A sob56 breaks free from his throat. Deathly hush57 spreads over the world.
The prosecutor bows his head, and waits a respectful moment. Then he says, 'I'm sorry to put you through this …'
Lally raises a trembling hand, cuts him short. 'Anything to bring peace upon those wretched souls.'
Sniffles break out in court. There ain't a trace of hoosh about the prosecutor anymore, not within a hundred miles of him. After eight centuries, he just asks, 'Did you also see the defendant kill Officer Barry Gurie?'
'From the ground where I lay, injured, I saw the defendant run towards Officer Gurie. I heard a scuffle, then three shots …'
The prosecutor nods, then turns to my attorney. 'Your witness.'
Brian straightens his tie, and steps up to the box. Silence crunches58 like lizard59 bones.
'Mr Ledesma - how long have you been a TV journalist?'
'Almost fifteen years now.'
'Practicing where?'
'New York mostly, and Chicago.'
'Not Nacogdoches?'
Lally frowns. 'No-ho,' he hooshes a little powerdime-booster.
'Ever visit?'
'No-ho.'
Brian shoots him a knowing smile. 'Ever told a lie, Mr Ledesma?'
'Tch …'
'Yes or no.'
'No-h-ho.'
My attorney nods and turns to the jury. He holds up a calling card. 'Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to show the witness a calling card. It reads, "Eulalio Ledesma Gutierrez, President & Service Technician-In-Chief, Care Media Nacogdoches."' He glides60 it through the air to Lally's face. 'Mr Ledesma - is this your business card?'
'Oh p-lease,' hooshes Lally. He's like an ole-fashion train all of a sudden.
Brian gives him his hardest stare. 'A witness will testify that you presented this card as your own. I ask again - is this your card?'
'I said no.'
'Your honor, if I may be allowed to append a witness to this examination, for the purpose of identification …?'
'Go ahead,' says the judge.
My attorney nods to the back of the court. The double doors creak open, and two orderlies guide a little ole Mexican lady into the room. Brian waits until she's tottering61 at the top of the stairs, then he closes in on Lally.
'Mr Ledesma - is this your mother?'
'Don't be ridiculous,' growls62 Lally.
'Lally! My Lalo!' cries the lady. She breaks free of the orderlies, but her foot catches a railing in the aisle, and she tumbles to the ground. The judge rises out of his seat, frowning as the lady is helped to her feet. She bawls63, and tries to pinpoint64 Lally's voice. He stays quiet. His cheeks pucker48 double-time.
Brian lets the hush return before calling to the ole lady. 'Mrs Gutierrez, please tell the court - is this your son?'
'It's him.'
She pulls her helpers down the aisle, then her foot misses another step, and she dangles65 suspended in their arms. The judge pulls back his lips like he just stepped on a spleen. He squints66 at the ole woman, then shakes his head.
'Ma'am - can you point to your son?'
Breathing is canceled across the world. 'Lalo?' she calls. 'Eu-lalio?' He doesn't answer. Just then, one of the attorneys folds his arms, and at that nano-rustle of his sleeves, the ole woman flinches67 and points to the prosecutor. 'Lally!'
The prosecutor throws out his arms in despair. The judge's eyes fall to my attorney. 'Time out - am I to understand this witness is visually impaired68?'
'Every woman knows her child's voice, your honor.'
'Lalo?' sniffs69 the woman, now reaching for the stainographer.
The judge sighs. 'Just how in God's name did you figure to get a positive identification?'
'Your honor,' starts Brian, but the judge slams down his glasses and spreads his hands wide.
'Counsel - the good lady can't see.'
A good night's sleep doesn't happen for me tonight. I twist and buck70 with the horrors of Jesus, knowing I'm in a lottery71 to join him in the flesh. When I'm locked in my zoo cage next morning, everybody's attention hangs on me. Sure, Brian gets up and argues, says it's entrapment72 and all. But you get the feeling everybody kind of knows Lally's was the final nail. Subtle changes in the room tell you they know; the stainographer's head sits back an extra notch73, for instance.
While all this happens I feel a vibe from Jesus. It says to cut my losses, forget about my family secrets - it says I've been loyal above and beyond the call of duty, I just have to let them find the gun. It says to tell them about the bowel74 movement I had outside school that day. I mean, shit must carry a lot of evidence about a guy. Probably you could clone whole other guys from it, then just ask them why they did it. One of my fingers touches the green button in the cage, feels its surface. Cameras whirr close. You just know crowds on the street, people in airports, folks in the comfort of their own smell at home, men in barber shops in Japan, kids skipping classes in Italy, are tuned75 in, holding their damn breath. You sense a billion cumulative76 hours of human life just got shortened by raging blood-pressure. Power, boy. I purse my lips, and trace a gentle line around the buzzer, toying with it, pretending to have hefty options. The sudden hush in the room makes Brian spin around. When he sees my hand over the buzzer he scrambles77 my way, but the judge hisses79 behind him.
'Leave him be!'
I don't hit the buzzer to change my story. I hit it because my story ain't getting told. I get an enlightenment about the ten years it feels like I've been listening to this whole crowd of powerdime spinners, with their industry of carpet-fiber experts, and shrinks and all, who finish me off with their goddam blah, blah, blah. And you just know the State ain't flying any experts down for me. What I learned is you need that industry, big-time. Because, although you ain't allowed to say it, and I hope I ain't doing The Devil's Work by saying it myself - Reasonable Doubt just don't apply anymore. Not in practice, don't try and tell me it does. Maybe if your cat bit the neighbor's hamster, like with Judge Judy or something. But once they ship in extra patrol cars, and build a zoo cage in court, forget it. You have to come up with simple, honest-to-goodness proof of innocence, that anybody can tell just by watching TV. Otherwise they hammer through nine centuries of technical evidence, like a millennium80 of back-to-back math classes, and it's up in there that they wipe out Reasonable Doubt.
With nothing to really lose, I hit the buzzer. It makes a sound like a xylophone dropped from an airplane, and I'm suddenly blinded by a firestorm of camera flashes. The last thing I see is Brian Dennehy's mouth drop open.
'Judge,' I say.
'Shhh!' chokes Brian.
'Go ahead, son,' says the judge. 'Shall we activate81 the recant procedure?'
'No sir, it's just that - I thought I'd get a chance to say how things really happened, but they're only asking stuff that makes me look bad. I mean, I have witnesses all the way back to the tragedy.'
'Your honor,' says the prosecutor, 'the State would hope to preserve the structure of this case, after all the effort that's gone into it.'
The judge stares blankly at him. 'And I would hope, Counsel, that the State, like this court, would seek to preserve the truth.' He smiles warmly for the camera, then says, 'Swear the boy in.'
'Your honor,' says Brian, holding out a helpless hand.
'Silence!' says the judge. He nods to me. 'Say your piece, Mister Little.'
I take a deep breath, and go through the routine with the Bible. Brian sits with his head in his hands. Then I quiver right to the heart of my concern. 'I never was in any trouble. My teacher, Mr Nuckles, knows it, he knows where I was. The reason I wasn't in class is because he sent me to get a candle for some teeter-totter experiment - if he'd talked earlier, none of this suspicion would've happened.'
The judge stares at the attorneys. 'Why has that witness not appeared?'
'He was judged unfit by his doctors,' says Brian. 'Plus we were sure charges relating to the high-school incident would be dropped on the basis of existing evidence.'
'I think we need to hear from your Mr Nuckles,' says the judge. He looks up at the cameras. 'I think the world will demand to hear from him.' He waves a hand at the court officers. 'Order him to appear - we'll travel to his bedside if necessary.'
'Thank you, sir,' I say. 'Another thing is …'
'You've made your point, son. In fairness now, I'll have to let the prosecutor ask you some questions.'
I think you can hear my attorney weeping. The prosecutor adjusts his smile and wanders over. 'Thank you, Judge. Vernon Gregory Little, how are you today?'
'Okay, I guess - I just was going to tell …'
He holds up a hand. 'Your position is that you never saw the last sixteen victims - correct?'
'See, the thing is …'
'Yes or no answers, please.'
I look at the judge. He nods. 'Yes,' I say.
'And you never saw the victims at school, until they were dead or dying - correct?'
'Yes.'
'But you admit you were at the scene of those murders?'
'Well, yeah.'
'So you've sworn under oath that you were at the scene of eighteen deaths, although you didn't see all those deaths happen.'
'Uh-huh,' my eyes flicker82, trying to keep up with the math of the thing.
'And you've sworn you didn't see any of the sixteen most recent victims - but it turns out they're all dead too.' The prosecutor runs his tongue around his mouth, frowning. It's an advanced type of hoosh, in case you didn't know. Then he smiles at the jury, and says, 'Don't you think your eyesight is starting to cause a little trouble around town?' Laughter bubbles through the court.
'Objection!'
'Leave it, Counsel.' The judge dismisses Brian, and waves me to answer.
'I wasn't even there, at the latest deaths,' I say.
'No? Where were you?'
'Mexico.'
'I see. Did you have a reason to be in Mexico?'
'Uh - I was kind of on the run, see …'
'You were on the run.' The prosecutor tightens his lips. He looks back to the jury, which is mostly station-wagon owners, and the like; some hard-looking ladies, and a couple of nervy men. One dude you just know irons his socks and underwear. They all emulate83 the prosecutor's lips. 'So let's get this straight - you say you're innocent of any crime, that you never even saw half of the victims. Right?'
'Yeah.'
'But you admit to being present at the first massacre84, and you have been positively85 identified at the scenes of the other murders. Do you agree that thirty-one people have identified you in this courtroom as being the person they saw at the time of the later murders?'
'Objection,' says Brian 'It's old news, your honor.'
'Judge,' says the prosecutor, 'I'm just trying to establish the defendant's perception of the facts.'
'Overruled.' The judge nods at me. 'Answer the question.'
'But …'
'Answer the question yes or no,' says the prosecutor. 'Have you been identified as the suspect by thirty-one citizens in this courtroom?'
'Uh - I guess so.'
'Yes or no!'
'Yes.'
My eyes drop to the floor. And once I'm aware of what my eyes are doing, the rest of me gets that first wave of panic. Heat rushes to the back of my nose. The prosecutor pauses, to give my body space enough to betray me on TV.
'So now, having had your presence established at the scenes of thirty-four murders - you tell us you were later on the run.' He makes googly eyes to the jury. 'I can't imagine why.' A chuckle bumps through the room.
'Because everybody suspected me,' I say.
The prosecutor tosses his arms out wide. 'After thirty-four murders, I'm not surprised!' He stands a moment, while his shoulders bounce with silent laughter. He shakes his head. He mops his brow. He wipes a tear from the corner of one eye, takes a deep breath, then stumbles the few steps to my cage, still vibrating with fun. But when he levels his gaze at me, it burns.
'You were in Mexico on the twentieth of May this year?'
'Uh - that was the day of the tragedy, so - no.'
'But you just told this court you were in Mexico at the time of the murders.'
'I meant the recent ones, you know …'
'Ahh I see, I get it - you went to Mexico for some of the murders - is that your story now?'
'I just meant …'
'Let me help you out,' he says. 'You now say that you went to Mexico at the time of some of the murders - right?'
'Uh - yeah.'
'And where were you otherwise, when you weren't in Mexico?'
'Right at home.'
'Which is in the vicinity of the Amos Keeter property, is it not?'
'Yes sir, kind of.'
'Which is where the body of Barry Gurie was found?'
'Objection,' says my attorney.
'Your honor,' says the prosecutor, 'we want to establish that all the murders took place before he ran.'
'Go ahead - but do feel free to find the point.'
The prosecutor turns back to me. 'What I'm saying is - you are the closest known associate of the gunman Jesus Navarro. You live mighty86 close to the scenes of seventeen homicides. You have been identified at all of them. When first interviewed, you absconded87 from the sheriff's office. When apprehended88 and released on bail89, you ran to Mexico …' He leans into the bars, casually90, wearily, and lets his face relax onto his chest, so just his heavy eyes poke91 up. 'Admit it,' he says softly, reasonably. 'You killed all those people.'
'No I didn't.'
'I suggest you killed them, and just lost count of all the bodies mounting up.'
'No.'
'You didn't lose count?'
'I didn't kill them.'
The prosecutor tightens his lips and sighs through his nose, like extra work just landed at knock-off time. 'State your full name, please.'
'Vernon Gregory Little.'
'And where exactly were you in Mexico?'
'Guerrero.'
'Yeah, my friend Pelayo …'
'The truck driver, from the village on the coast?' He ambles78 to his desk and picks up an official-looking document. He holds it up. 'The sworn affidavit93 of "Pelayo" Garcia Madero, from the village named by the defendant,' he says to the court. He carefully lays the paper down, and looks around the room, engaging everyone's attention individually. 'Mr Garcia Madero states that he only ever met one American youth in his life - a hitch-hiker he met in a bar in northern Mexico, and drove to the south in his truck - a hitch-hiker called Daniel Naylor …'
收听单词发音 |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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struts
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| （框架的）支杆( strut的名词复数 )； 支柱； 趾高气扬的步态； （尤指跳舞或表演时）卖弄 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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ketchup
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| n.蕃茄酱，蕃茄沙司 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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undue
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distress
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proceedings
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previously
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eyebrow
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eyebrows
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24
slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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25
detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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26
tightens
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| 收紧( tighten的第三人称单数 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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27
defendant
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| n.被告；adj.处于被告地位的 | |
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28
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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29
transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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30
stiffens
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| （使）变硬，（使）强硬( stiffen的第三人称单数 ) | |
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31
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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32
buzzer
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| n.蜂鸣器；汽笛 | |
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33
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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34
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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35
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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36
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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37
scurries
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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38
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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39
entice
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| v.诱骗，引诱，怂恿 | |
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40
enact
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| vt.制定(法律)；上演，扮演 | |
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41
stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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42
entrap
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| v.以网或陷阱捕捉，使陷入圈套 | |
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43
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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44
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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45
charade
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| n.用动作等表演文字意义的字谜游戏 | |
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46
waxy
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| adj.苍白的；光滑的 | |
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47
puckers
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
pucker
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| v.撅起，使起皱；n.（衣服上的）皱纹，褶子 | |
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49
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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50
scowls
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| 不悦之色，怒容( scowl的名词复数 ) | |
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51
skulks
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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53
buddy
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| n.（美口）密友，伙伴 | |
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54
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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55
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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56
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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57
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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58
crunches
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| n.（突发的）不足( crunch的名词复数 )；需要做出重要决策的困难时刻；紧要关头；嘎吱的响声v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的第三人称单数 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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59
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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60
glides
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| n.滑行( glide的名词复数 )；滑音；音渡；过渡音v.滑动( glide的第三人称单数 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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61
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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62
growls
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的第三人称单数 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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63
bawls
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的第三人称单数 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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64
pinpoint
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| vt.准确地确定；用针标出…的精确位置 | |
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65
dangles
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| 悬吊着( dangle的第三人称单数 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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66
squints
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| 斜视症( squint的名词复数 )； 瞥 | |
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67
flinches
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的第三人称单数 ) | |
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68
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
sniffs
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的第三人称单数 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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70
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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71
lottery
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| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
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72
entrapment
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| n.（非法）诱捕，诱人犯罪；诱使犯罪 | |
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73
notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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74
bowel
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| n.肠(尤指人肠)；内部，深处 | |
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75
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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76
cumulative
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| adj.累积的，渐增的 | |
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77
scrambles
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| n.抢夺( scramble的名词复数 )v.快速爬行( scramble的第三人称单数 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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78
ambles
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的第三人称单数 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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79
hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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80
millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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81
activate
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| vt.使活动起来，使开始起作用 | |
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82
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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83
emulate
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| v.努力赶上或超越，与…竞争；效仿 | |
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84
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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85
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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86
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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87
absconded
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| v.（尤指逃避逮捕）潜逃，逃跑( abscond的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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89
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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90
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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91
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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92
vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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93
affidavit
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| n.宣誓书 | |
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