A couple of minutes later, she's pooning her way up 1-5, headed up into Valley-land. She's a little freaked-out, her timing1 is off, she's taking it easy. A tune2 keeps running through her head: "The Happy Wanderer." It's driving her crazy.
A large black blur3 keeps pulling alongside her. It would be a tempting4 target, so large and ferrous, if it were going a little faster. But she can make better time than this barge5, even when she's taking it slow.
The driver's side window of the black car rolls down. It's the guy. Jason. He's sticking his whole head out the window to look back at her, driving blind. The wind at fifty miles per hour does not ruffle6 his firmly gelled razor cut.
He smiles. He has an imploring7 look about him, the same look that Roadkill gets. He points suggestively at his rear quarter-panel.
What the hell. The last time she pooned this guy, he took her exactly where she was going. Y.T. detaches from the Acura she's been hitched8 to for the last half mile, swings it over to Jason's fat Olds. And Jason takes her off the freeway and onto Victory Boulevard, headed for Van Nuys, which is exactly right.
But after a couple of miles, he swings the wheel sharply right and screeches9 into the parking lot of a ghost mall, which is wrong. Right now, nothing's parked in the lot but an eighteen-wheeler, motor running, SALDUCCI BROS. MOVING & STORAGE painted on the sides.
"Come on," Jason says, getting out of his Oldsmobile. "You don't want to waste any time."
"Screw you, asshole," she says, reeling in her poon, looking back toward the boulevard for some promising11 westbound traffic. Whatever this guy has in mind, it is probably unprofessional.
"Young lady," says another voice, an older and more arresting sort of voice, "it's fine if you don't like Jason. But your pal12, Uncle Enzo, needs your help."
A door on the back of the semi has opened up. A man in a black suit is standing13 there. Behind him, the interior of the semi is brightly lit up. Halogen light glares off the man's slick hairdo.
Even with the backlighting, she can tell it is the man with the glass eye.
"What do you want?" she says.
"What I want," he says, looking her up and down, "and what I need are different things. Right now I'm working, see, which means that what I want is not important. What I need is for you to get into this truck along with your skateboard and that suitcase."
Then he adds, "Am I getting through to you?" He asks the question almost rhetorically, like he presumes the answer is no.
"He's for real," Jason says, as though Y.T. must be hanging on his opinion.
"Well, there you have it," the man with the glass eye says. Y.T. is supposed to be on her way to a Reverend Wayne's Pearly Gates franchise14. If she screws up this delivery, that means she's double-crossing God, who may or may not exist, and in any case who is capable of forgiveness. The Mafia definitely exists and hews15 to a higher standard of obedience16.
She hands her stuff -- the plank17 and the aluminum18 case -- up to the man with the glass eye, then vaults19 up into the back of the semi, ignoring his proffered20 hand. He recoils21, holds up his hand, looks at it to see if there's something wrong with it. By the time her feet leave the ground, the truck is already moving. By the time the door is pulled shut behind her, they have already pulled onto the boulevard.
"Just gotta run a few tests on this delivery of yours," the man with the glass eye says.
"Ever think of introducing yourself?" Y.T. says.
"Nah," he says, "people always forget names. You can just think of me as that one guy, y'know?"
Y.T. is not really listening. She is checking out the inside of the truck. The trailer of this rig consists of a single long skinny room. Y.T. has just come in through its only entrance. At this end of the room, a couple of Mafia guys are lounging around, the way they always do.
Most of the room is taken up by electronics. Big electronics.
"Going to just do some computer stuff, y'know," he says, handing the briefcase22 over to a computer guy. Y.T. knows he's a computer guy because he has long hair in a ponytail and he's wearing jeans and he seems gentle.
"Hey, if anything happens to that, my ass10 is grass," Y.T. says. She's trying to sound tough and brave, but it's a hollow act in these circumstances.
The man with the glass eye is, like, shocked. "What do you think I am, some kind of incredibly stupid dickhead?" he says. "Shit, that's just what I need, trying to explain to Uncle Enzo how I managed to get his little bunny rabbit shot in the kneecaps."
"It's a noninvasive procedure," the computer guy says in a placid23, liquid voice. The computer guy rotates the case around in his hand a few times, just to get a feel for it. Then he slides it into a large open-ended cylinder24 that is resting on the top of a table. The walls of the cylinder are a couple of inches thick. Frost appears to be growing on this thing. Mystery gases continuously slide off of it, like teaspoons25 of milk dropped into turbulent water. The gases plunge26 out across the table and drop to the floor, where they make a little carpet of fog that flows and blooms around their shoes. When the computer guy has it in place, he yanks his hand back from the cold.
Then he puts on a pair of computer goggles27.
That's all there is to it. He just sits there for a few minutes. Y.T. is not a computer person, but she knows that somewhere behind the cabinets and doors in the back of this truck there is a big computer doing a lot of things right now.
"It's like a CAT scanner," the man with the glass eye says, using the same hushed tone of voice as a sportscaster in a golfing tournament. "But it reads everything, you know," he says, rotating his hands impatiently in all-encompassing circles.
"How much does it cost?"
"I don't know."
"What's it called?"
"Doesn't really have a name yet."
"Well, who makes it?"
"We made the goddamn thing," the man with the glass eye says. "Just, like in the last couple weeks."
"What for?"
"You're asking too many questions. Look. You're a cute kid. I mean, you're a hell of a chick. You're a knockout. But don't go thinking you're too important at this stage."
At this stage. Hmm.
收听单词发音 |
1
timing
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| n.时间安排，时间选择 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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3
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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7
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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8
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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9
screeches
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| n.尖锐的声音( screech的名词复数 )v.发出尖叫声( screech的第三人称单数 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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10
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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11
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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13
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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14
franchise
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| n.特许，特权，专营权，特许权 | |
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15
hews
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的第三人称单数 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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16
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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17
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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aluminum
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| n.(aluminium)铝 | |
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19
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
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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22
briefcase
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| n.手提箱，公事皮包 | |
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23
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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24
cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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25
teaspoons
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| n.茶匙( teaspoon的名词复数 )；一茶匙的量 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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27
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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