jg.atimetokill-第65部分

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　her　I'll　call　her　tomorrow。　Tell　her；　Ozzie；　please　tell　her。〃
　〃No　way；　buddy。　You're　a　big　boy；　you　call　her　and　tell　her。〃　Ozzie　walked　off　the　porch。　He　was　not　amused。
　Jake　struggled　to　his　feet　and　staggered　into　the　house。　〃Where's　the　phone？〃　he　yelled　at　Sallie。　As　he　dialed；　he　could　hear　Lucien　on　the　porch　laughing　uncontrollably。
　The　last　hangover　had　been　in　law　school；　six　or　seven　years　earlier；　he　couldn't　remember。　The　date；　that　is。　He　couldn't　remember　the　date；　but　the　pounding　head；　dry　mouth；　short　breath；　and　burning　eyes　brought　back　painful；　vivid　memories　of　long　and　unforgettable　bouts　with　the　tasty　brown　stuff。
　He　knew　he　was　in　trouble　immediately；　when　his　left　eye　opened。　The　eyelids　on　the　right　one　were　matted　firmly　together；　and　they　would　not　open；　unless　manually　opened　with　fingers；　and　he　did　not　dare　move。　He　lay　there　in　the　dark　room　on　a　couch；　fully　dressed；　including　shoes；　listening　to　his　head　pound　and　watching　the　ceiling　fan　rotate　slowly。　He　felt　nauseated。　His　neck　ached　because　there　was　no　pillow。　His　feet　throbbed　because　of　the　shoes。　His　stomach　rolled　and　flipped　and　promised　to　erupt。　Death　would　have　been　wele。
　Jake　had　problems　with　hangovers　because　he　could　not　sleep　them　off。　Once　his　eyes　opened　and　his　brain　awoke　and　began　spinning　again；　and　the　throbbing　between　his　temples　set　in；　he　could　not　sleep。　He　had　never　understood　this。　His　friends　in　law　school　could　sleep　for　days　with　a　hangover；　but　not　Jake。　He　never　managed　more　than　a　few　hours　after　the　last　can　or　bottle　was　empty。
　Why？　That　was　always　the　question　the　next　morning。　Why　did　he　do　it？　A　cold　beer　was　refreshing。　Maybe　two　or　three。　But　ten；　fifteen；　even　twenty？　He　had　lost　count。　After　six；　beer　lost　its　taste；　and　from　then　on　the　drinking　was　just　for　the　sake　of　drinking　and　getting　drunk。　Lucien　had　been　very　helpful。　Before　dark　he　had　sent　Sallie　to　the　store　for　a　whole　case　of　Coors；　which　he　gladly　paid　for；　then　encouraged　Jake　to　drink。　There　were　a　few　cans　left。　It　was　Lu…cien's　fault。
　Slowly　he　lifted　his　legs；　one　at　a　time；　and　placed　his　feet　on　the　floor。　He　gently　rubbed　his　temples；　to　no　avail。　He　breathed　deeply；　but　his　heart　pounded　rapidly；　pumping　more　blood　to　his　brain　and　fueling　the　small　jackhammers　at　work　on　the　inside　of　his　head。　He　had　to　have　water。　His
　。。v^。guv；　rraa　uciiyuiaieu　ana　putted　to　the　point　where　it　was　easier　to　leave　his　mouth　open　like　a　dog　in　heat。　Why；　oh　why？
　He　stood；　carefully；　slowly；　retardedly；　and　crept　into　the　kitchen。　The　light　above　the　stove　was　shielded　and　dim；　but　it　penetrated　the　darkness　and　pierced　his　eyes。　He　rubbed　his　eyes　and　tried　to　clean　them　with　his　smelly　fingers。　He　drank　the　warm…water　slowly　and　allowed　it　to　run　from　his　mouth　and　drip　on　the　floor。　He　didn't　care。　Sallie　would　clean　it。　The　clock　on　the　counter　said　it　was　two…thirty。
　Gaining　momentum；　he　walked　awkwardly　yet　quietly　through　the　living　room；　past　the　couch　with　no　pillow；　and　out　the　door。　The　porch　was　littered　with　empty　cans　and　bottles。　Why？
　He　sat　in　the　hot　shower　in　his　office　for　an　hour；　unable　to　move。　It　relieved　some　of　the　aches　and　soreness；　but　not　the　violence　swirling　around　his　brain。　Once　in　law　school；　he　had　managed　to　crawl　from　his　bed　to　the　refrigerator　for　a　beer。　He　drank　it；　and　it　helped；　then　he　drank　another；　and　felt　much　better。　He　remembered　this　now　while　sitting　in　the　shower；　and　the　thought　of　another　beer　made　him　vomit。
　He　lay　on　the　conference　table　in　his　underwear　and　tried　his　best　to　die。　He　had　plenty　of　life　insurance。　They　would　leave　his　house　alone。　The　new　lawyer　could　get　a　continuance。
　Nine　days　to　trial。　Time　was　scarce；　precious；；　and　he　had　just　wasted　one　day　with　a　massive　hangover。　Then　he　thought　of　Carla；　and　his　head　pounded　harder。　He　had　tried　to　sound　sober。　Told　her　he　and　Lucien　had　spent　the　afternoon　reviewing　insanity　cases；　and　he　would　have　called　earlier　but　the　phones　weren't　working；　at　least　Lucien's　weren't。　But　his　tongue　was　heavy　and　his　speech　slow；　and　she　knew　he　was　drunk。　She　was　furious…a　controlled　fury。　Yes；　her　house　was　still　standing。　That　was　all　she　believed。
　At　six…thirty　he　called　her　again。　She　might　be　impressed　if　she　knew　he　was　at　the　office　by　dawn　working　diligently。　She　wasn't。　With　great　pain　and　fortitude；　he　sounded　cheerful；　even　hyper。　She　was　not　impressed。
　〃How　do　you　feel？〃　she　insisted。
　〃Great！〃　he　answered　with　closed　eyes。
　〃What　time　did　you　go　to　bed？〃
　What　bed；　thought　Jake。　〃Right　after　I　called　you。〃
　She　said　nothing。
　〃I　got　to　the　office　at　three　o'clock　this　morning；〃　he　said　proudly。
　〃Three　o'clock！〃
　〃Yeah；　I　couldn't　sleep。〃
　〃But　you　didn't　sleep　any　Thursday　night。〃　A　touch　of　concern　edged　through　her　icy　words；　and　he　felt　better。
　〃I'll　be　okay。　I　may　stay　with　Lucien　some　this　week　and　next。　It　might　be　safer　over　there。〃
　〃What　about　the　bodyguard？〃
　〃Yeah；　Deputy　Nesbit。　He's　parked　outside　asleep　in　his　car。〃
　She　hesitated　and　Jake　could　feel　the　phone　lines　thawing。　〃I'm　worried　about　you；〃　she　said　warmly。
　〃I'll　be　fine；　dear。　I'll　call　tomorrow。　I've　got　work　to　do。〃
　He　replaced　the　receiver；　ran　to　the　restroom　and　vomited　again。
　The　knocking　persisted　at　the　front　door。　Jake　ignored　it　for　fifteen　minutes；　but　whoever　it　was　knew　he　was　there　and　kept　knocking。
　He　walked　to　the　balcony。　〃Who　is　it？〃　he　yelled　at　the　street。
　The　woman　walked　from　the　sidewalk　under　the　balcony　and　leaned　on　a　black　BMW　parked　next　to　the　Saab。　Her　hands　were　thrust　deep　into　the　pockets　of　faded；　starched；　well…fitting　jeans。　The　noon　sun　burned　brightly　and　blinded　her　as　she　looked　up　in　his　direction。　It　also　illuminated　her　light；　goldish　red　hair。
　〃Are　you　Jake　Brigance？〃　she　asked；　shielding　her　eyes　with　a　forearm。
　〃Yeah。　Whatta　you　want？〃
　〃I　need　to　talk　to　you。〃
　〃I'm　very　busy。〃
　〃It's　very　important。〃
　〃You're　not　a　client；　are　you？〃　he　asked；　focusing　his
　anu　Knowing　sne　was　indeed　not　a　client。
　〃No。　I　just　need　five　minutes　of　your　time。〃
　Jake　unlocked　the　door。　She　walked　in　casually　as　if　she　owned　the　place。　She　shook　his　hand　firmly。
　〃I'm　Ellen　Roark。〃
　He　pointed　to　a　seat　by　the　door。　〃Nice　to　meet　you。　Sit　down。〃
　Jake　sat　on　the　edge　of　Ethel's　desk。　〃One　syllable　or　two？〃
　〃I　beg　your　pardon。〃
　She　had　a　quick；　cocky　Northeast　accent；　but　tempered　with　some　time　in　the　South。
　〃Is　it　Rork　or　Row　Ark？〃
　〃R…o…a…r…k。　That's　Rork　in　Boston；　and　Row　Ark　in　Mississippi。〃
　〃Mind　if　I　call　you　Ellen？〃
　〃Please　do；　with　two　syllables。　Can　I　call　you　Jake？〃
　〃Yes；　please。〃
　〃Good；　I　hadn't　planned　to　call　you　Mister。〃
　〃Boston；　huh？〃
　〃Yeah；　I　was　born　there。　Went　to　Boston　College。　My　dad　is　Sheldon　Roark；　a　notorious　criminal　lawyer　in　Boston。〃
　〃I　guess　I've　missed　him。　What　brings　you　to　Mississippi？〃
　〃I'm　in　law　school　at　Ole　Miss。〃
　〃Ole　Miss！　How'd　you　wind　up　down　here？〃
　〃My　mother's　from　Natchez。　She　was　a　sweet　little　sorority　girl　at　Ole　Miss；　then　moved　to　New　York！；　where　she　met　my　father。〃
　〃I　married　a　sweet　little　sorority　girl　from　Ole　Miss。〃
　〃They　have　a　great　selection。〃
　〃Would　you　like　coffee？〃
　〃No　thanks。〃
　〃Well；　now　that　we　know　each　other；　what　brings　you　to　Clanton？〃
　。　〃Carl　Lee　Hailey。〃
　〃I'm　not　surprised。〃
　〃I'll　finish　law　school　in　December；　and　I'm　killing　time
　in　Oxford　this　summer。　I'm　taking　criminal　procedure　under　Guthrie；　and　I'm　bored。〃
　〃Crazy　George　Guthrie。〃
　〃Yeah；　he's　still　crazy。
　〃He　flunked　me　in　constitutional　law　my　first　year。〃
　〃Anyway；　I'd　like　to　help　you　with　the　trial。〃
　Jake　smiled　and　took　a　seat　in　Ethel's　heavy…duty；　rotating　secretarial　chair。　He　studied　her　carefully。　Her　black　cotton　polo　shirt　was　fashionably　weathered　and　neatly　pressed。　The　outlines　and　subtle　shadows　revealed　a　healthy　bustline；　no　bra。　The　thick；　wavy　hair　fell　perfectly　on　her　shoulders。
　〃What　makes　you　think　I　need　help？〃
　〃I　know　you　practice　alone；　and　I　know　you　don't　have　a　law　clerk。〃
　〃How　do　you　know　all　this？〃
　〃Newsweek。〃
　〃Ah；　yes。　A　wonderful　publication。　It　was　a　good　pic