sk.cujo-第14部分

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bination　of　psychological　and　sexual　factors。　By　fear；　if　you　wanted　to　be　crude。　That　it　hadn't　worked　that　way　left　him　feeling　hurt　and　furious；　as　if　he　had　been　whipped　raw。
He　got　out　of　his　clothes；　tossed　his　wallet　and　change　onto　his　desk；　went　into　the　bathroom；　showered。　When　he　came　out　he　felt　a　little　better。　He　dressed　again；　pulling　jeans　and　a　faded　chambray　shirt　from　the　flightbag。　He　picked　his　change　up；　put　it　in　a　front　pocket；　and　paused；　looking　speculatively　at　his　Lord　Buxton。　Some　of　the　business　cards　had　fallen　out　They　were　always　doing　that；　because　there　were　so　many　of　them。
Steve　Kemp　had　a　packrat　sort　of　wallet。　One　of　the　items　he　almost　always　picked　up　and　tucked　away　were　business　cards。　They　made　nice　bookmarks；　and　the　space　on　the　blank　flip　side　was　just　right　for　jotting　an　address；　simple　directions；　or　a　phone　number。　He　would　sometimes　take　two　or　three　if　he　happened　to　be　in　a　plumbing　shop　or　if　an　insurance　salesman　stopped　by。　Steve　would　unfailingly　ask　the　nine…to…fiver　for　his　card　with　a　big　shiteating　grin。
When　he　and　Donna　were　going　at　it　hot　and　heavy；　he　had　happened　to　notice　one　of　her　husband's　business　cards　lying　on　top　of　the　TV。　Donna　had　been　taking　a　shower　or　something。　He　had　taken　the　business　card。　No　big　reason。　Just　the　packrat　thing。
Now　he　opened　his　wallet　and　thumbed　through　the　cards；　cards　from　Prudential　agents　in　Virginia；　realtors　in　Colorado；　a　dozen　businesses　in　between。　For　a　moment　he　thought　he　had　lost　Handsome　Hubby's　card；　but　it　had　just　slipped　down　between　a　couple　of　dollar　bills。　He　fished　it　out　and　looked　at　it。　White　card；　blue　lettering　done　in　modish　lower　case；　Mr。　Businessman　Triumphant。　Quiet　but　impressive。　Nothing　flashy。
roger　breakstone　ad　worx　victor　trenton
1633　congress　street
telex：　ADWORX　portland；　maine　04001　tel　（207）　799…8600
Steve　pulled　a　sheet　of　paper　from　a　ream　of　cheap　mimeo　stuff　and　cleared　a　place　in　front　of　him。　He　looked　briefly　at　his　typewriter。　No。　Each　machine's　typescript　was　as　individual　as　a　fingerprint。　It　was　his　crooked　lower…case　'a'　that　hung　the　blighter；　Inspector。　The　jury　was　only　out　long　enough　to　have　tea。
This　would　not　be　a　police　matter；　nohow；　no　way；　but　caution　came　without　even　thinking。　Cheap　paper；　available　at　any　office　supply　store；　no　typewriter。
He　took　a　Pilot　Razor　Point　from　the　coffee　can　on　the　er　of　the　desk　and　printed　in　large　block　letters：
HELLO；　
VIC
NICE　WIFE　YOU'VE　GOT　THERE　
I　ENJOYED　FUCKING　THE　SHIT　OUT　OF　HER。　
He　paused；　tapping　the　pen　against　his　teeth。　He　was　starting　to　feel　good　again。　On　top。　Of　course；　she　was　a　good…looking　woman；　and　he　supposed　there　was　always　the　possibility　that　Trenton　might　discount　what　he　had　written　so　far。　Talk　was　cheap；　and　you　could　mail　someone　a　letter　for　less　than　the　price　of　a　coffee。　But　there　was　something　。。。　always　something。　What　might　it　be？
He　smiled　suddenly；　when　he　smiled　that　way　his　entire　face　lit　up；　and　it　was　easy　to　see　why　he　had　never　had　much　trouble　with　women　since　the　evening　with　the　vague；　pretty　French　sub。
He　wrote：
WHAT'S　THAT　MOLE　JUST　ABOVE　HER　PUBIC　HAIR　LOOK　LIKE　TO　YOU？
TO　ME　IT　LOOKS　LIKE　A　QUESTION　MARK。
DO　YOU　HAVE　ANY　QUESTIONS？
That　was　enough；　a　meal　is　as　good　as　a　feast；　his　mother　had　always　said。　He　found　an　envelope　and　put　the　message　inside。　After　a　pause；　he　slipped　the　business　card　in；　and　addressed　the　envelope；　also　in　block　letters；　to　Vic's　office。　After　a　moment's　thought；　he　decided　to　show　the　poor　slob　a　little　mercy　and　added　PERSONAL　below　the　address。
He　propped　the　letter　on　the　windowsill　and　leaned　back　in　his　chair；　feeling　totally　good　again。　He　would　be　able　to　write　tonight；　he　felt　sure　of　it。
Outside；　a　truck　with　out…of…state　plates　pulled　into　his　driveway。　A　pickup　with　a　great　big　Hoosier　cabinet　in　the　back。　Someone　had　picked　up　a　bargain　at　a　barn　sale。　Lucky　them。
Steve　strolled　out。　He　would　be　glad　to　take　their　money　and　their　Hoosier　cabinet；　but　he　really　doubted　if　he　would　have　time　to　do　the　work。　Once　that　letter　was　mailed；　a　change　of　air　might　be　in　order。　But　not　too　big　a　change；　at　least　not　for　a　while。　He　felt　he　owed　it　to　himself　to　stay　in　the　area　long　enough　to　make　at　least　one　more　visit　to　Little　Miss　Highpockets　。。。　when　it　could　be　ascertained　that　Handsome　Hubby　was　definitely　not　around；　of　course。　Steve　had　played　tennis　with　the　guy　and　he　was　no　ball　of　fire　…　thin；　heavy　glasses；　spaghetti　backhand　…　but　you　never　knew　when　a　Handsome　Hubby　was　going　to　go　off　his　gourd　and　do　something　antisocial。　A　good　many　Handsome　Hubbies　kept　guns　around　the　house。　So　he　would　want　to　check　out　the　scene　carefully　before　popping　in。　He　would　allow　himself　the　one　single　visit　and　then　close　this　show　entirely。　He　would　maybe　go　to　Ohio　for　a　while。　Or　Pennsylvania。　Or　Taos；　New　Mexico。　But　like　a　practical　joker　who　had　stuffed　a　load　into　someone's　cigarette；　he　wanted　to　stick　around　（at　a　prudent　distance；　of　course）　and　watch　it　blow　up。
The　driver　of　the　pickup　and　his　wife　were　peering　into　the　shop　to　see　if　he　was　there。　Steve　strolled　out；　hands　in　the　pockets　of　his　jeans；　smiling。　The　woman　smiled　back　immediately。　'HI；　folks；　can　I　help　you？'　he　asked；　and　thought　that　he　would　mail　the　letters　as　soon　as　he　could　get　rid　of　them。
That　evening；　as　the　sun　went　down　red　and　round　and　hot　in　the　west；　Vic　Trenton；　his　shirt　tied　around　his　waist　by　the　arms；　was　looking　into　the　engine　partment　of　his　wife's　Pinto。　Donna　was　standing　beside　him；　looking　young　and　fresh　in　a　pair　of　white　shorts　and　a　red…checked　sleeveless　blouse。　Her　feet　were　bare。　Tad；　dressed　only　in　his　bathing　suit；　was　driving　his　trike　madly　up　and　down　the　driveway；　playing　some　sort　of　mind　game　that　apparently　had　Ponch　and　John　from　CHiPS　pitted　against　Darth　Vader。
'Drink　your　iced　tea　before　it　melts；'　Donna　told　Vic。
'Uh…huh。'　The　glass　was　on　the　side　of　the　engine　partment。　Vic　had　a　couple　of　swallows；　put　it　back　without　looking；　and　it　tumbled　off　…　into　his　wife's　hand。
'Hey；'　he　said。　'Nice　catch。'
She　smiled。　'I　just　know　you　when　your　mind's　somewhere　else；　that's　all。　Look。　Didn't　spill　a　drop。'
They　smiled　into　each　other's　eyes　for　a　moment　…　a　good　moment；　Vic　thought。　Maybe　it　was　just　his　imagination；　or　wishful　thinking；　but　lately　it　seemed　there　were　more　of　the　good　small　moments。　Less　of　the　sharp　words。　Fewer　silences　which　were　cold；　or　…maybe　this　was　worse　~　just　indifferent。　He　didn't　know　what　the　cause　was；　but　he　was　grateful。
'Strictly　Triple…A　farm　club；'　he　said。　'You　got　a　ways　to　go　before　you　make　the　bigs；　kid。'
'So　what's　wrong　with　my　car；　coach？'
He　had　the　air　cleaner　off；　it　was　sitting　in　the　driveway。　'Never　saw　a　Frisbee　like　that　before；'　Tad　had　said　matter…of…factly　a　few　moments　ago；　swerving　his　trike　around　it。　Vic　leaned　back　in　and　poked　aimlessly　at　the　carburetor　with　the　head　of　his　screwdriver。
'It's　in　the　carb。　I　think　the　needle　valve's　sticking。'
'That's　bad？'
'Not　too　bad；'　he　said；　'but　it　can　stop　you　cold　if　it　decides　to　stick　shut。　The　needle　valve　controls　the　flow　of　gas　into　the　carb；　and　without　gas　you　don't　go。　It's　like　a　national　law；　babe。'
'Daddy；　will　you　push　me　on　the　swing？'
'Yeah；　in　a　minute。'
'Good！　I'll　be　in　the　back！'
Tad　started　round　the　house　toward　the　swing…and…gym　set　Vic　had　built　last　summer；　while　lubricating　himself　wed　with　gin　and　tonics；　working　from　a　set　of　plans；　doing　it　after　supper　on　week　nights　and　on　weekends　with　the　voices　of　the　Boston　Red　Sox　announcers　blaring　from　the　transistor　radio　beside　him。　Tad；　then　three；　sat　solemnly　on　the　cellar　bulkhead　or　on　the　back　steps；　chin　cupped　in　his　hands；　fetching　things　sometimes；　mostly　watching　silently。　Last　summer。　A　good　summer；　not　as　beastly　hot　as　this　one。　It　had　seemed　then　that　Donna　had　finally　adjusted　and　was　seeing　that　Maine；　Castle　Rock；　Ad　Worx　…　those　things　could　be　good　for　all　of　them。
Then　the　mystifying　bad　patch；　the　worst　of　it　being　that　nagging；　almost　psychic　feeling　that　things　were　even　more　wrong　than　he　wanted　to　think　about。　Things　in　the　house　began　to　seem　subtly　out　of　place；　as　if　unfami