gns.snakes-第11部分

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　　'You　bastard；'　he　hissed；　'of　all　the　land　you've　got　to　roam　in　peace　you　have　to　e　in　here　and　kill　an　old　lady。'
　　
　　Swiftly　he　carried　it　across　the　kitchen　to　the　open　back　door　and　with　one　deft　movement　he　hurled　it　out　into　the　night；　watched　the　shadows　swallow　up　the　four…foot…long　thrashing　creature；　heard　it　thud　softly　on　to　the　lawn。
　　
　　He　stood　there　in　the　doorway；　trembling　and　feeling　slightly　sick。　Then　he　came　to　a　decision　and　with　feet　that　dragged　he　began　to　retrace　his　steps　down　the　main　street　and　into　the　village。
　　
　　They　were　still　drinking　in　the　Rising　Sun。　Nobody　could　blame　them　for　that　but　when　you　had　a　personal　tragedy　you　instinctively　resented　the　way　life　went　on　without　so　much　as　a　hiccup。　Only　a　few　lights　showed　in　the　houses　now。　Bed　was　a　good　place　to　be　and　in　your　own　house　with　the　doors　locked　you　felt　safe。　You　kept　your　feet　under　the　sheets　even　on　a　hot　night　because　that　way　nothing　could　e　up　from　under　the　bed　and　entwine　your　ankle；　slither　up　you　and　bite　you。
　　
　　'You　still　around！'　there　was　sarcasm　and　resentment　in　PC　Aylott's　voice　as　John　Price　entered　the　office。
　　
　　The　constable　was　checking　out　a　sheet　of　'snake　sightings'。　Ten　of　them；　inevitable　but　all　figments　of　the　imagination。　Maybe　some　of　them　were　hoaxes　but　they　all　had　to　be　checked　out。　There　was　a　minority　of　the　general　public　that　was　a　bloody　nuisance　when　any　major　crisis　cropped　up。　Sensation　seekers；　downright　bloody　liars　and　a　sprinkling　of　idiots　who　over…reacted。
　　
　　'Elsie　Harrison's　dead。'　John　thought　his　voice　seemed　to　e　from　somewhere　a　long　way　away。　A　whisper　that　echoed；　mocked。　Dead　。　。　。　dead　。　。　。　dead。
　　
　　The　policeman's　expression　altered；　his　pale　blue　eyes　narrowing；　thin　lips　barking　one　word；　a　question。　'How？'
　　
　　'A　snake。　'John's　ears　were　roaring；　his　tongue　felt　dry　and　swollen。　'She　。　。　。'
　　
　　'A　snake。'　Aylott　stiffened　and　his　expression　said；　'You　better　not　be　lying；　laddie；　because　I've　got　a　whole　sheet　of　reports　here　that　are　downright　time…wasting　fucking　lies。'
　　
　　'It　was　only　a　grass　snake；'　the　other's　voice　was　low　but　he　had　got　it　back　under　control。　'Got　lost；　or　maybe　it　was　just　curious；　there　could　be　any　one　of　a　dozen　reasons。　Anyway；　it　must　have　wandered　into　the　house　and　。。。　and　it　gave　my　aunt　a　heart　attack。'
　　
　　'I　see。'　Ken　Aylott　stared　at　the　wall　beyond　his　visitor；　tried　not　to　show　his　disappointment　and　anger。　This　was　all　he　needed；　a　harmless　snake　adding　to　his　problems。　The　villagers　would　panic。　He　needed　to　catch　some　sleep　too。
　　
　　'You　killed　it？'
　　
　　'No；　I　threw　it　outside。'
　　
　　'You　didn't　kill　it！'
　　
　　'There　wasn't　any　point；　not　even　after　it　had　killed　my　aunt。　How　the　hell　was　it　supposed　to　know　everybody　would　be　scared　of　it　when　in　all　probability　it　was　terrified　itself？'　'I'll　e　back　with　you　and　take　a　look。'　Aylott　stood　up；　sighed。　And　kids　like　this　got　degrees　for　studying　bloody　snakes；　he　reflected。　So　what　the　hell　am　I　doing　working　the　clock　round　as　a　village　bobby　and　can't　even　get　promotion？
　　
　　
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　6
　　
　　KEITH　DOYLE　had　overe　the　depression　of　the　unemployed　this　last　six　weeks。　No　longer　did　he　feel　a　reject；　tossed　on　to　the　scrap　heap；　a　leech　on　society；　every　week　when　he　collected　his　benefit。　You　could　sit　around　for　ever　waiting　for　something　to　crop　up　but　if　you　had　any　bottle　you　got　up　off　your　arse　and　did　what　Muhammad　was　eventually　forced　to　do。
　　
　　The　idea　of　a　gardening　round　appealed　to　him。　It　was　creative　and　you　could　see　something　for　your　efforts。　With　two　full…time　gardeners　already　in　Stainforth　there　didn't　seem　much　chance　of　edging　in　but　Keith　had　already　spotted　both　their　weaknesses。　There　was　a　niche　awaiting　the　right　man。
　　
　　Old　Fred　Stokes　was　an　experienced　gardener　but　he　was　a　stubborn　old　bugger。　You　took　him　on　for　￡2。50　an　hour　but　he　was　the　boss。　Some　folks　liked　their　lawns　cut　short　and　kept　that　way　but　Fred　maintained　that　you　needed　a　minimum　of　half　an　inch　of　grass　growth　at　all　times　so　that　was　what　you　got　whether　you　liked　it　or　not：　he　did　everything　his　way。　The　Evershams　preferred　their　rose　beds　dug　over　twice　a　year　but　Fred　insisted　on　hoeing　them　instead　because　he　claimed　that　digging　damaged　the　roots　of　the　bushes。　And　if　you　sacked　Fred　then　you　only　had　one　alternative…William。　Unless；　of　course；　you　decided　to　look　after　your　own　horticulture。　Anyway；　the　Evershams　got　rid　of　Fred　eventually　because　Peter　Eversham　was　another　guy　who　liked　his　own　way。
　　
　　William　was　big　and　strong；　approaching　forty；　and　as　willing　a　worker　as　you　would　find　anywhere；　a　workhorse　that　toiled　eight　hours　a　day　for　￡2　an　hour；　but　he　had　difficulty　in　distinguishing　weeds　from　flowers。　'If　in　doubt；　pull　it　out'　was　his　motto。　He　weeded　laboriously　but　if　he　left　a　tuft　or　two　of　unsightly　grass　sticking　up　in　the　border　then　it　didn't　really　matter。　If　you　wanted　some　planting　done　then　you　had　to　be　sure　to　instruct　William　to　weed　the　border　first；　he　had　been　sacked　by　the　Willetts　because　he　planted　the　autumn　bulbs　straight　into　a　weed…covered　bed。　Neither　was　he　particular　about　raking　where　he　had　trodden；　so　even　if　you　got　your　border　weeded　it　looked　as　if　some　of　Farmer　Mason's　cows　had　wandered　in　off　the　road　and　trampled　it　down　for　you。
　　
　　So　Keith　Doyle　struck　a　middle　course。　For　￡2。75　an　hour　you　got　the　job　done　as　you　wanted　it　and　tidily　finished。　Much　to　old　Fred's　chagrin　Keith　took　over　up　at　the　Evershams'　and　the　remendation　of　the　wealthy　pany　director　fed　to　him　getting　regular　weekly　gardening　jobs　at　four　other　executive…style　dwellings　in　Stainforth's　'muter…belt'。
　　
　　With　the　summer　at　its　height；　the　weeds　and　hedges　growing　prolifically；　Keith　Doyle　was　grossing　￡110　per　week。　It　would　slow　down　in　the　winter　months　of　course；　but　doubtless　the　likes　of　the　Evershams　would　be　glad　of　a　general　handyman　to　do　odd　jobs　about　the　place。
　　
　　'You're　asking　for　trouble　lurking　about　in　weed…covered　borders。'　PC　Aylott　had　stopped　him　on　his　way　to　the　Evershams'　that　morning；　and　run　a　suspicious　eye　over　the　old　van's　tyres。　'The　snakes　could　be　anywhere。'
　　
　　'I'll　watch　out　for　'em；'　Keith　smiled；　ran　his　fingers　through　his　mop　of　unruly　red　hair　and　mocked　the　policeman　with　his　clear　blue　eyes。　'Chop　'em　in　half　with　the　hoe。'
　　
　　'On　your　own　head　be　it；'　Aylott　turned　away；　called　back　over　his　shoulder；　'Neither　a　hoe　nor　five　'A'　levels　are　much　of　a　protection　against　pythons　and　rattlesnakes。'
　　
　　Keith　dismissed　the　policeman　from　his　mind。　The　other　had　a　chip　on　his　shoulder　because　he　hadn't　got　sergeant's　stripes；　and　thought　the　people　of　Stainforth　were　a　munity　of　country　bumpkins。　Maybe　the　Force　were　just　trying　to　cool　Aylott's　ardour　by　leaving　him　in　Stainforth；　didn't　want　him　getting　officious　when　promotion　finally　came　his　way。　And　in　the　meantime　he　was　getting　up　everybody's　nose。
　　
　　The　young　man　turned　in　through　the　stone…pillared　gateway　that　was　the　entrance　to　the　large　black　and　white　timbered　residence　where　Peter　Eversham　and　his　wife　lived。　The　Jag　wasn't　parked　in　front　of　the　house　so　maybe　the　owner　had　left　early　for　the　city。　Or　else　Cynthia；　his　blonde　attractive　second　wife；　had　persuaded　him　to　take　her　to　a　hotel　well　away　from　Stainforth　until　the　snakes　had　all　been　shot。　That　was　OK　by　Keith　except　that　he　would　not　be　paid　until　they　returned。
　　
　　He　parked　his　van；　opened　up　the　back　to　get　at　his　tools。　A　good　gardener　always　carries　his　own　tools；　he　told　everybody；　not　like　Fred　Stokes　virtually　demanding　that　his　employers　carry　a　full　range　of　implements　and　that　every　one　bore　the　Spear　and　Jackson　trademark。
　　
　　He　pulled　out　a　long；　three…pronged　hoe；　held　it　spear…like。　Yes；　I'll　chop　the　buggers　in　half　if　I　sec　'em。　Now；　what　was　that　ditty　they　used　to　recite　at　school　about　snakes　。　。　。　Oh　yes；　he　remembered　it　now；　chanted　aloud。
　　
　　Old　King　Nick　had　a　six…foot　dick；
　　
　　He　showed　it　to　the　lad