jg.thepelicanbrief-第40部分
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
stage。 It worked。
But it wasn't working with Thomas。 She couldn't scream and throw things the way she wanted。 Rupert and Thin Man and the rest of the boys were denying her a healthy mourning。
After a few minutes of Thomas； she thought of them next。 Where would they be today？ Where could she go without being seen？ After two nights in this place； should she find another room？ Yes； she would do that。 After dark。 She would call and reserve a room at another tiny guest house。 Where were they staying？ Were they patrolling the streets hoping to simply bump into her？ Did they know where she was at this moment？ No。 She would be dead。 Did they know she was now a blonde？
The hair got her out of bed。 She walked to the mirror over the desk； and looked at herself。 It was even shorter now； and very white。 Not a bad job。 She had worked on it for three hours last night。 If she lived another two days； she would cut some more and go back to black。 If she lived another week； she might be bald。
A hunger pain hit； and for a second she thought about food。 She was not eating； and this would have to change。 It was almost ten。 Oddly； this bed and breakfast didn't cook on Sunday mornings。 She would venture out to find food and a Sunday Post； and to see if they could catch her now that she was a butch blonde。
She showered quickly； and the hair took less than a minute。 No makeup。 She put on a new pair of Army fatigues and a new flight jacket； and she was ready for battle。 The eyes were covered with aviator shades。
Although she had made a few entrances； she had not exited a building through the front door in four days。 She crept through the dark kitchen； unlocked the rear door； and stepped into the alley behind the little inn。 It was cool enough to wear the flight jacket without being suspicious。 Silly； she thought。 In the French Quarter； she could wear the hide and head of a polar bear and not appear suspicious。 She walked briskly through the alley with her hands deep in the fatigues and her eyes darting behind the shades。
He saw her when she stepped onto the sidewalk next to Burgundy Street。 The hair under the cap was different； but she was still five…eight and she couldn't change that。 The legs were still long and she walked a certain way； and after four days he could pick her out of a crowd regardless of the face and hair。 The cowboy boots snakeskin with pointed toes hit the sidewalk and started following。
She was a smart girl； turning every corner； changing streets every block； walking quickly but not too fast。 He figured she was headed for Jackson Square； where there was a crowd on Sundays and she thought she could disappear。 She could stroll about with the tourists and the locals； maybe eat a bite； enjoy the sun； pick up a paper。
Darby casually lit a cigarette and puffed as she walked。 She could not inhale。 She tried three days ago； and got dizzy。 Such a nasty habit。 How ironic it would be if she lived through all this only to die from lung cancer。 Please； let her die of cancer。
He was sitting at a table in a crowded sidewalk cafe at the corner of St。 Peter and Chartres； and he was less than ten feet away when she saw him。 A split second later； he saw her； and she probably would have made it if she hadn't hesitated for a step and swallowed hard when she saw him。 He saw her； and probably would have been only suspicious； but the slight hesitation and the curious look gave her away。 She kept walking； but faster now。
It was Stump。 He was on his feet and weaving through the tables when she lost sight of him。 At ground level； he was anything but chubby。 He seemed quick and muscular。 She lost him for a second on Chartres as she ducked between the arches of St。 Louis Cathedral。 The church was open； and she thought maybe she should get inside； as if it would be a sanctuary and he would not kill her there。 Yes； he would kill her there； or on the street； or in a crowd。 Anywhere he caught her。 He was back there； and Darby wanted to know how fast he was ing。 Was he just walking real fast and trying to play it cool？ Was he sort of jogging？ Or was he barreling down the sidewalk preparing to make a flying tackle as soon as he caught sight of her？ She kept moving。
She hung a left on St。 Ann； crossed the street； and was almost to Royal when she took a quick glance behind her。 He was ing。 He was on the other side of the street； but very much in pursuit。
The nervous look over the shoulder nailed her。 It was a dead giveaway； and he was into a jog now。
Get to Bourbon Street； she decided。 Kickoff was four hours away； and the Saints fans were out in force celebrating before the game because there would be little to celebrate afterward。 She turned on Royal and ran hard for a few steps； then slowed to a fast walk。 He turned on Royal and was trotting。 He was poised to break and run hard at any second。 Darby moved to the center of the street where a group of football rowdies were moving around； killing time。 She turned left on Dumaine； and started running。 Bourbon was ahead and there were people everywhere。
She could hear him now。 No sense looking anymore。 He was back there； running and gaining。 When she turned onto Bourbon； Mr。 Stump was fifty feet behind her； and the race was over。 She saw her angels as they made a noisy exit from a bar。 Three large； overweight young men dressed in a wild assortment of black and gold Saints garb stepped into the middle of the street just as Darby ran to them。
〃Help！〃 she screamed wildly and pointed at Stump。 〃Help me！ That man is after me！ He's trying to rape me！〃
Well； hell； now； sex in the streets of New Orleans is not at all unmon； but they'd be damned if this girl was going to be abused。
〃Please help me！〃 she screamed pitifully。 Suddenly； the street was silent。 Everyone froze； including Stump； who stopped for a step or two； then rushed forward。 The three Saints stepped in front of him with folded arms and glowing eyes。 It was over in seconds。 Stump used both hands at once： a right to the throat of the first one； and a vicious blow to the mouth of the second。 They squealed and fell hard。 Number three was not about to run。 His two buddies were hurt and this upset him。 He would have been a piece of cake for Stump； but number one fell on Stump's right foot and this threw him off。 As he yanked his foot away； Mr。 Benjamin Chop of Thibodaux； Louisiana； number three； kicked him squarely in the crotch； and Stump was history。 As Darby eased back into the crowd； she heard him cry in pain。
While he was falling； Mr。 Chop kicked him in the ribs。 Number two； with blood all over his face； charged wild…eyed into Stump； and the massacre was on。 He curled around his hands； which were curled around his severely damaged testicles； and they kicked him and cursed him without mercy until someone yelled； 〃Cops；〃 and this saved his life。 Mr。 Chop and number two helped number one to his feet； and the Saints were last seen darting into a bar。 Stump made it to his feet； and crawled away like a dog hit by a Mack truck but still alive and determined to die at home。
She hid in a dark corner of a pub on Decatur； drinking coffee then a beer； coffee then a beer。 Her hands shook and her stomach flipped。 The po'boys smelled delicious； but she could not eat。 After three beers in three hours； she ordered a plate of boiled shrimp and switched to spring water。
The alcohol had calmed her； and the shrimp settled her。 She was safe in here； she thought； so why not watch the game and just sit here； maybe； until it closed。
The pub was packed at kickoff。 They watched the wide screen above the bar； and got drunk。 She was a Saints fan now。 She hoped her three buddies were okay and enjoying the game。 The crowd yelled and cursed the Redskins。
Darby stayed in her little corner until the game was long over； then slid into the darkness。
* * *
AT SOME POINT in the fourth quarter； with the Saints down by four field goals； Edwin Sneller hung up the phone and turned off the television。 He stretched his legs； t
