scoonts.theminotaur-第65部分

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　He　pressed　his　fingers　in　his　ears　as　the　sound　swelled　in　volume　and　intensity。　The　nose　wheel　rose　a　foot　or　so　above　the　concrete。　With　a　delicate　wiggle　the　bird　of　prey　lifted　itself　free　of　the　earth　and　continued　toward　him　in　a　gentle　climb　as　the　wheels　retracted　into　the　body　of　the　beast。　The　howl　of　the　engines　grew　until　it　was　intolerable。
　Now　the　machine　was　passing　just　overhead；　roaring　a　thunderous　song　that　enveloped　him　with　an　intensity　beyond　imagination。　He　glimpsed　the　helmeted　figure　of　Rita　Moravia　in　the　cockpit　with　her　left　hand　on　the　throttles；　looking　forward；　toward　the　open　sky。
　He　buried　his　face　in　his　shoulder　as　the　plane　swept　past　and　waves　of　hot　jet　exhaust　and　disturbed　air　cascaded　over　him。
　When　the　gale　subsided　the　noise　was　fading　too；　so　he　looked　again　for　the　Intruder。　It　was　climbing　steeply　into　the　blue　ocean　above；　its　engine　noise　now　a　deep；　resonant；　subsiding　roar。
　He　got　down　from　the　truck　hood　and　seated　himself　behind　the　wheel。　The　birds　in　the　scrub　were　still　singing　and　the　jackrabbit　was　still　watching　suspiciously。
　Grinning　to　himself；　Jake　Grafton　started　the　engine　of　the　pickup　and　drove　away。
　
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　The　day　Terry　Franklin　died　was　a　beautiful　day；　〃the　finest　day　this　year〃　according　to　a　TV　weatherman　on　one　of　Washington's　local　breakfast　shows。　The　sun　crept　over　the　edge　of　the　earth　into　a　cloudless　sky　as　a　warm；　gentle　zephyr　from　the　west　stirred　the　new　foliage。　The　weather　reader　promised　a　high　temperature　of　seventy…four。　Humidity　was　low。　This　was　the　day　everyone　had　dreamed　of　while　they　endured　the　cold；　humid　winter　and　the　wet；　miserable　spring。　Now；　at　last；　it　was　here。　And　on　this　day　sent　from　heaven　Terry　Franklin　died。
　He　certainly　didn't　expect　to　die　today；　of　course；　or　any　other　day　in　the　foreseeable　future。　For　him　this　was　just　another　day　to　be　endured；　another　day　to　live　through　on　his　way　to　the　life　of　gleeful　indolence　he　was　earning　with　his　treason。
　He　awoke　when　his　alarm　went　off。　If　he　beard　the　birds　singing　outside　his　window　he　showed　no　sign。　He　used　his　electric　razor　on　his　face　and　gave　his　teeth　a　very　quick　pass　with　the　cordless　toothbrush　he　received　for　Christmas　from　his　kids；　whom　he　hadn't　seen　or　heard　from　for　three　weeks　and；　truthfully；　hoped　he　wouldn't　hear　from。　If　he　heard　from　the　kids　he　would　also　hear　from　Lucy；　and　she　would　want　money。　He　assumed　that　she　was　back　in　California　with　her　mother；　the　wicked　witch　of　the　west。　If　so；　Lucy　didn't　need　any　money：　her　father　the　tooth　mechanic　could　pay　the　grocery　bill　and　buy　the　kids　new　shoes。
　He　put　on　his　uniform　while　the　coffee　brewed。　The　coffee　he　drank　black；　just　the　way　he　had　learned　to　like　it　on　his　first　cruise；　which　he　had　made　to　the　Med　aboard　a　guided…missile　frigate。
　He　paused　automatically　on　the　front　stoop　and　looked　around　for　the　morning　newspaper；　then　remembered　that　there　wouldn't　be　one　and　pulled　the　door　closed　and　tried　it　to　ensure　it　was　locked。　He　had　canceled　the　paper　a　week　after　Lucy　left。　He　never　read　it　and　Lucy　only　scanned　the　front　page　and　read　the　funnies。　She　always　wanted　it　for　the　crossword　puzzle；　which　she　worked　every　morning　while　watching　Oprah。　Twenty…five　cents　a　day　for　a　fucking　crossword　puzzle。　He　had　relished　that　call　to　the　circulation　office。
　The　Datsun　started　on　the　first　crank。　He　backed　out　of　the　drive　and　roiled　down　his　window　as　he　drove　toward　the　stop　sign　at　the　corner。　He　fastened　his　seat　belt；　punched　up　the　Top　40　station　on　the　stereo　and　rolled。　He　only　had　three　miles　to　go　to　the　Park'N'Ride；　but　still　he　enjoyed　the　private　tittle　world　of　his　car。　These　few　minutes　in　the　car；　with　the　music　he　liked　adjusted　to　the　volume　he　liked；　he　cherished　as　the　best　part　of　the　day。
　He　hadn't　heard　from　the　Russians　since　his　talk　with　that　Yuri　fellow；　and　he　had　mixed　emotions　about　that。　In　a　way　it　was　quite　pleasant　not　sweating　drop　trips　or　clandestine　puter　time　or　the　slim　chance　of　being　searched　leaving　the　Pentagon。　Yet　every　day　that　went　by　without　a　call　was　another　day　he　had　to　waste　on　his　dreary；　humdrum　job；　on　this　humdrum　bus　ride；　on　this　humdrum　colorless　suburb。　Every　day　he　spent　here　was　a　day　he　wasn't　there；　lying　in　the　sun；　fucking　the　beach　bunnies；　drinking　Cuba　Libres　and　enjoying　life。
　His　fantasy　was　there；　waiting；　and　he　was　firmly　and　hopelessly　planted　here。　What　made　tile　waiting　so　frustrating　was　the　money　he　already　had　in　the　bank。　That　he　had　mitted　a　variety　of　serious　crimes　to　obtain　the　money　troubled　him　not　a　whit。　He　had　never　given　it　a　moment's　thought。　In　fact；　he　felt　exactly　like　all　the　other　people　who　see　a　large　sum　of　unearned　money　e　their　way…lottery　winners；　traffic　accident　victims；　legatees；　swindlers；　personal　injury　lawyers　and　so　on…the　money　was　his　by　divine　right。　Somehow；　some　way；　the　rulers　of　the　universe　had　decreed　that　he　deserved　the　good　things　and　good　times　that　big　money　will　buy　because　he　wasn't　like　all　those　schmucks　who　flog　it　eight　to　five。　He　was　different。　Special。　The　money　made　him　special。　The　unique　and　wonderful　emissions　given　off　by　large　quantities　of　money　made　him　tingle。
　Perhaps　because　he　felt　so　good　about　himself；　Terry　Franklin　took　the　time　this　morning；　the　last　morning　of　his　life。　to　smile　at　the　bus　driver　as　he　boarded　and　to　nod　at　a　woman　he　recognized　as　he　went　down　the　aisle。
　As　the　bus　threaded　its　way　through　rush　hour　traffic；　he　watched　the　scenery　roll　by　without　seeing　a　thing。　He　rode　lost　in　reverie；　already　enjoying　his　fantasy。
　The　morning　was　spent　cleaning　and　repairing　a　puter　keyboard　on　which　a　secretary　had　spilled　coffee。　She　also　had　a　taste　for　doughnuts　and　potato　chips；　he　noted　with　a　sneer　as　he　worked　with　a　toothbrush　to　rid　the　mechanism　of　soggy　crumbs。　He　could　just　picture　her　still　young　but　already　overweight；　always　dieting　or　talking　to　her　fellow　airheads　about　dieting　as　she　munches　yet　another　doughnut　and　swills　yet　another　cup　of　coffee　loaded　with　sugar。　She　must　have　had　at　least　three　lumps　in　this　stuff　she　spilled。　Lucy's　clone。
　He　almost　decided　to　tell　the　chief　to　trash　tins　keyboard；　then　changed　his　mind。　The　chief　had　cut　him　a　lot　of　slack　these　past　three　weeks：　he　should　try　to　prove　to　the　chief　that　he　could　still　carry　his　share　of　the　load。　He　put　more　WD…40　on　the　keyboard　and　reattacked　the　sticky　mess　with　the　toothbrush。
　Terry　Franklin's　last　meal　was　a　hot　dog　with　mustard；　catsup　and　relish；　a　small　order　of　fries　and　a　medium　Sprite。　He　ate　it　with　another　sailor　from　his　section　in　the　main　cafeteria。　They　discussed　the　new　secretary　in　the　division　office…was　she　really　a　blonde；　would　she　or　wouldn't　she；　was　it　worth　trying　to　find　out；　and　so　on。
　The　afternoon　went　quickly。　The　chief　sent　him　with　one　other　man　to　work　on　a　balky　tape　drive　in　the　enlisted　manpower　section；　and　the　afternoon　flew　by。　They　had　found　the　problem　but　had　not　yet　repaired　it　when　quitting　time　rolled　around。
　So　he　carried　his　tools　back　to　the　shop　and　exchanged　guffaws　with　his　shipmates；　then　walked　to　the　bus　stop　outside　and　found　a　place　in　the　usual　line。
　Had　he　known　what　was　ing；　one　wonders　what　he　would　have　done　differently。　No　doubt　a　larger　man　who　knew　the　end　was　nigh　might　have　lived　his　last　day　pretty　much　as　he　had　all　his　others；　but　Terry　Franklin　was　not　a　big　man　in　any　sense　of　the　word；　and　he　had　e　to　realize　that　in　the　last　three　weeks；　since　the　fiasco　of　the　bungled　drop。　He　knew　he　was　a　coward；　a　weakling　without　backbone　or　character；　but；　he　thought；　only　he　knew；　and　so　what？　Superman　lives　in　Metropolis　and　Batman　lives　in　Gotham。　The　rest　of　us　just　try　to　get　along。
　Yet；　given　who　he　was　and　what　he　was；　should　he　have　known　he　might　be　approaching　the　end　of　his　string？　The　signs　were　certainly　there　if　he　had　thought　it　through　dispassionately；　with　some　detachment。　He　didn't；　of　course。
　He　used　most　of　his　last　hour　on　earth　to　stare　out　the　bus　window　and　think　about　the　feel　of　the　sun　on　his　back　and　sand　between　his　bare　toes；　and　to　daydream　of　a　hard　young　female　body　under　him　ming