sk.everythingseventual-第31部分

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pot。　It　was　the　only　real　pain；　although　his　arm　still　tingled　and　the　muscles　still　jumped。　Yet　it　was　horrible；　being　shocked　like　that。　Fletcher　felt　he　would　seriously　consider　shooting　his　own　mother　to　avoid　another　touch　of　the　little　steel　dildo。　An　atavism；　Heinz　had　called　it。　Someday　he　hoped　to　write　a　paper。
　　Heinz's　face　loomed　down；　lips　pulled　back　and　teeth　revealed　in　an　idiotic　grin；　eyes　alight。　'How　do　you　describe　it？'　he　cried。　'Now；　while　the　experience　is　still　fresh；　how　do　you　describe　it？'
　　'Like　dying；'　Fletcher　said　in　a　voice　that　didn't　sound　like　his　own。
　　Heinz　looked　transported。　'Yes！　And　you　see；　he　has　wet　himself！　Not　much；　just　a　little；　but　yes　。　。　。　and　Mr。　Fletcher…'
　　'Stand　aside；'　the　Bride　of　Frankenstein　said。　'Don't　be　an　ass。　Let　us　take　care　of　our　business。'
　　'And　that　was　only　one…quarter　power；'　Heinz　said　in　a　tone　of　awed　confidentiality；　and　then　he　stood　aside　and　refolded　his　hands　in　front　of　him。
　　'Mr。　Fletcher；　you　been　bad；'　Escobar　said　reproachfully。　He　took　the　stub　of　his　cigarette　from　his　mouth；　examined　it；　threw　it　on　the　floor。
　　The　cigarette；　Fletcher　thought。　The　cigarette；　yes。　The　shock　had　seriously　insulted　his　arm…the　muscles　were　still　twitching　and　he　could　see　blood　in　his　cupped　palm…but　it　seemed　to　have　revitalized　his　brain；　refreshed　it。　Of　course　that　was　what　shock　treatments　were　supposed　to　do。
　　'No　。　。　。　I　want　to　help　。　。　。'
　　But　Escobar　was　shaking　his　head。　'We　know　Nú？ez　will　e　to　the　city。　We　know　on　the　way　he　will　take　the　radio　station　if　he　can　。　。　。　and　he　probably　can。'
　　'For　awhile；'　said　the　Bride　of　Frankenstein。　'Only　for　awhile。'
　　Escobar　was　nodding。　'Only　for　awhile。　A　matter　of　days；　perhaps　hours。　Is　of　no　concern。　What　matters　is　we　give　you　a　bit　of　rope；　see　if　you　make　a　noose　。　。　。　and　you　do。'
　　Fletcher　sat　up　straight　in　the　chair　again。　Ramón　had　retreated　a　step　or　two。　Fletcher　looked　at　the　back　of　his　left　hand　and　saw　a　small　smudge　there；　like　the　one　on　the　side　of　Tomás's　dead　face　in　the　photograph。　And　there　was　Heinz　who　had　killed　Fletcher's　friend；　standing　beside　his　machine　with　his　hands　folded　in　front　of　him；　smiling　and　perhaps　thinking　about　the　paper　he　would　write；　words　and　graphs　and　little　pictures　labeled　Fig。　1　and　Fig。　2　and；　for　all　Fletcher　knew；　Fig。　994。
　　'Mr。　Fletcher？'
　　Fletcher　looked　at　Escobar　and　straightened　the　fingers　of　his　left　hand。　The　muscles　of　that　arm　were　still　twitching；　but　the　twitch　was　subsiding。　He　thought　that　when　the　time　came；　he　would　be　able　to　use　the　arm。　And　if　Ramón　shot　him；　so　what？　Let　Heinz　see　if　his　machine　could　raise　the　dead。
　　'Do　we　have　your　attention；　Mr。　Fletcher？'
　　Fletcher　nodded。
　　'Why　do　you　want　to　protect　this　man　Nú？ez？'　Escobar　asked。　'Why　do　you　want　to　suffer　to　protect　this　man？　He　takes　the　cocaine。　If　he　wins　his　revolution　he　will　proclaim　himself　President　for　Life　and　sell　the　cocaine　to　your　country。　He　will　go　to　mass　on　Sunday　and　fuck　his　coke…whores　the　rest　of　the　week。　In　the　end　who　wins？　Maybe　the　munists。　Maybe　United　Fruit。　Not　the　people。'　Escobar　spoke　low。　His　eyes　were　soft。　'Help　us；　Mr。　Fletcher。　Of　your　own　free　will。　Don't　make　us　make　you　help　us。　Don't　make　us　pull　on　your　string。'　He　looked　up　at　Fletcher　from　beneath　his　single　bushy　eyebrow。　He　looked　up　with　his　soft　cocker　spaniel　eyes。　'You　can　still　be　on　that　plane　to　Miami。　On　the　way　you　like　a　drink；　yes？'
　　'Yes；'　Fletcher　said。　'I'll　help　you。'
　　'Ah；　good。'　Escobar　smiled；　then　looked　at　the　woman。
　　'Does　he　have　rockets？'　she　asked。
　　'Yes。'
　　'Many？'
　　'At　least　sixty。'
　　'Russian？'
　　'Some　are。　Others　came　in　crates　with　Israeli　markings；　but　the　writing　on　the　missiles　themselves　looks　Japanese。'
　　She　nodded；　seeming　satisfied。　Escobar　beamed。
　　'Where　are　they？'
　　'Everywhere。　You　can't　just　swoop　down　and　grab　them。　There　might　still　be　a　dozen　at　Ortiz。'　Fletcher　knew　that　wasn't　so。
　　'And　Nú？ez？'　she　asked。　'Is　El　Cóndor　at　Ortiz？'
　　She　knew　better。　'He's　in　the　jungle。　Last　I　knew；　he　was　in　Belén　Province。'　This　was　a　lie。　Nú？ez　had　been　in　Cristóbal；　a　suburb　of　the　capital　city；　when　Fletcher　last　saw　him。　He　was　probably　still　there。　But　if　Escobar　and　the　woman　had　known　that；　there　would　have　been　no　need　of　this　interrogation。　And　why　would　they　believe　Nú？ez　would　trust　Fletcher　with　his　whereabouts；　anyway？　In　a　country　like　this；　where　Escobar　and　Heinz　and　the　Bride　of　Frankenstein　were　only　three　of　your　enemies；　why　would　you　trust　a　Yankee　newspaper　reporter　with　your　address？　Loco！　Why　was　the　Yankee　newspaperman　involved　at　all？　But　they　had　stopped　wondering　about　that；　at　least　for　now。
　　'Who　does　he　talk　to　in　the　city？'　the　woman　asked。　'Not　who　he　fucks；　who　he　talks　to。'
　　This　was　the　point　where　he　had　to　move；　if　he　was　going　to。　The　truth　was　no　longer　safe　and　they　might　know　a　lie。
　　'There's　a　man　。　。　。'　he　started；　then　paused。　'Could　I　have　that　cigarette　now？'
　　'Mr。　Fletcher！　But　of　course！'　Escobar　was　for　a　moment　the　concerned　dinner…party　host。　Fletcher　did　not　think　this　was　play…acting。　Escobar　picked　up　the　red…and…white　pack…the　kind　of　pack　any　free　man　or　woman　could　buy　at　any　newsstand　like　the　one　Fletcher　remembered　on　Forty…third　Street…and　shook　out　a　cigarette。　Fletcher　took　it；　knowing　he　might　be　dead　before　it　burned　all　the　way　down　to　the　filter；　no　longer　a　part　of　this　earth。　He　felt　nothing；　only　the　fading　twitch　of　the　muscles　in　his　left　arm　and　a　funny　baked　taste　in　his　fillings　on　that　side　of　his　mouth。
　　He　put　the　cigarette　between　his　lips。　Escobar　leaned　further　forward　and　snapped　back　the　cover　of　his　gold…plated　lighter。　He　flicked　the　wheel。　The　lighter　produced　a　flame。　Fletcher　was　aware　of　Heinz's　infernal　machine　humming　like　an　old　radio；　the　kind　with　tubes　in　the　back。　He　was　aware　of　the　woman　he　had　e　to　think　of；　without　a　trace　of　humor；　as　the　Bride　of　Frankenstein；　looking　at　him　the　way　the　Coyote　in　the　cartoons　looked　at　the　Road　Runner。　He　was　aware　of　his　heart　beating；　of　the　remembered　circular　feel　of　the　cigarette　in　his　mouth…'a　tube　of　singular　delight；'　some　playwright　or　other　had　called　it…and　of　the　beat　of　his　heart；　incredibly　slow。　Last　month　he'd　been　called　upon　to　make　an　after…luncheon　speech　at　the　Club　Internacional；　where　all　the　foreign　press　geeks　hung　out；　and　his　heart　had　beat　faster　then。
　　Here　it　was；　and　so　what？　Even　the　blind　found　their　way　through　this；　even　his　sister　had；　there　by　the　river。
　　Fletcher　bent　to　the　flame。　The　end　of　the　Marlboro　caught　fire　and　glowed　red。　Fletcher　drew　deep；　and　it　was　easy　to　start　coughing；　after　three　years　without　a　cigarette；　it　would　have　been　harder　not　to　cough。　He　sat　back　in　the　chair　and　added　a　harsh；　gagging　growl　to　the　cough。　He　began　to　shake　all　over；　throwing　his　elbows　out；　jerking　his　head　to　the　left；　drumming　his　feet。　Best　of　all；　he　recalled　an　old　childhood　talent　and　rolled　his　eyes　up　to　the　whites。　During　none　of　this　did　he　let　go　of　the　cigarette。
　　Fletcher　had　never　seen　an　actual　epileptic　fit；　although　he　vaguely　remembered　Patty　Duke　throwing　one　in　The　Miracle　Worker。　He　had　no　way　of　knowing　if　he　was　doing　what　epileptics　actually　did；　but　he　hoped　that　the　unexpected　death　of　Tomás　Herrera　would　help　them　to　overlook　any　false　notes　in　his　own　act。
　　'Shit；　not　again！'　Heinz　cried　in　a　shrill　near…scream；　in　a　movie　it　might　have　been　funny。
　　'Grab　him；　Ramón！'　Escobar　yelled　in　Spanish。　He　tried　to　stand　up　and　struck　the　table　so　hard　with　his　meaty　thighs　that　it　rose　up　and　thumped　back　down。　The　woman　didn't　move；　and　Fletcher　thought：　She　suspects。　I　don't　think　she　even　knows　it　yet；　but　she's　smarter　than　Escobar；　smarter　by　a　mile；　and　she　suspects。
　　Was　this　true？　With　his　eyes　rolled　up　he　could　see　only　a　ghost　of　her；　not　enough　to　really　know　if　it　was　or　not　。　。　。　but　he　knew。　What　did　it　matter？　Things　had　been　set　in　motion；　and　now　they　would　play　out。　They　would　play　out　very　fast。
　　'Ramón！'　Escobar　shouted。　'Don't　let　him　fall　on　the　floor；　you　idiot！　Don