sk.everythingseventual-第83部分

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d　tunic；　which　was　torn　open　across　the　swelling　of　his　stomach　in　a　big　purple　grin。　He　was　doing　his　best　to　hold　his　plumbing　in；　but　it　was　a　battle　he　was　losing。　One　loop　of　intestines；　shiny　and　bruise…colored；　already　hung　out；　resting　against　his　left　side　like　some　awful　watch…chain。
　　Guy　feinted　at　me　with　his　knife。　I　countered　by　shoving　the　mop…bucket　at　him；　and　he　drew　back。　I　pulled　it　to　me　again　and　stood　there　with　my　hands　wrapped　around　the　wooden　mop…handle；　ready　to　shove　the　bucket　at　him　if　he　moved。　My　own　hand　was　throbbing　and　I　could　feel　sweat　trickling　down　my　cheeks　like　hot　oil。　Behind　Guy；　the　cook　had　managed　to　get　all　the　way　up。　Slowly；　like　an　invalid　in　early　recovery　from　a　serious　operation；　he　started　working　his　way　down　the　aisle　toward　Gimpel　the　Fool。　I　wished　him　well。
　　'Undo　those　bolts；'　I　said　to　Diane。
　　'What？'
　　'The　bolts　on　the　door。　Undo　them。'
　　'I　can't　move；'　she　said。　She　was　crying　so　hard　I　could　barely　understand　her。　'You're　crushing　me。'
　　I　moved　forward　a　little　to　give　her　room。　Guy　bared　his　teeth　at　me。　Mock…jabbed　with　the　knife；　then　pulled　it　back；　grinning　his　nervous；　snarly　little　grin　as　I　rolled　the　bucket　at　him　again　on　its　squeaky　casters。
　　'Bug…infested　stinkpot；'　he　said。　He　sounded　like　a　man　discussing　the　Mets'　chances　in　the　forthing　campaign。　'Let's　see　you　play　your　radio　this　loud　now；　stinkpot。　It　gives　you　a　change　in　your　thinking；　doesn't　it？　Boink！'
　　He　jabbed。　I　rolled。　But　this　time　he　didn't　pull　back　as　far；　and　I　realized　he　was　nerving　himself　up。　He　meant　to　go　for　it；　and　soon。　I　could　feel　Diane's　breasts　brush　against　my　back　as　she　gasped　for　breath。　I'd　given　her　room；　but　she　hadn't　turned　around　to　work　the　bolts。　She　was　just　standing　there。
　　'Open　the　door；'　I　told　her；　speaking　out　of　the　side　of　my　mouth　like　a　prison　con。　'Pull　the　goddam　bolts；　Diane。'
　　'I　can't；'　she　sobbed。　'I　can't；　I　don't　have　any　strength　in　my　hands。　Make　him　stop；　Steven；　don't　stand　there　talking　with　him；　make　him　stop。'
　　She　was　driving　me　insane。　I　really　thought　she　was。　'You　turn　around　and　pull　those　bolts；　Diane；　or　I'll　just　stand　aside　and　let…'
　　'EEEEEEEEE！'　he　screamed；　and　charged；　waving　and　stabbing　with　the　knife。
　　I　slammed　the　mop…bucket　forward　with　all　the　force　I　could　muster；　and　swept　his　legs　out　from　under　him。　He　howled　and　brought　the　knife　down　in　a　long；　desperate　stroke。　Any　closer　and　it　would　have　torn　off　the　tip　of　my　nose。　Then　he　landed　spraddled　awkwardly　on　wide…spread　knees；　with　his　face　just　above　the　mop…squeezing　gadget　hung　on　the　side　of　the　bucket。　Perfect！　I　drove　the　mophead　into　the　nape　of　his　neck。　The　strings　draggled　down　over　the　shoulders　of　his　black　jacket　like　a　witch…wig。　His　face　slammed　into　the　squeegee。　I　bent；　grabbed　the　handle　with　my　free　hand；　and　clamped　it　shut。　Guy　shrieked　with　pain；　the　sound　muffled　by　the　mop。
　　'PULL　THOSE　BOLTS！'　I　screamed　at　Diane。　'PULL　THOSE　BOLTS；　YOU　USELESS　BITCH！　PULL…'
　　Thud！　Something　hard　and　pointed　slammed　into　my　left　buttock。　I　staggered　forward　with　a　yell…more　surprise　than　pain；　I　think；　although　it　did　hurt。　I　went　to　one　knee　and　lost　my　hold　on　the　squeegee　handle。　Guy　pulled　back；　slipping　out　from　under　the　stringy　head　of　the　mop　at　the　same　time；　breathing　so　loudly　he　sounded　almost　as　if　he　were　barking。　It　hadn't　slowed　him　down　much；　though；　he　lashed　out　at　me　with　the　knife　as　soon　as　he　was　clear　of　the　bucket。　I　pulled　back；　feeling　the　breeze　as　the　blade　cut　the　air　beside　my　cheek。
　　It　was　only　as　I　scrambled　up　that　I　realized　what　had　happened；　what　she　had　done。　I　snatched　a　quick　glance　over　my　shoulder　at　her。　She　stared　back　defiantly；　her　back　pressed　against　the　door。　A　crazy　thought　came　to　me：　she　wanted　me　to　get　killed。　Had　perhaps　even　planned　it；　the　whole　thing。　Found　herself　a　crazy　ma？tre　d'　and　…
　　Her　eyes　widened。　'Look　out！'
　　I　turned　back　just　in　time　to　see　him　lunging　at　me。　The　sides　of　his　face　were　bright　red；　except　for　the　big　white　spots　made　by　the　drain…holes　in　the　squeegee。　I　rammed　the　mophead　at　him；　aiming　for　the　throat　and　getting　his　chest　instead。　I　stopped　his　charge　and　actually　knocked　him　backward　a　step。　What　happened　then　was　only　luck。　He　slipped　in　water　from　the　overturned　bucket　and　went　down　hard；　slamming　his　head　on　the　tiles。　Not　thinking　and　just　vaguely　aware　that　I　was　screaming；　I　snatched　up　the　skillet　of　mushrooms　from　the　stove　and　brought　it　down　on　his　upturned　face　as　hard　as　I　could。　There　was　a　muffled　thump；　followed　by　a　horrible　（but　mercifully　brief）　hissing　sound　as　the　skin　of　his　cheeks　and　forehead　boiled。
　　I　turned；　shoved　Diane　aside；　and　drew　the　bolts　holding　the　door　shut。　I　opened　the　door　and　sunlight　hit　me　like　a　hammer。　And　the　smell　of　the　air。　I　can't　remember　air　ever　smelling　better；　not　even　when　I　was　a　kid；　and　it　was　the　first　day　of　summer　vacation。
　　I　grabbed　Diane's　arm　and　pulled　her　out　into　a　narrow　alley　lined　with　padlocked　trash…bins。　At　the　far　end　of　this　narrow　stone　slit；　like　a　vision　of　heaven；　was　Fifty…third　Street　with　traffic　going　heedlessly　back　and　forth。　I　looked　over　my　shoulder　and　through　the　open　kitchen　door。　Guy　lay　on　his　back　with　carbonized　mushrooms　circling　his　head　like　an　existential　diadem。　The　skillet　had　slid　off　to　one　side；　revealing　a　face　that　was　red　and　swelling　with　blisters。　One　of　his　eyes　was　open；　but　it　looked　unseeingly　up　at　the　fluorescent　lights。　Behind　him；　the　kitchen　was　empty。　There　was　a　pool　of　blood　on　the　floor　and　bloody　handprints　on　the　white　enamel　front　of　the　walk…in　fridge；　but　both　the　chef　and　Gimpel　the　Fool　were　gone。
　　I　slammed　the　door　shut　and　pointed　down　the　alley。　'Go　on。'
　　She　didn't　move；　only　looked　at　me。
　　I　shoved　her　lightly　on　her　left　shoulder。　'Go！'
　　She　raised　a　hand　like　a　traffic…cop；　shook　her　head；　then　pointed　a　finger　at　me。　'Don't　you　touch　me。'
　　'What'll　you　do？　Sic　your　lawyer　on　me？　I　think　he's　dead；　sweetheart。'
　　'Don't　you　patronize　me　like　that。　Don't　you　dare。　And　don't　touch　me；　Steven；　I'm　warning　you。'
　　The　kitchen　door　burst　open。　Moving；　not　thinking　but　just　moving；　I　slammed　it　shut　again。　I　heard　a　muffled　cry…whether　anger　or　pain　I　didn't　know　and　didn't　care…just　before　it　clicked　shut。　I　leaned　my　back　against　it　and　braced　my　feet。　'Do　you　want　to　stand　here　and　discuss　it？'　I　asked　her。　'He's　still　pretty　lively；　by　the　sound。'　He　hit　the　door　again。　I　rocked　with　it；　then　slammed　it　shut。　I　waited　for　him　to　try　again；　but　he　didn't。
　　Diane　gave　me　a　long　look；　glarey　and　uncertain；　and　then　started　walking　up　the　alleyway　with　her　head　down　and　her　hair　hanging　at　the　sides　of　her　neck。　I　stood　with　my　back　against　the　door　until　she　got　about　three　quarters　of　the　way　to　the　street；　then　stood　away　from　it；　watching　it　warily。　No　one　came　out；　but　I　decided　that　wasn't　going　to　guarantee　any　peace　of　mind。　I　dragged　one　of　the　trash…bins　in　front　of　the　door；　then　set　off　after　Diane；　jogging。
　　
　　When　I　got　to　the　mouth　of　the　alley；　she　wasn't　there　anymore。　I　looked　right；　toward　Madison；　and　didn't　see　her。　I　looked　left　and　there　she　was；　wandering　slowly　across　Fifty…third　on　a　diagonal；　her　head　still　down　and　her　hair　still　hanging　like　curtains　at　the　sides　of　her　face。　No　one　paid　any　attention　to　her；　the　people　in　front　of　the　Gotham　Café　were　gawking　through　the　plate…glass　windows　like　people　in　front　of　the　New　England　Aquarium　shark…tank　at　feeding　time。　Sirens　were　approaching；　a　lot　of　them。
　　I　went　across　the　street；　reached　for　her　shoulder；　thought　better　of　it。　I　settled　for　calling　her　name；　instead。
　　She　turned　around；　her　eyes　dulled　with　horror　and　shock。　The　front　of　her　dress　had　turned　into　a　grisly　purple　bib。　She　stank　of　blood　and　spent　adrenaline。
　　'Leave　me　alone；'　she　said。　'I　never　want　to　see　you　again；　Steven。'
　　'You　kicked　my　ass　in　there；'　I　said。　'You　kicked　my　ass　and　almost　got　me　killed。　Both　of　us。　I　can't　believe　you；　Diane。'
　　'I've　wanted　to　kick　your　ass　for　the　last　fourteen　months；'　she　said。　'When　it　es　to　fulfilling　our　dre