js&cs.thebridge-第6部分

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　　Otis　listened；　as　Boonie　fessed　up。　It　took　two　minutes。　Otis　didn't　believe　half　the　drugged…out　shit　his　boy　said；　but　the　other　half　more　than　did　it。　Two　sweeps　of　the　second　hand　were　more　than　enough　time　for　Otis　to　imagine　his　kingdom　crumbling　beneath　his　feet。
　　Otis　waited　until　Boonie　finished；　got　the　facts　as　straight　as　he　could。
　　Then　he　kicked　the　shit　out　of　him。
　　First　things　first。
　　
　　
　　　Five
　　　
　　〃You're　joking；〃　Harold　Leonard　said。
　　There　was　a　thin　sheen　of　extremely　cold　sweat　on　his　brow。　It　hadn't　been　there　a　minute　ago。　A　minute　ago；　he'd　been　piling　Marge　and　their　six　lovely　children　into　the　Arrow；　mini…vanning　in　style　to　another　Sunday　service。　A　little　Christian　fellowship；　promptly　followed　by　the　Bob's　Big　Boy　buffet。　It　was　a　little　chilly　for　golf；　but　Harold　was　a　diehard。　A　quick　nine　holes　down　at　the　club；　and　he'd　be　back　in　time　for　the　Eagles　game。
　　A　minute　ago；　he'd　had　it　all　figured　out。
　　That　minute　was　gone　forever。
　　The　voice　on　the　other　end　of　the　phone　was　drunken；　surly；　strangely　out　of　breath。　It　assured　him　that；　no；　it　certainly　wasn't　a　joke；　then　proceeded　to　rattle　off　a　coarse　litany　of　hugely　unpleasant　specifics。　Each　and　every　one　of　them　fanned　the　spark　of　dread　taking　root　in　his　lungs；　peed　fire　into　his　paunchy　gut。
　　Harold　Leonard　was　the　owner　and　operator　of　Paradise　Waste　Disposal；　the　area's　largest　legitimate　waste　disposal　facility。　For　some　fifteen　years；　the　local　industrial　munity　had　e　to　him　with　its　dirty　diapers：　paying　him　dearly　to　clean　them　up　or；　at　the　very　least；　store　them　somewhere　inoffensive　and　safe。
　　The　good　news　was　that　business　was　grand；　the　one　thing　we　never　ran　out　of　was　waste。　The　bad　news　was　that　there　was　far　too　much　of　it。　Even　with　the　most　up…to…date　technology　he　was　willing　to　spring　for；　he　couldn't　process　but　a　fraction　of　what　he　took　in。　Every　day；　every　month；　every　year。
　　That　was　where　Harold's　operation　tiptoed　somewhat　afoul　of　the　law。
　　Harold　Leonard　was　a　middleman　in　every　sense　of　the　word：　middle…aged；　middle…class；　pickle　in　the　middle。　His　stature　in　the　business　munity　manded　a　respect　that　he　rarely　achieved　in　his　personal　life。　Liver…lipped；　beak…nosed　and　weasel…eyed；　he　was　the　last　guy　you'd　have　picked　for　your　team　in　school：　the　fat　kid　who　always　got　two　for　flinching。
　　He　was　flinching　now；　that　much　was　for　certain。　The　phone's　receiver　was　slick　in　his　porcine　hand。　〃Don't　do　anything　stupid；〃　he　heard　himself　whine。　〃We'll　work　this　out。〃
　　〃You're　goddam　right　we'll　work　this　out；〃　spat　the　voice　from　the　other　end。　〃I　wanna　know　what　you're　gonna　do　about　my　boys。〃
　　Harold　didn't　know　what　to　say。　The　hospital　was　out；　for　obvious　reasons。　His　brain　flailed　in　search　of　contingency　plans　that　didn't　exist。　〃Look；〃　he　began。　〃I've　got　to　talk　to　some　people。　You　haven't　told　anyone　else　yet；　have　you？〃
　　〃What；　are　you　stupid？〃
　　He　silently　thanked　God；　and　in　that　moment；　his　brain　began　to　work。　Perhaps　it　was　the　power　of　prayer。　〃Okay；　listen　up；〃　he　said。　〃First；　I　want　you　to　call　the　cops。〃
　　〃Yeah；　right！　FUCK　you！〃
　　〃Will　you　listen　to　me！〃　Harold　pressed；　more　forcefully。　He　was　in　his　element　now：　weaseling　in　real　time；　thinking　on　his　feet。　〃Tell　'em　that　you　just　got　in；　and　the　truck　was　stolen。　Probably　last　night。〃
　　The　moron　to　whom　he　was　speaking　made　a　colorful　noise　of　prehension。　Redeemed　in　his　own　eyes；　Harold　pressed　on。　〃That'll　cover　you　if　they　find　it；　and　buy　us　some　time　to　work　this　mess　out。〃
　　〃Okay。　I　like　that　。。。　〃
　　〃And　for　Christ's　sake；　keep　your　big　mouth　shut。　Don't　say　anything　to　anybody　until　I　get　back　to　you。〃
　　Leonard　slammed　the　phone　down；　ending　their　chat　on　a　power　note。　Then　he　stood　there；　just　shaking　for　one　long；　dreadful　minute；　trying　mightily　to　quell　his　panic。　His　ulcer　bubbled　like　a　gastric　Jacuzzi；　his　heart　slammed　in　his　temples。
　　〃Everything's　gonna　be　fine；〃　he　told　himself；　wanting　hard　to　believe　it。　〃I'll　just　have　to　tell　Blake。　He'll　know　what　to　do　。。。　〃
　　Outside；　Marge　or　one　of　the　kids　tapped　out　〃Shave　and　a　Haircut〃　on　the　horn。　It　shook　him　out　of　his　stupor；　made　him　long　for　their　warmth　and　panionship。　I'm　not　a　bad　guy；　he　told　himself。
　　Wanting　hard　to　believe　it。
　　I'm　not　。。。
　　Then　Harold　Leonard　donned　his　coat　and　hat；　locked　the　door　of　his　cozy　little　house　in　Haines　Acres；　walked　through　the　yard　of　his　snug　little　hunk　of　suburban　Paradise。
　　And　went　to　join　his　loving　family　in　worship。
　　At　the　church　of　his　choice。
　　
　　
　　　Six
　　　
　　By　a　quarter　after　ten；　on　a　Sunday　morning；　the　legions　of　God's　faithful　were　off　and　running。
　　Whatever　else　one　might　say　about　the　people　of　Paradise　County；　Deitz　noted；　they　were　awfully　big　on　Sunday　services。　And　with　eighty…seven　houses　of　worship　within　the　city　limits　alone…representing　twenty…eight　Christian　denominations…there　was　certainly　no　shortage　of　God…anointed　service　stations。　While　the　wicked　slept　in；　the　righteous　deployed；　flocking　en　masse　to　their　respective　personal　savior　pit　stops。
　　From　the　Mennonite　farms　at　the　county's　edge　to　the　African　Episcopal　Church　downtown；　the　children　of　God　made　their　holy　presence　known。　Between　the　hours　of　nine　and　noon；　they　virtually　owned　the　roads：　station　wagons；　packed　to　the　gills　with　Baptists；　Brethren；　and　Bible　Fellows；　drive…thru　windows；　dispensing　Sausage　and　Egg　McMuffins　by　the　truckload　to　Methodists　and　Mormons　alike；　gas　stations；　meeting　the　motoring　needs　of　Catholics；　Christian　Scientists；　Seventh…Day　Adventists；　and　Assemblymen　of　God。
　　Austin　Deitz　stood　at　the　back　of　the　Mt。　Rose　Amoco　Shop　'N'　Go；　where　Route　24　crossed　Mt。　Rose　Avenue　at　the　mouth　of　the　eastern　valley。　He　was　perusing　the　Yummy　Potato　Chip　snack　rack　while　he　waited　for　Jennie　to　return。
　　She'd　disappeared　behind　the　Employees　Only　door　ten　minutes　ago。　As　store　manager；　she'd　been　torn　from　her　bed　and　called　in　to　troubleshoot　the　latest　crisis：　some　loser　named　Ozzie　who'd　called　in　sick　at　the　very　last　minute　with　tickets　for　the　Eagles　game。
　　That　Ozzie　now　ranked　among　the　unemployed　was　no　consolation　at　all。　Only　Ozzie's　ability　to　deep…six　their　Sunday　plans　held　even　the　remotest　level　of　interest　for　him。　It　was；　after　all；　a　very　special　occasion。
　　Their　fourth…count　'em；　fourth…anniversary。
　　Four　solid　weeks　together；　Deitz　mused；　smiling。　My　God。　That's　practically　a　whole　month！　Somebody　alert　the　media！
　　Almost　an　entire　month　where　you　could　virtually　call　me　happy。
　　Austin　Deitz　was　a　month　shy　of　forty；　a　tall　gangly　man　with　knobby　calloused　hands　and　a　face　like　a　young　Abe　Lincoln's。　He　had　the　same　intense　dark　eyes　and　severe；　gaunt　hollows　to　his　cheeks；　the　same　shock　of　cowlicked　hair　and　horsey　overbite。　The　only　things　he　lacked　were　the　beard　and　the　bullet　hole；　and　he　was　in　no　great　hurry　to　acquire　either　one。
　　He　was　not　exactly　what　he'd　consider　a　love　machine；　but　Jennie　didn't　seem　to　mind。　In　fact；　ever　since　their　eyes　met　over　the　barbecue　chicken　pit　at　the　Stoverstown　Fire　pany's　Fall　Festival；　she'd　changed　his　mind　about　a　lot　of　things。
　　Jennie　Quirez　was　slight　and　slender；　with　a　broad　yet　delicate　face　framed　by　warm　mahogany　hair　and　offset　by　the　clearest；　finest　deep　brown　eyes　he'd　ever　seen。　She　was　either　late　twenties　or　early　thirties…Deitz　hadn't　gotten　around　to　asking　yet；　though　he　didn't　think　she'd　mind…far　enough　along；　anyway；　for　her　rich　tan　plexion　to　take　on　the　supple；　slightly　leathery　etch　of　time。
　　She　smiled　a　lot　and　didn't　take　an　ounce　of　shit　from　anyone；　a　bination　that　Deitz　found　irresistible。　She　was　also；　as　if　that　wasn't　enough；　a　pulsive　reader　of　science　fiction；　whose　childhood　dream　was　to　be　an　astronaut　one　day。　For　a　kid　who　grew　up　thinking　that　Heinlein　and　Bradbury　were　gods；　there　could　not　have　been　a　more　perfect　wish…fulfillment　fantasy　than　a　girl　who　knew　what　to　grok　in　fullness　really　meant；　or　who　could　savor　both　the　strange　peace　and　melancholic　beauty　of　a　book　like　The　Martian　Chronicles　and　the　icy；　hardw