jg.thefirm-第32部分

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　　〃Just　drive。〃
　　〃Waffles；　right？〃　He　laughed　and　mumbled　to　himself。　He　adjusted　the　radio　volume　and　found　his　favorite　soul　station。　He　glanced　in　the　mirror；　looked　out　the　windows；　whistled　a　bit；　then　said；　〃What　brings　you　down　here　on　Christmas？〃
　　〃Looking　for　someone。〃
　　〃Who？〃
　　〃A　woman。〃
　　〃Ain't　we　all。　Anyone　in　particular？〃
　　〃An　old　friend。〃
　　〃She　at　the　Waffle　Hut？〃
　　〃I　think　so。〃
　　〃You　some　kinda　private　eye　or　something？〃
　　〃No。〃
　　〃Seems　mighty　suspicious　to　me。〃
　　〃Why　don't　you　just　drive。〃
　　The　Waffle　Hut　was　a　small；　rectangular；　boxlike　building　with　a　dozen　tables　and　a　long　counter　facing　the　grill；　where　everything　was　cooked　in　the　open。　Large　plate…glass　windows　lined　one　side　next　to　the　tables　so　the　customers　could　take　in　the　Strip　and　the　condos　in　the　distance　while　they　enjoyed　their　pecan　waffles　and　bacon。　The　small　parking　lot　was　almost　full；　and　Mitch　directed　the　driver　to　an　empty　slot　near　the　building。
　　〃Ain't　you　getting　out？〃　the　driver　asked。
　　〃No。　Keep　the　meter　running。〃
　　〃Man；　this　is　strange。〃
　　〃You'll　get　paid。〃
　　〃You　got　that　right。〃
　　Mitch　leaned　forward　and　rested　his　arms　on　the　front　seat。　The　meter　clicked　softly　as　he　studied　the　customers　inside。　The　driver　shook　his　head；　slumped　in　the　seat；　but　watched　out　of　curiosity。
　　In　the　corner　next　to　the　cigarette　machine　a　table　of　fat　tourists　with　long　shirts；　white　legs　and　black　socks　drank　coffee；　and　all　talked　at　the　same　time　while　glancing　at　the　menus。　The　leader；　the　one　with　an　unbuttoned　shirt；　a　heavy　gold　chain　draped　upon　his　chest　hair；　thick　gray　sideburns　and　a　Phillies　baseball　cap；　looked　repeatedly　toward　the　grill；　in　search　of　a　waitress。
　　〃You　see　her？〃　asked　the　driver。
　　Mitch　said　nothing；　then　leaned　forward　and　frowned。　She　appeared　from　nowhere　and　stood　at　the　table　with　her　pen　and　order　book。　The　leader　said　something　funny；　and　the　fat　people　laughed。　She　never　smiled；　just　kept　writing。　She　was　frail　and　much　thinner。　Almost　too　thin。　The　black…and…white　uniform　fit　snugly　and　squeezed　her　tiny　waist。　Her　gray　hair　was　pulled　tightly　and　hidden　under　the　Waffle　Hut　bonnet。　She　was　fifty…one；　and　from　the　distance　she　looked　her　age。　Nothing　worse。　She　seemed　sharp。　When　she　finished　scribbling　she　snatched　the　menus　from　their　hands；　said　something　polite；　almost　smiled；　then　disappeared。　She　moved　quickly　among　the　tables；　pouring　coffee；　handing　ketchup　bottles　and　giving　orders　to　the　cook。
　　Mitch　relaxed。　The　meter　ticked　slowly。
　　〃Is　that　her？〃　asked　the　driver。
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃What　now？〃
　　〃I　don't　know。〃
　　〃Well；　we　found　her；　didn't　we？〃
　　Mitch　followed　her　movements　and　said　nothing。　She　poured　coffee　for　a　man　sitting　alone。　He　said　something；　and　she　smiled。　A　wonderful；　gracious　smile。　A　smile　he　had　seen　a　thousand　times　in　the　darkness　staring　at　the　ceiling。　His　mother's　smile。
　　A　light　mist　began　to　fall　and　the　intermittent　wipers　cleaned　the　windshield　every　ten　seconds。　It　was　almost　midnight；　Christmas　Day。
　　The　driver　tapped　the　wheel　nervously　and　fidgeted。　He　sank　lower　in　the　seat；　then　changed　stations。　〃How　long　we　gonna　sit　here？〃
　　〃Not　long。〃
　　〃Man；　this　is　weird。〃
　　〃You'll　be　paid。〃
　　〃Man；　money　ain't　everything。　It's　Christmas。　I　got　kids　at　home；　kinfolks　visiting；　turkey　and　wine　to　finish　off；　and　here　I　am　sitting　at　the　Waffle　Hut　so　you　ean　look　at　some　old　woman　through　the　window。〃
　　〃It's　my　mother。〃
　　〃Your　what！〃
　　〃You　heard　me。〃
　　〃Man；　oh　man。　I　get　all　kinds。〃
　　〃Just　shut　up；　okay？〃
　　〃Okay。　Ain't　you　gonna　talk　to　her？　I　mean　it's　Christmas；　and　you　found　your　momma。　You　gotta　go　see　her；　don't　you？〃
　　〃No。　Not　now。〃
　　Mitch　sat　back　in　the　seat　and　looked　at　the　dark　beach　across　the　highway。　〃Let's　go。〃
　　At　daybreak；　he　dressed　in　jeans　and　a　sweatshirt；　no　socks　or　shoes；　and　took　Hearsay　for　a　walk　on　the　beach。　They　walked　east；　toward　the　first　glow　of　orange　peeking　above　the　horizon。　The　waves　broke　gently　thirty　yards　out　and　rolled　quietly　onto　shore。　The　sand　was　cool　and　wet。　The　sky　was　clear　and　full　of　sea　gulls　talking　incessantly　among　themselves。　Hearsay　ran　boldly　into　the　sea；　then　retreated　furiously　when　the　next　wave　of　white　foam　approached。　For　a　house　dog；　the　endless　stretch　of　sand　and　water　demanded　exploration。　He　ran　a　hundred　yards　ahead　of　Mitch。
　　After　two　miles　they　approached　a　pier；　a　large　concrete　structure　running　two　hundred　feet　from　the　beach　into　the　ocean。　Hearsay；　fearless　now；　darted　onto　it　and　ran　to　a　bucket　of　bait　next　to　two　men　standing　motionless　and　staring　down　at　the　water。　Mitch　walked　behind　them；　to　the　end　of　the　pier；　where　a　dozen　fishermen　talked　occasionally　to　each　other　and　waited　for　their　lines　to　jump。　The　dog　rubbed　himself　on　Mitch's　leg　and　grew　still。　A　brilliant　return　of　the　sun　was　in　progress；　and　for　miles　the　water　glistened　and　turned　from　black　to　green。
　　Mitch　leaned　on　the　railing　and　shivered　in　the　cool　wind。　His　bare　feet　were　frozen　and　gritty。　For　miles　along　the　beach　in　both　directions；　the　hotels　and　condos　sat　quietly　and　waited　for　the　day。　There　was　no　one　on　the　beach。　Another　pier　jutted　into　the　water　miles　away。
　　The　fishermen　spoke　with　the　sharp；　precise　words　of　those　from　the　North。　Mitch　listened　long　enough　to　learn　the　fish　were　not　biting。　He　studied　the　sea。　Looking　southeast；　he　thought　of　the　Caymans；　and　Abanks。　And　the　girl　for　a　moment；　then　she　was　gone。　He　would　return　to　the　islands　in　March；　for　a　vacation　with　his　wife。　Damn　the　girl。　Surely　he　would　not　see　her。　He　would　dive　with　Abanks　and　cultivate　a　friendship。　They　would　drink　Heineken　and　Red　Stripe　at　his　bar　and　talk　of　Hodge　and　Kozinski。　He　would　follow　whoever　was　following　him。　Now　that　Abby　was　an　acplice；　she　would　assist　him。
　　The　man　waited　in　the　dark　beside　the　Lincoln　Town　Car。　He　nervously　checked　his　watch　and　glanced　at　the　dimly　lit　sidewalk　that　disappeared　in　front　of　the　building。　On　the　second　floor　a　light　was　turned　off。　A　minute　later；　the　private　eye　walked　from　the　building　toward　the　car。　The　man　walked　up　to　him。
　　〃Are　you　Eddie　Lomax？〃　he　asked　anxiously。
　　Lomax　slowed；　then　stopped。　They　were　face…to…face。　〃Yeah。　Who　are　you？〃
　　The　man　kept　his　hands　in　his　pockets。　It　was　cold　and　damp；　and　he　was　shaking。　〃Al　Kilbury。　I　need　some　help；　Mr。　Lomax。　Real　bad。　I'll　pay　you　right　now　in　cash；　whatever　you　want。　Just　help　me。〃
　　〃It's　late；　pal。〃
　　〃Please。　I've　got　the　money。　Naftte…4he　price。　You　gotta　help；　Mr。　Lomax。〃　He　pulled　a　roll　of　ca》^　from　his　left　pants　pocket　and　stood　ready　to　count。
　　Lomax　looked　at　the　money；　then　glanced　over　his　shoulder。　〃What's　the　problem？〃
　　〃My　wife。　In　an　hour　she's　supposed　to　meet　a　man　at　a　motel　in　South　Memphis。　I've　got　the　room　number　and　all。　I　just　need　you　to　go　with　me　and　take　pictures　of　them　ing　and　going。〃
　　〃How　do　you　know　this？〃
　　〃Phone　taps。　She　works　with　the　man；　and　I've　been　suspicious。　I'm　a　wealthy　man；　Mr。　Lomax；　and　it's　imperative　I　win　the　divorce。　I'll　pay　you　a　thousand　in　cash　now。〃　He　quickly　peeled　off　ten　bills　and　offered　them。
　　Lomax　took　the　money。　〃Okay。　Let　me　get　my　camera。〃
　　〃Please　hurry。　Everything's　in　cash；　okay？　No　records。〃
　　〃Suits　me；〃　said　Lomax　as　he　walked　toward　the　building。
　　Twenty　minutes　later；　the　Lincoln　rolled　slowly　through　the　crowded　parking　lot　of　a　Days　Inn。　Kilbury　pointed　to　a　second…floor　room　on　the　back　side　of　the　motel；　then　to　a　parking　space　next　to　a　brown　Chevy　van。　Lomax　backed　carefully　alongside　the　van　and　parked　his　Town　Car。　Kilbury　again　pointed　to　the　room；　again　checked　his　watch　and　again　told　Lomax　how　much　he　appreciated　his　services。　Lomax　thought　of　the　money。　A　thousand　bucks　for　two　hours'　work。　Not　bad。　He　unpacked　a　camera；　loaded　the　film　and　gauged　the　light。　Kilbury　watched　nervously；　his　eyes　darting　from　the　camera　to　the　room　across　the　parking　lot。　He　looked　hurt。　He　talked　of　his　wife　and　their　wonderful　years　together；　and　why；　oh　why　was　she　doing　this？
　　Lomax　listened　and　watched　the　rows　of　parked　cars　in　front　of　him。　He　held　his　camera。
　　He　did　not　notice　the　door　of　the　brown　van。　It　quietly　and　slowly　slid　open；　just　three　feet　behind　him。　A　man　in　a　black　turtleneck　wearing　black　gloves　crouched　low　in　the　van　and　waited。　When　the　parking　lot　was　still；　he　jumped　from　the　van；　yanked　open　the　left　rear　door　of　the　Lincoln　and　fired　three　times　into　the　back　of　Eddie's　head。　The　shots；　muffled　with　a　silencer；　could　not　be　heard　outside　the　car。
　　Eddie　slumped　against　the　wheel；　already　dead。　Kilbury　bolted　from　the　Lincoln；　ran　to　the　van　and　sped　away　with　the　assassin。
　　　
　　　18
　　AFTER　three　days　of　unbillable　time；　of　no　production；　of　exile　from　their　sanctuaries；　of　turkey　and　ham　and　cranberry　sauce　and　new　toys　that　came　unassembled；　the　rested　and　rejuvenated　lawyers　of　Bendini；　Lambert　&　Locke　returned　to　the　fortress　on　Front　Street　with　a　vengeance。　The　parking　lot　was　full　by　seven…thirty。　They　sat　fixed　and　fortable　behind　their　heavy　desks；　drank　coffee　by　the　gallon；　meditated　over　mail　and　correspondence　and　documents　and　mumbled　incoherently　and　furiously　into　their　Dictaphones。　They　barked　orders　at　secretaries　and　clerks　and　paralegals；　and　at　each　other。　There　were　a　few　〃How　was　your　Christmas？〃　greetings　in　the　halls　and　around　the　coffeepots；　but　small　talk　was　cheap　and　unbillable。　The　sounds　of　typewriters；　inters　and　secretaries　all　harmonized　into　one　glorious　hum　as　the　mint　recovered　from　the　nuisance　of　Christmas。　Oliver　Lambert　walked　the　halls；　smiling　with　satisfaction　and　listening；　just　listening　to　the　sounds　of　wealth　being　made　by　the　hour。
　　At　noon；　Lamar　walked　into　the　office　and　leaned　across　the　desk。　Mitch　was　deep　into　an　oil　and　gas　deal　in　Indonesia。
　　〃Lunch？〃　Lamar　asked。
　　〃No；　thanks。　I'm　behind。〃
　　〃Aren't　we　all。　I　thought　we　could　run　down　to　the　Front　Street　Deli　for　a　bowl　of　chili。〃
　　〃I'll　pass。　Thanks。〃
　　Lamar　glanced　over　his　shoulder　at　the　door　and　leaned　closer　as　if　he　had　extraordinary　news