pzb.lostsouls-第46部分

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e。　Not　like　some　things。　Some　of　the　monsters　were　alive。
　　Ghost　thought　of　Miles　Hummingbird。　Did　Miles　roam　tonight？　Did　his　spirit　soar　on　the　night　winds　like　the　roar　of　the　ocean？　And　would　Miles　have　to　return　to　his　grave　at　dawn；　summoned　back　by　some　rooster　crowing；　some　train　whistle　blasting　far　away　in　the　cold　morning？　Ghost　tried　to　send　his　mind　into　the　night；　out　where　Miles　or　Miz　Deliverance　might　hear　him。　Help　me；　my　dear　dead；　he　thought。　Help　me　stay　awake。　Help　Steve　wake　up　without　a　really　bad　hangover。　Let　him　want　to　drive　because　I　don't　know　how　much　longer　I　can　keep　this　steamboat　on　the　road。　Help　me　if　you　can。
　　It　didn't　work；　not　right　then。　But　an　hour　later；　as　U。S。　1　took　them　down　into　South　Carolina；　Steve　unfolded　himself；　groaned；　and　said；　〃What　the　fuck　are　you　doing　driving　my　car？〃
　　Thank　you；　thought　Ghost　as　he　went　to　sleep；　his　bead　leaning　against　the　window；　his　eyes　blessedly　shut。　Thanks。　And　good　night。
　　
　　Speeding　away　from　midnight；　Steve　felt　good。　Good　because　they　had　found　a　truck　stop　where　four　cups　of　bitter　black　coffee　had　sent　his　hangover　to　headache　heaven。　Good　because　he'd　tuned　in　to　an　FM　station　that　played　classic　rock　all　night　long。　He　sang　along　with　the　old　tunes　loud　enough　to　keep　himself　awake；　soft　enough　to　let　Ghost　sleep。
　　But　good　most　of　all　because　they　were　on　the　road　again。　He　was　not　thinking　about　Ann；　or　green…eyed　Zillah　（that　little　jerkoff；　Steve's　mind　automatically　subtitled　him）；　or　even　New　Orleans。　He　was　not　brooding　over　the　way　the　last　few　months　had　turned　to　shit。　He　was　not　thinking　at　all。　He　was　only　singing　along　with　the　radio；　letting　the　cold　wind　whip　his　hair　across　his　eyes；　letting　the　road　wash　his　soul　clean。　Heaviness　fell　away　with　each　mile　he　left　behind。　He　felt　weightless。　God；　he　could　road…trip　forever。　He　knew　what　lay　at　the　end　of　the　road：　more　of　Ann's　bullshit；　more　fury；　more　pain。　But　the　highway　was　home。
　　After　a　while　something　began　to　nibble　at　his　happiness。　I've　got　maybe　thirty…five　bucks　on　me；　he　figured。　My　last　paycheck　from　Whirling　Disc；　less　beer　money。　And　Ghost　never　carries　any　cask　Were　gonna　need　money　soon。
　　Okay；　but　there　was　a　way　to　solve　that　problem。　Dangerous。　Fuckin'　renegade　business。　But　so　easy；　if　he　could　pull　it　off。
　　Steve　started　scanning　the　roadside。　Used…car　dealerships；　orange　sodium　lights　glinting　on　rows　and　rows　of　souped…up　wrecks；　making　them　look　like　cars　in　an　old　black…and…white　movie。　A　railyard；　tracks　crossing　and　diverging　like　some　tangled　puzzle　of　wood　and　iron；　boxcars　casting　long　square　shadows。　There；　up　ahead…that　was　what　he　wanted。　A　ramshackle　little　gas　station；　closed　down　for　the　night。　And　outside；　the　dim　glow　of　a　Coke　machine。　The　old…fashioned　kind。　The　kind　you　could　jimmy。　Steve　pulled　up　in　front　of　the　store　and　killed　the　lights。
　　〃Don't；〃　Ghost　said　thickly。
　　〃Go　back　to　sleep；〃　Steve　told　him。　〃It'll　buy　our　beer　in　the　French　Quarter。〃
　　He　fished　through　the　mess　in　the　backseat　and　found　his　trusty　coat　hanger；　knelt；　and　fed　it　into　the　coin…return　slot。　It　was　about　to　catch　。　。　。　there　。　。　。　he　could　feel　it　nearly　catch。　If　the　Coke　machine　had　been　a　girl；　Steve　would　have　been　getting　ready　to　make　it　e　like　a　banshee。
　　〃That's　it；　baby；〃　he　muttered；　and　then　something　with　a　lot　of　weight　behind　it　slammed　into　his　back。　Pain　flared　deep　in　his　kidneys。　Steve　lost　his　balance　and　spilled　backward　into　the　dust　of　the　parking　lot。
　　〃Looks　like　we　got　us　a　trick…or…treater。〃
　　Steve　twisted　to　meet　the　two　most　emptily　gleeful　pairs　of　eyes　he　had　ever　seen。　These　two　made　Zillah's　thug　friends　look　like　geniuses　。　。　。　or　at　least　subgeniuses。　They　had　sloping　foreheads　and　tattoos　that　wound　down　ropy…muscled　arms　and　spread　dark　tendrils　over　the　backs　of　grimy　hands。　One　of　them　was　broad…chested　with　features　that　seemed　too　large　and　sensual　for　his　face…a　redneck　Dionysus。　The　other　was　scrawny；　his　colorless　hair　fell　straight　and　fine　from　under　a　mesh　baseball　cap　stitched　with　the　Coors　logo；　a　trusty　asshole　indicator　if　there　ever　was　one。　In　one　knuckly　fist　he　gripped　a　hammer。
　　He　grinned　at　Steve；　showing　crooked　little　teeth。　〃We　got　anything　for　trick…or…treaters；　Willy？〃
　　Willy　laughed。　The　sound　made　up　in　malice　what　it　lacked　in　humor。　〃Shit；　I　didn't　save　no　candy。　You　got　any　candy；　Charlie？〃
　　〃Yeah。〃　Charlie　swung　the　hammer。　It　whistled　past　Steve's　head；　inches　away。　〃I　got　me　a　big　jawbreaker　right　here。〃
　　〃Fuck　off；〃　he　said；　struggling　to　his　knees。　〃I　wasn't　bothering　you。〃　His　voice　sounded　thin　and　seared。　He　cursed　it。
　　〃Now　will　you　listen　to　this？〃　Willy's　face　was　suddenly　the　picture　of　shocked　innocence。　〃Asshole　was　fixin'　to　rip　off　my　daddy's　Coke　machine　in　the　parking　lot　of　my　daddy's　store。　And　he　thinks　we　ought　fuck　off　and　leave　him　be。　What　you　say；　Charlie？〃
　　〃Uh…uh。〃　Charlie　let　loose　a　high；　toneless　giggle。　〃I　think　we　better　beat　the　shit　out　of　him。〃
　　The　gas　station　didn't　belong　to　Willy's　daddy。　With　a　sudden　helpless　fury；　Steve　was　sure　of　that。　They　were　carrying　a　hammer；　for　fuck's　sake。　Why　would　you　carry　a　hammer　around　a　deserted　gas　station　in　the　middle　of　the　night？　To　bash　in　the　skull　of　some　punk　city　kid　you　caught　ripping　off　the　Coke　machine？　Not　likely。　To　bust　a　window；　maybe？　To　pound　hell　out　of　the　cash　register？　Bingo；　Steve　congratulated　himself。　You　win　the　prize。　Willy's　gonna　give　you　the　Golden　Ticket。
　　Steve　sputtered　laughter。　It　came　with　no　warning；　hysterical　and　beyond　control。　He　leaned　against　the　Coke　machine　and　tried　to　catch　his　breath；　but　he　couldn't　help　it。　Willy　was　going　to　give　him　the　Golden　Ticket；　and　bang…bang；　Charlie's　silver　hammer　was　going　to　e　down　upon　his　head。　Then　maybe　they　could　make　him　sqeeeeeeal　like　a　pig。
　　Steve　knew　he'd　better　stop　laughing；　knew　things　might　get　real　unpleasant　around　here　if　he　kept　laughing；　but　he　couldn't　quit。　Not　until　Charlie's　fist　smashed　into　his　cheekbone　and　the　sole　of　Willy's　boot　came　down　on　his　ribs。　Or　maybe　it　was　Willy　punching　him　in　the　face　and　Charlie　stomping　his　ribs。　It　didn't　matter。
　　He　grabbed　a　thick　jeans…clad　ankle　and　yanked。　Charlie　went　down。　The　hammer　flew　out　of　his　hand　and　thunked　into　the　dust　six　feet　away。　Steve　smelled　shit。　It　was　masked　under　the　smell　of　cheap　beer　and　redneck　sweat；　but　it　was　shit　all　right。　He　thought　of　saying　Pardon　me；　but　which　one　of　you　stepped　in　shit？　and　snorted　more　laughter；　crazy　laughter；　through　the　pain　in　his　face　and　his　ribs。
　　Willy　was　ing　for　him　again。　He　brought　his　legs　up　and　pistoned　both　boot　heels　into　the　greasy　crotch　of　Willy's　jeans。　Willy　doubled　up　with　only　a　loud　grunt；　apparently　he　was　more　of　a　man　than　Charlie。　But　here　came　good　old　Charlie　again；　and　he'd　got　his　silver　hammer　back；　could　you　say　amen　and　hallelujah；　and　he　was　raising　it　high　above　his　head。　Steve　wondered　briefly　whether　maybe　he　should　have　had　his　soul　saved　after　ail。
　　And　then　Ghost　shot　into　the　fray；　screaming　like　a　mad　thing　and　swinging　his　own　hammer；　the　one　Steve　always　kept　under　the　front　seat　of　the　car。　Ghost's　hammer　connected　with　Charlie's　elbow；　and　Steve　heard　something　crack。　He　just　managed　to　get　out　from　under　Charlie's　hammer　as　Charlie　dropped　it；　howling　and　clutching　his　elbow。　Steve　grabbed　the　stray　hammer；　rolled；　and　came　up　on　his　feet。　Now　he　and　Ghost　both　had　hammers。　They　faced　the　rednecks；　keeping　each　other　covered。
　　The　rednecks　didn't　seem　like　much　of　a　threat　now；　cringing　back　against　the　wall　of　the　building。　Willy's　hands　were　still　cupped　tenderly　around　his　crotch。　Charlie's　right　arm　dangled　uselessly；　his　face　had　gone　the　color　of　bad　cheese。　They　stared　at　Steve　and　Ghost　like　cornered　possums；　too　stupid　to　be　really　scared；　but　wary。
　　〃We　ought　to　bash　your　cracker　brains　in；〃　Steve　told　them。
　　〃But　we're　not；〃　Ghost　said　hurriedly。　〃We're　just　gonna　get　back　in　our　car　and　leave。　Don't　make　any　fast　moves。〃　He　brandished　his　hammer　at　them。
　　Steve　waved　his　too；　but　he　was　beginning　to　feel　he　had　lost　control　of　the　situation。　He　edged　around　the　front　end　of　the　car　and　pulled　his　door　open。　Out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye　he　saw　Ghost　doing　the　same。　They　threw　themselves　in　and　both　doors　slammed　at　once。　Steve　thumbed　the　lock　button。　Ghost　was　ranting　at　him。　〃Hurry；　hurry；　let's　get　the　hell　out　of　here　before　they　stomp　both　our　asses…〃
　　The　engine　started　on　the　first　try。　Steve　gunned　the　car　across　the　parking　lot　and　had　the　satisfaction　of　seeing　Willy　and　Charlie　scrabble　out　of　his　way　like　crabs　in　boiling　water。　He　thought　he　might　have　clipped　one　of　them；　hoped　so。　Then　the　gas　station　was　dwindling　in　the　red　glow　of　the　taillights。　He　glanced　at　Ghost；　who　was　sprawled　backward　in　his　seat；　half…grinning。　He　thought　he　could　see　Ghost's　heart　pounding　through　the　thin　cloth　of　his　T…shirt。　〃You　just　saved　my　ass；〃　Steve　told　him。　It　was　a　rare　moment　of　awkwardness　between　them。　〃I　owe　you　one。〃
　　〃Wait　till　we　get　to　New　Orleans；〃　Ghost　said。　〃You　can　buy　me　a　bottle　of　Night　Train。〃　His　hand　crept　across　the　seat；　found　Steve's　hand　and　held　it　tight。　Steve　thought　he　could　feel　a　message　flowing　into　him　through　Ghost's　warm　fingers：　You　get　yourself　killed；　Steve；　and　that's　it。　That's　the　end　of　the　game　for　me　too。　I　know　you're　bummed　out　and　you　think　I'm　the　only　person　in　the　world　yon　can　trust；　but　I　need　you　too。　So　you　better　keep　your　ass　safe。　I　need　you　too。
　　
　　Sometime　closer　to　dawn…but　not　too　close；　not　dangerously　so…a　battered　silver　car　drove　along　the　same　road　that　Steve　and　Ghost　had　left　behind　an　hour　ago。　A　Bel　Air。　Zillah　hadn't　wanted　to　wait　for　Christian　to　gas　up　his　car　and　give　Kinsey　Hummingbird　his　notice；　so　they　had　all　arranged　to　meet　in　the　French　Quarter　the　following　night。
　　Christian　had　forgotten　to　turn　his　headlights　on。　For　him　the　road　was　lit　well　enough　by　moonlight　and　the　faint　glitter　of　the　stars。　And　there　were　no　other　cars　on　the　highway；　not　this　late　at　night。
　　At　least　there　had　been　none。　But　as　he　rounded　a　sharp　c