cb.damnationgame-第70部分

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on；　and　a　few　minutes〃　search　in　the　deepening　dusk　revealed　a　pile　of　discarded　furniture；　among　it　a　table；　three…legged；　but　serviceable。　He　hauled　it　back　to　the　fire　escape　and　then　wedged　a　collection　of　refuse　bags　beneath　it　in　lieu　of　its　missing　limb。　It　made　an　unsteady　perch　when　he　climbed　up　onto　it；　and　even　then　his　fingers　missed　the　bottom　of　the　escape。　He　was　obliged　to　jump　for　a　handhold；　and　on　the　fourth　attempt　he　achieved　one；　leaving　him　swinging　at　arm's　length　from　the　bottom　step。　A　drizzle　of　rust　scales　hit　his　face　and　hair。　The　escape　creaked。　He　mustered　his　will　and　hauled　himself　up　a　vital　few　inches；　then　struck　out　with　his　left　hand　for　a　hold　on　a　higher　stair。　His　shoulder　joints　plained；　but　he　pulled　on　upward；　hand　over　hand；　until　he　could　lift　his　leg　high　enough　to　hoist　his　whole　body　onto　the　steps。
　　The　first　stage　achieved；　he　stood　on　the　escape　and　caught　his　breath；　then　started　up。　The　structure　was　by　no　means　stable；　the　salvage　crew　had　obviously　been　at　work　loosening　it　from　the　wall。　Every　step　he　took；　a　grating　squeal　seemed　to　presage　its　capitulation。
　　〃Hold　on；〃　he　whispered　to　it；　mounting　the　steps　with　as　light　a　tread　as　he　could。　His　efforts　were　rewarded　on　the　fourth　story。　As　he　guessed；　the　door　had　been　opened　quite　recently；　and　with　no　small　sense　of　relief　he　stepped　from　the　dubious　safety　of　the　fire　escape　and　into　the　hotel　itself。
　　It　still　stank　of　the　conflagration　that　had　defeated　it：　the　bitter　smell　of　burned　wood　and　charred　carpeting。　Below　him　he　could　see…by　the　meager　light　through　the　open　fire　door…the　gutted　floors。　The　walls　were　scorched；　the　paint　on　the　banisters　diseased　with　blisters。　But　just　a　few　steps　up　from　here　the　fire's　progress　had　been　arrested。
　　Marty　started　up　the　stairs　to　the　fifth　story。　A　long　corridor　presented　itself　to　him；　with　rooms　to　right　and　left。　He　wandered　down　the　passageway　taking　a　perfunctory　look　into　each　of　the　suites　as　he　passed。　The　numbered　doors　let　onto　empty　spaces：　all　the　furniture　and　fittings　that　were　salvageable　had　been　removed　years　ago。
　　Perhaps　because　of　its　isolated　position；　and　the　difficulty　of　entering；　the　building　had　not　been　squatted　or　vandalized。　The　rooms　were　almost　absurdly　clean；　their　deep…pile　beige　carpets…too　bothersome　to　remove；　apparently…springy　as　cliff　turf　beneath　his　feet。　He　checked　every　suite　on　the　fifth　floor　before　retracing　his　path　to　the　stairs　and　going　up　another　flight。　The　scene　was　the　same　here；　although　the　suites…which　had　perhaps　once　manded　a　salable　view…were　larger　and　fewer　on　this　floor；　the　carpets；　if　anything；　lusher。　It　was　bizarre；　ascending　from　the　charred　depths　of　the　hotel　to　this　pristine；　breathless　place。　People　had　perhaps　died　in　the　blindfold　corridors　below；　asphyxiated　or　baked　to　death　in　their　dressing　gowns。　But　up　here　no　trace　of　the　tragedy　had　intruded。
　　There　was　one　floor　left　to　investigate。　As　he　climbed　the　final　flight　of　stairs　the　illumination　suddenly　strengthened　until　it　was　almost　as　bright　as　day。　The　source　was　highway　light；　finding　its　way　through　the　skylights　and　ineptly　sealed　windows。　He　explored　the　labyrinthine　system　of　rooms　as　quickly　as　possible；　pausing　only　to　glance　out　of　the　window。　Far　below；　he　could　see　the　car　parked　beyond　the　fence；　the　dogs　engaged　in　a　mass　rape。　In　the　second　suite　he　suddenly　caught　sight　of　somebody　watching　him　across　the　vast　reception　room　only　to　realize　that　the　haggard　face　was　his　own；　reflected　in　a　wall…sized　mirror。
　　The　door　of　the　third　suite；　on　this　final　floor；　was　locked；　the　first　locked　suite　Marty　had　encountered。　Proof　positive；　if　any　were　needed；　that　it　had　an　occupant。
　　Jubilant；　Marty　rapped　on　the　door。　〃Hello？　Mr。　Whitehead？〃　There　was　no　answering　movement　from　within。　He　rapped　again；　harder；　casing　the　door　as　he　did　so　to　see　if　a　break…in　was　plausible；　but　it　looked　too　solid　to　be　easily　shouldered　down。　If　necessary；　he'd　have　to　go　back　to　the　car　and　get　some　tools。
　　〃It's　Strauss；　Mr。　Whitehead。　It's　Marty　Strauss。　I　know　you're　in　there。　Answer　me。〃　He　listened。　When　there　was　no　reply；　he　beat　on　the　door　a　third　time；　this　time　with　fist　instead　of　knuckles。　And　suddenly　the　reply　came；　shockingly　close。　The　old　man　was　standing　just　the　other　side　of　the　door；　had　been　all　along　probably。
　　〃Go　to　Hell；〃　the　voice　said。　It　was　a　little　slurred；　but　unmistakably　that　of　Whitehead。
　　〃I　have　to　speak　to　you；〃　Marty　replied。　〃Let　me　in。〃　〃How　the　fuck　did　you　find　me？〃　Whitehead　demanded。　〃You　bastard。〃　〃I　made　some　inquiries；　that's　all。　If　I　can　find　you；　anybody　can。〃　〃Not　if　you　keep　your　wretched　mouth　shut。　You　want　money；　is　that　it？　e　here　for　money；　have　you？〃　〃No。〃　〃You　can　have　it。　I'll　get　it　to　you；　however　much　you　want。〃　〃I　don't　want　money。〃　〃Then　you're　a　damn　fool；〃　Whitehead　said；　and　he　laughed　to　himself；　a　witless；　ragged　titter。　The　man　was　drunk。
　　〃Mamoulian's　on　to　you；〃　Marty　said。　〃He　knows　you're　alive。〃　The　laughing　stopped。
　　〃How？〃　〃Carys。〃　〃You've　seen　her？〃　〃Yes。　She's　safe。〃　〃Well　。　。　。　I　underestimated　you。〃　He　paused；　there　was　a　soft　sound；　as　if　he　was　leaning　against　the　door。　After　a　while　he　spoke　again。　He　sounded　exhausted。
　　〃What　did　you　e　for；　if　not　for　money？　She's　got　some　expensive　habits；　you　know。〃　〃No　thanks　to　you。〃　〃I'm　sure　you'll　find　it　as　convenient　as　I　did；　given　time。　She'll　bend　over　backward　for　a　fix。〃　〃You're　filth；　you　know　that？〃　〃But　you　came　to　warn　me　anyway。〃　The　old　man　leaped　on　the　paradox　with　lightning　speed；　quick　as　ever　to　open　a　hole　in　a　man's　flank。　〃Poor　Marty　。　。　。〃　the　slurred　voice　trailed　away；　smothered　by　mock　pity。　Then；　razor…sharp：　〃How　did　you　find　me？〃　〃The　strawberries。〃　What　sounded　like　muffled　choking　came　from　within　the　suite；　but　it　was　Whitehead　laughing　again；　this　time　at　himself。　It　took　several　moments　for　him　to　regain　his　posure。　〃Strawberries　。　。　。〃　he　murmured。　〃My！　You　must　be　persuasive。　Did　you　break　his　arms？〃　〃No。　He　volunteered　the　information。　He　didn't　want　to　see　you　curl　up　and　die。〃　〃I'm　not　going　to　die！〃　the　old　man　…snapped。　〃Mamoulian's　the　one　who'll　die。　You'll　see。　He's　running　out　of　time。　All　I　have　to　do　is　wait。　Here's　as　good　a　place　as　any。　I'm　very　fortable。　Except　for　Carys。　I　miss　her。　Why　don't　you　send　her　to　me；　Marty？　Now　that　would　be　most　wele。〃　〃You'll　never　see　her　again。〃　Whitehead　sighed。　〃Oh；　yes；〃　he　said；　〃she'll　be　back　when　she's　tired　of　you。　When　she　needs　someone　who　really　appreciates　her　stony　heart。　You'll　see。　Well　。　。　。　thank　you　for　calling。　Goodnight；　Marty。〃　〃Wait。〃　〃I　said　goodnight。〃
　　〃。　。　。　I've　got　questions　。　。　。〃　Marty　began。
　　〃Questions；　questions　。　。　。〃　the　voice　was　already　receding。　Marty　pressed　closer　to　the　door　to　offer　his　final　sliver　of　bait。　〃We　found　out　who　the　European　is；　what　he　is！〃　But　there　was　no　reply。　He'd　lost　Whitehead's　attention。　It　was　fruitless　anyway；　he　knew。　There　was　no　wisdom　to　be　got　here；　just　a　drunken　old　man　replaying　his　old　power　games。　Somewhere　deep　inside　the　penthouse　suite　a　door　closed。　All　contact　between　the　two　men　was　summarily　severed。
　　Marty　descended　the　two　flights　of　stairs　back　to　the　open　fire　door；　and　left　the　building　by　the　route　he'd　entered。　After　the　smell　of　dead　fire　inside；　even　the　highway…tainted　air　smelled　light　and　new。
　　He　stood　for　several　minutes　on　the　escape　and　watched　the　traffic　passing　along　the　highway；　his　attention　pleasantly　diverted　by　the　spectacle　of　lane…hopping　muters。　Below；　two　dogs　fought　among　the　refuse；　bored　with　rape。　None　of　them　cared；　drivers　or　dogs；　about　the　fall　of　potentates：　why　should　he？　Whitehead；　like　the　hotel；　was　a　lost　cause。　He'd　done　his　best　to　salvage　the　old　man　and　failed。　Now　he　and　Carys　would　slip　away　into　a　new　life；　and　let　Whitehead　make　whatever　arrangements　for　cessation　he　chose。　Let　him　slit　his　wrists　in　a　stupor　of　remorse；　or　choke　on　vomit　in　his　sleep：　Marty　was　past　caring。
　　He　climbed　down　the　escape　and　scrambled　onto　the　table；　then　crossed　the　wasteland　to　the　car；　glancing　back　only　once　to　see　if　Whitehead　was　watching。　Needless　to　say；　the　upper　windows　were　blank。
　　
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　　When　they　got　to　Caliban　Street　the　girl　was　still　so　high　on　her　delayed　fix　it　was　difficult　to　municate　through　her　chemically　elated　senses。　The　European　left　the　evangelists　to　do　the　cleaning　up　and　burning　he'd　instructed　Breer　to　do；　and　escorted　Carys　to　the　room　on　the　top　floor。　There　he　set　about　persuading　her　to　find　her　father；　and　quickly。　At　first　the　drug　in　her　just　smiled　at　him。　His　frustration　began　to　curdle　into　anger。　When　she　started　to　laugh　at　his　threats…that　slow；　rootless　laughter　that　was　so　like　the　pilgrim's　laugh；　as　if　she　knew　some　joke　about　him　that　she　wasn't　telling…his　control　snapped　and　he　unleashed　a　nightmare　of　such　unrestrained　viciousness　upon　her　its　crudity　disgusted　him　almost　as　much　as　it　terrorized　her。　She　watched　in　disbelief　as　the　same　tide　of　muck　that　he'd　conjured　in　the　bathroom　dribbled　and　then　gushed　from　her　own　body。　〃Take　it　away；〃　she　told　him；　but　he　only　increased　the　pitch　of　the　illusion；　until　her　lap　squirmed　with　monstrosities。　Abruptly；　her　drug　bubble　burst。　A　gleam　of　insanity　crept　into　her　eyes　as　she　cowered　in　the　corner　of　the　room；　while　the　things　came　from　her　every　orifice；　struggling　to　work　their　way　out；　then　clinging　to　her　with　whatever　limbs　his　invention　had　supplied。　She　was　within　a　hairbreadth　of　madness；　but　he'd　gone　too　far　to　withdraw　the　assault　now；　repelled　though　he　was　by　its　depravity。
　　〃Find　the　pilgrim；〃　he　told　her；　〃and　all　this　vanishes。〃　〃Yes；　yes；　yes；〃　she　pleaded；　〃whatever　you　want。〃　He　stood　and　watched　while　she　obeyed　his　demands；　flinging　herself　into　that　same　fugue　state　she'd　achieved　when　pursuing　Toy。　It　took　her　longer　to　find　the　pilgrim；　however；　so　long　that　the　European　began　to　suspect　she'd　canceled　all　link　with　her　body；　and　left　it　to　his　devices　rather　than　reenter　it。　But　she　finally　returned。　She　had　found　him　at　a　hotel　no　less　than　half　an　hour's　drive　from　Caliban　Street。　Mamoulian　was　not　surprised。　It　was　n