rr.eastofealing-第15部分

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m；　but　I　must　insist　that　you　post　the　rest　yourself。　I　am　here　on　relief　from　Chiswick　as　the　local　bloke　hasn't　turned　in。　What　is　this；　some　kind　of　bleeding　joke？　Candid　Camera；　is　it；　or　that　Game　for　a　Laugh　crap？'
　Pooley　hunched　his　shoulders　beneath　the　pressing　load。　'What　are　they？'　he　asked。　'Who　has　sent　them？'
　'From　those　which　unaccountably　fell　open　in　my　hands；　they　would　seem　to　be　begging　letters　to　a　man。　What　did　you　do　then；　e　up　on　the　bleeding　pools？'
　'Something　like　that。'　Jim　made　an　attempt　to　close　the　door。
　The　postman's　contorted　face　suddenly　sweetened。　'Is　that　a　fact？'　he　said　thoughtfully。　'Then　let　me　be　the　first　to　congratulate　you。'
　'You　are　not　the　first；'　Jim　replied；　'but　thanks　all　the　same。　Now　if　you　will　excuse　me。'　He　fought　with　the　front　door　but　Posty's　foot　was　now　firmly　in　it。　Pooley　relaxed　his　grip。　'Your　foot　is　caught；'　he　observed。
　'It　must　be　a　wonderful　thing　to　have　money；'　said　the　postman；　edging　forward。　'I　have　always　been　a　poor　man　myself；　not　that　I　have　ever　resented　the　rich　their　wealth；　you　understand；　but　I　have　often　had　cause　to　wonder　why　fate　chose　to　deal　with　me　and　mine　in　so　shabby　a　way。'
　'Really？'　said　Jim　without　interest。
　'Oh　yes。　Not　that　I　plain；　soldiering　on　in　all　weathers；　crippled　to　the　fingertips　with　arthritis；　simply　so　the　mail　should　get　through。'
　'Very　noble。'　Jim　applied　more　pressure　to　the　door　but　it　was　getting　him　nowhere。
　'And　my　wife；'　the　postman　continued；　'a　holy　martyr　that　woman。　If　I　only　had　the　money　to　pay　for　the　operation　I　am　certain　that　she　could　be　relieved　of　her　daily　misery。'
　'Let　us　hope　so。'
　'And　my　poor　blind　son；　Kevin！'
　'Get　your　bloody　foot　out　of　my　door。'
　Knowing　a　lost　cause　when　he　saw　one；　the　postman　withdrew　his　boot　and　swung　it　at　the　nearest　sack。　The　contents　spilled　out　to　flutter　away　upon　the　breeze。　'Privileged　bastard；'　he　called　after　the　retreating　Pooley。　'e　the　revolution；　you　and　your　kind　will　be　first　up　against　the　wall。　Capitalist　Pig！'
　Pooley　slammed　fast　the　door　and　stood　engulfed　in　the　flood　tide　of　mail。　He　had　sent　out　a　few　begging　letters　himself　in　the　past；　but　now　he　knew　what　it　felt　like　to　be　on　the　receiving　end。　Jim　Pooley　did　not　like　it　one　little　bit。　His　mail　unread　and　his　bedmate　unwoken；　Jim　left　the　house　that　morning　by　the　rear　entrance。
　Now　he　sat　alone　upon　the　Library　bench。　The　sun　had　long　arisen　and　all　the　makings　of　a　great　day　ahead　looked　in　the　offing。　Jim　sighed　mournfully　and　at　intervals　studied　the　palm　of　his　right　hand。　He　was　not　a　happy　man。　He　was　a　gentleman　of　substance　now　and　it　pained　him　greatly。　The　terrible　feeling　of　responsibility；　one　he　had　never　before　experienced；　gnawed　away　at　his　innards。　It　was　all　just　too　much。　The　total　sum　of　his　wealth　was　too　large　even　to　contemplate　and　with　the　passing　of　the　night　and　the　current　bank　rate　it　had　already　grown　alarmingly。
　Jim　made　a　dismal　groaning　sound　and　buried　his　face　in　his　hands。　It　was　all　just　too　much。　He　had　never　owned　before　what　one　might　actually　call　'money'　and　certainly　not　what　the　'swells'　refer　to　as　the　current　account。　He　had　had　an　overdraft　once　but　that　hadn't　proved　to　be　up　to　much。　And　the　manner　in　which　he　had　acquired　the　fortune；　also　drastically　wrong。　No　betting　shop　could　ever　have　had　that　amount　of　readies　waiting　under　the　counter。　And　even　if　it　had；　it　would　be　hardly　likely　to　simply　push　them　across　the　counter　without　a　life　or　death　struggle　at　the　very　least。　Guns　would　have　been　toted　and　knee…caps　an　endangered　species。　He　and　Omally　had　transferred　no　fewer　than　twenty…six　wheelbarrow　loads　from　there　to　the　bank。　It　was　simply　ridiculous。
　And　the　bank？　Pooley　moaned　pitifully。　They　had　taken　the　entire　thing　for　granted；　as　if　he　had　been　merely　bunging　in　a　couple　of　quid　out　of　his　wages。　It　was　almost　as　if　they　had　been　expecting　him。　Through　the　bullet…proof　glass　of　the　office　Pooley　had　seen　the　manager　sitting　at　his　desk；　a　pair　of　minuscule　headphones　clasped　about　his　ears；　nodding　his　head　and　popping　his　fingers。
　And　as　for　this；　Pooley　held　up　his　right　hand　and　examined　the　palm。　The　bank　had　refused　to　give　him　either　a　receipt　or　a　cheque…book。　With　unveiled　condescension　they　had　explained　that　such　methods　of　personal　finance　were　now　obsolete　and　that　for　security's　sake　they　must　insist　upon　the　new　personalized　identification　system。　They　had　then　stamped　his　right　palm　with　a　pattern　of　eighteen　little　puter　lines　in　three　rows　of　six。　Six　six　six。　Pooley　spat　on　to　his　palm　and　rubbed　away　at　the　marking；　it　would　not　budge。　He　eased　up　on　the　moaning　and　groaning　and　took　to　a　bit　of　soulful　sighing。　He　had　bee　involved　in　something　which　was　very　much　bigger　than　he　was。　He　really　should　have　listened　to　Professor　Slobe　and　torn　up　the　slip。
　A　sudden　screeching　of　white…walled　tyres　upon　tarmac　announced　the　arrival　of　Antoine　with　Pooley's　new　car。　Jim　distantly　recalled　a　deal　he　had　struck　the　night　before。
　'Your　carriage　awaits；'　said　the　chauffeur　of　fortune；　springing　from　the　automobile　and　holding　open　the　door。
　Jim　was　entranced。　The　car；　a　silver…grey　Morris　Minor；　although　of　a　model　some　fifteen　years　out　of　date；　had　all　the　makings　of　one　fresh　from　the　showroom。　'Where　did　you　get　it？'　he　asked；　rising　from　his　gloom　and　strolling　over　to　the　automotive　gem。
　'Purchased　with　the　money　you　advanced；　sir；'　Antoine　replied　politely。　'Has　a　few　tricks　under　the　hood。'
　Pooley　circled　the　car　approvingly　and　ran　his　unsoiled　hand　along　the　spanking　paintwork。　'Big　Boda；'　said　he。　'It's　a　corker。'
　'And　what　about　the　number　plates？'　Antoine　indicated　the　same；　JP　1。
　'Double　Boda；'　said　Jim　Pooley。
　'Would　sir　care　to　be　taken　for　a　spin？'
　'Absolutely。'　Jim　clapped　his　hands　together　and　chuckled。　Maybe　this　being　wealthy　did　have　its　pensations　after　all。　Antoine　swung　forward　the　driver's　seat　and　Jim　clambered　aboard。　The　chauffeur　sat　himself　down　before　the　wheel　and　closed　the　door。　'What　is　all　that？'　Pooley　asked；　spying　out　the　Morris'　dashboard；　it　was　far　from　conventional。
　'Customized；'　said　Antoine。　'By　Lateinos　and　Romiith；　who　bought　out　the　old　Morris　patent。　This　car　will　do　nought　to　sixty　in　three　point　four　seconds。　It　has　weather…eye　air…conditioning；　fuel　consumption　down　to　near　zero　by　merit　of　its　improved　plasma…drive　system。　Are　you　acquainted　with　quantum　mechanics？'
　'I　get　by；'　said　Jim。
　'Solar　pod　power…retention　headlights；　underpinned　macro…pleasure　full…glide　suspension。　Sub…lift　non…drift　gravitational　thrust　plates。。。'
　'Drive　please；'　said　Jim；　'I　will　tell　you　when　to　stop。'
　'Where　to；　sir？'　Antoine　put　the　preposterous　vehicle　into　instant　overdrive　and　tore　it　away　at　Mach　ten。
　Pooley　slewed　back　in　his　seat；　cheeks　drawn　up　towards　his　ears；　his　face　suddenly　resembling　the　now　legendary　Gwynplaine；　of　Victor　Hugo's　Man　who　Laughs。　'Steady　on；'　winced　Jim。
　'Gravitational　acclimatization　auxiliary　forward　modifications　engaged。'　Antoine　touched　a　lighted　sensor　on　the　dash　and　Pooley　slumped　forward。　'A　quick　tour　of　the　parish；　taking　in　the　more　desirable　residences　on　the　〃For　Sale〃　list；　would　it　be；　sir？'
　'e　again？'
　'My　previous　employers　always　liked　the　grand　tour。'
　'I　thought　you　worked　for　Bob？'
　'Only　at　lunch　times；　I　am　a　freelance。'
　'Very　mendable。'
　The　car　screamed　into　Mafeking　Avenue　on　two　wheels；　narrowly　avoiding　Old　Pete；　who　raised　two　eloquent　fingers　towards　its　receding　rear　end。
　'How　many　clients　have　you　then？'
　'Only　you；'　said　Antoine。　'I　have　attended　to　all　those　who　came　by　the　big　payouts。　One　after　another。'
　The　Morris　roared　past　the　Memorial　Park；　gathering　speed。
　'One　after　another。　How　many　have　e　up　recently　then？'
　'Twenty…five；　although　they　were　never　in　your　league。'　The　chauffeur　cleared　his　throat　with　a　curiously　mechanical　coughing　sound。
　Pooley　scratched　at　his　head。　He　had　heard　of　no　recent　big　winners　hereabouts。　Jim　suddenly　smelt　the　great…grandaddy　of　all　big　rats。　'Stop　the　car；'　he　demanded。
　Antoine　crouched　low　over　the　puterized　controls；　his　toe　edged　nearer　to　the　floor；　and　the　modified　family　saloon　performed　another　impossible　feat　of　acceleration。
　'Stop　this　car！'　shouted　Jim。　'There　is　a　stitch…up　here　and　I'll　have　no　part　of　it。'
　'Stitch…up？'　leered　Antoine。　Pooley　could　just　make　out　his　face　reflected　in　the　driving　mirror。　It　was　not　a　face　Jim　would　wish　to　recall　in　his　dreams。　The　chauffeur's　normally　amiable　visage　had　bee　contorted　into　a　death…mask　of　inhuman　cruelty。　The　eyes　glowed　between　hooded　slits；　the　mouth　was　drawn　down；　exposing　a　row　of　wicked　metallic…looking　teeth。　The　face　was　no　longer　human；　it　was　atavistic；　something　beyond　and　before　humanity；　pelling　and　vibrant　with　dark　evil　power。　The　flying　Morris　cannoned　through　the　short　cobbled　alleyway　between　the　Police　Station　and　the　Beehive　and　swerved　right　through　the　red　lights　and　out　into　the　High　Road。　It　should　surely　have　been　forced　to　a　standstill　amidst　the　hubbub　of　mid…morning　traffic；　but　to　Pooley's　increasing　horror　the　High　Street　was　empty；　the　pavements　deserted。
　'Stop；　I　say！'　screamed　Jim。　'I　will　pay　you　anything　you　want；　name　the　sum。'　Antoine　laughed　hideously；　the　sounds　issuing　from　his　throat　being　those　of　sharp　stones　rattled　in　a　tin　can。　Pooley　shook　his　brain　into　gear；　'knobble　the　mad　driver'；　it　told　him。　Climbing　forward；　Jim　lashed　out　towards　the　driver's　neck。　'AAAAAGH！'　went　Pooley；　as　his　lunging　fingers　piled　into　a　barrier　of　empty　air；　splintering　nails；　and　dislocating　thumbs。
　'Safety…shield　anti…whiplash　modification；'　sneered　the　demonic　driver　as　Pooley　sank　back　into　his　seat；　his　wounded　hands　jammed　beneath　his　armpits。　The　car　swung　into　a　side…road　Jim　did　not　clearly　remember　and　thundered　on　towards。。。　Jim　suddenly　stiffened　in　his　seat。。。　towards　the　rim　of　the　old　quarry。　Jim　recalled　that　place　well　enough；　he　used　to　go　ferreting　there　when　a　lad。　The　walls　were　fifty…foot　sheer　to　a　man。　He　was　heading　for　an　appointment　with　none　other　than　good　old　Nemesis　himself。　Now　was　the　time　to　do　some　pretty　nifty　fast　thin