Chapter 5 Afternoon Street Pickup

They walked slowly, close together, past the dimly lit stenciled sign that read: SURPRISE HOTEL.The man was wearing a purple suit, his hair was shiny and clung to his scalp, and he wore a Panama hat. He had splayed feet and walked quietly. The girl was wearing a green hat, a short skirt, transparent stockings and a pair of French high heels over 10 centimeters, exuding a scent of "Midnight Narcissus". At the corner, the man leaned over and said something in the girl's ear. The girl pushed him away and giggled. "Smeller, you want to take me home to buy wine." "Baby, next time, I just happen to be short of money."

The girl said coldly, "Handsome guy, if that's the case, then we'll go back to our respective houses in the next block." "Baby, how can you do such a thing." The man said. The arc of the intersection shines on the man and woman.They were far apart, and when they reached the other end of the street, the man grabbed the girl's arm and she twisted away. "You vile liar, listen to me!" she screamed, "Get your claws off, do you hear me! If you don't have money, you can pretend to be a man. If you don't have money, you're a fart. Get out of the way!"

"Honey, how much would you like to drink?" "a lot of." "I don't have any money, where can I get so much wine?" "Don't you have hands, don't you?" the girl sneered, her voice less sharp, and she leaned closer to him again, "Dude, you have a gun, right?" "Yes, but no bullets." "The lazy people on Central Avenue don't know." "This can't work," the man in purple yelled, he was startled suddenly, and snapped his fingers, "Wait, I thought of it." He stopped, looking back at the dimly lit stenciled sign of the hotel down the street, and the girl patted his chin with a gloved hand that smelled of Midnight Narcissus.

Under the dim light, the man snapped his fingers again and grinned, "If that drunk person is still hiding in that hotel, I'll go get the drink and wait for me, okay?" "If you come back quickly, I may be waiting for you at home." "Honey, where is your home?" The girl stared at him, flashing a smile.The breeze blew a newspaper in the gutter onto the man's leg, and the man kicked his leg violently. "246th Street East 48th Street Piper Organ Apartment Building B. How long will it take you to get there?" The man stepped forward, got very close to her, and patted his buttocks backwards, his voice was low and chilling.

"Honey, wait for me." She took a breath and nodded, "No problem, handsome guy, I'll wait for you." The man walked back along the cracked sidewalk, across the intersection, to where the stenciled sign hung.He walked through a glass door into a narrow hall with a row of brown wooden chairs against the plaster walls, so small that there was only one passage leading to the reception desk.At the front desk, a bald black man was lounging behind a desk, playing with a large green pin on his tie. The black man in purple leaned against the counter, and immediately forced a smile, showing his shining white teeth.He was young, with a sharp chin and a narrow, thin forehead.Like most gamblers, his eyes were dull, and he said softly: "Is that hoarse-voiced pug still here? That guy gambled in the dealership last night."

The bald shop assistant looked at the flies on the chandelier and said, "Smailer, I didn't see him go out." "Dude, don't change the subject." "Yes, he's still here." "Have you sobered up yet?" "That's right, I haven't seen him come out anyway." "Room 349, right?" "Haven't you been there? What are you going to do?" "He won all my last bit of money, I'm going to ask for some money." The bald man was taken aback, and Smailer quietly stared at the nephrite jade on his tie pin.

"Smeller, fuck off, there's no drunk people here. We Central Avenue people don't get drunk." Smailer said softly, "Dude, he's my friend. He lent me 20, and you got half." He spread his hands, palms up.The clerk stared at his hand for a long time, then nodded with a dirty face, walked behind a frosted glass barrier, walked back slowly, and looked at the gate that opened to the street. The clerk held out his hand and dangled it in the open palm, and the black man in purple took the master key and put it into his cheap purple suit. Smailer suddenly grinned, but that smile instantly turned into a cold expression.

"Dude, watch while I'm up there." "Come on, some customers are back early," the clerk said, glancing at the green clock on the wall, which read 7:15. "The walls aren't very thick either," he added. The thin young man flashed a smile again, nodded to him, and walked carefully back along the hall to the dark stairway - Surprise Hotel does not have an elevator. At 7:01, Pete Anglis, an undercover agent for a narcotics squad, rolled over on his hard bed, looking at the cheap leather watch on his left wrist.He had bags under his eyes, a broad jaw, a bushy black beard, and cheap cotton pajamas.He stood on the floor without shoes on, flexed his muscles, stretched, stiffened his knees, bent down, and touched the floor in front of his toes with a grunt.

He went to a cracked desk, drank a quart bottle of cheap rye whiskey, grimaced in agony, put the cork back in the neck of the bottle, and pressed it down hard with the palm of his hand. "God, did I drink too much last night?" he muttered hoarsely. Pete Anglis stared at his own face in the desk mirror, at the stubble on his chin, at the big white scar near his windpipe.His voice is hoarse because the bullet not only left him with that scar, but also affected his vocal cords.His hoarse voice was smooth, though, like that of a blues singer. He took off his pajamas and stood naked in the middle of the room, his toes brushing against the rough edge of the big hole in the carpet.He's big, making him look a little shorter than he is.His shoulders were sunken, his nose was thick, his eyes were strangely calm, the skin on his cheekbones looked like leather, his curly black hair was short, and he had the small mouth of a quick mind.

He walked into the dark, dirty bathroom, stepped into the bathtub, and turned on the shower.The water is lukewarm, not hot.He stood under the shower head, soaped himself up, massaged his body, and rinsed off the lather. He jerked a dirty towel off the rack and began to rub it vigorously, polishing himself to a shine. The bathroom door was only slightly closed, but not closed. There was a faint sound from outside the bathroom door. He stopped, held his breath, and listened attentively.The sound sounded again, the door creaked and clicked again, and then there was the rustling of clothes, Peter Anglis stretched out his hand and slowly opened the door.

Black man in purple suit and Panama hat standing at desk holding Pete Anglis coat.On the desk in front of him were two guns, one of which was an old old Colt automatic pistol that Peter Anglis had used.The door was closed, and a key with a tag was lying on the carpet next to the desk. The key seemed to have fallen from the door, or had been pulled out from inside. Smailer let his coat slip to the ground, held a wallet in his left hand, raised his Colt automatic in his right, and grinned. "Come on, white boy, let's dry yourself off," he said. Pete Angliss was toweling dry and stood naked with a wet towel in his left hand. Smeler dumped the contents of his wallet on the desk, counted the money with his left hand, and clutched his Colt automatic with his right hand. "Eighty-seven dollars, nice. Some of it I lost to you in a gamble. But man, I'm going to get that money back now. Don't be mad, the custodian here is my friend." "Smeller, wait." Peter Anglis said hoarsely, "This is all my belongings, leave me some money, huh?" His voice was thick and thick, as if he had drunk alcohol. Smailer grinned, showing his white teeth, and shook his narrow head: "Man, no, give me a deadline, I need the money urgently now." Pete Anglis took a small step forward, stopped, grinning timidly, and Smeller pointed Pete's old Colt automatic at him. Smeler walked sideways to the rye whiskey and held up the bottle. "You can also have a sip of this wine. I was born to drink wine. Of course, I won't take all the money. If you have money in your pants, it will belong to you. I am satisfied?" Pete Anglis jumped sideways and jumped about 1.2 meters away.Smeller's face twitched and he swung the gun so hard that the rye bottle slipped from his left hand and slammed onto his foot, and he cried out and kicked so hard that his toes caught in the broken rug. hole. Pete Anglis grabbed the wet towel and threw it at Smailer's eyes. Smailer staggered and cried out in pain.Pete Anglis grasped Smailer's wrist holding the gun with his left hand, twisted it vigorously, reached for the gun in Smailer's hand, twisted the muzzle of the gun to Smailer, and pointed the gun directly at Smailer s face. Smailer kicked Pete Anglis hard in the stomach with his stiff knee, and Pete Anglis vomited, trembling, desperately pressing down on Smailer's trigger finger. A gunshot hit the purple suit with a muffled sound. Smailer's eyes rolled white, and his narrow chin slowly drooped. Pete Angliss put him on the ground and stood bent over panting, his face turning green.He found the bottle of rye whiskey, pulled out the cork, and took a few swigs of the spirit. Pete's face looked better, and his breathing gradually became steady. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and went forward to feel for Smailer's pulse. There was no pulse, and Smailer was already dead.Pete Anglis put down the gun in his hand, walked to the door, and looked at the corridor, but there was no one there.There was a bunch of master keys hanging on the lock outside the door. He pulled out the keys and locked the door. He put on underwear, socks, shoes, and a ragged blue serge suit, with a black tie tied over the collar of his crumpled shirt.Then he went back to the body, took a roll of bills from the dead man's pocket, and gathered some odds and ends of clothing and toiletries, packing them into a cheap fiber trunk and leaving the trunk by the door. Pete picked out the torn metal in the barrel of the revolver with a pencil, loaded new cartridges, crushed the empty shells on the bathroom floor, and flushed them down the toilet. He locked the door from the outside and went down the stairs into the hall. The bald shop assistant stared at him, then looked away, his face turned pale.Pete Anglis leaned against the counter, spread his hands, and threw the two bunches of keys on the mottled wooden table with a clang. The clerk stared at the two bunches of keys tremblingly. Pete Anglis said hoarsely and slowly, "Did you hear any interesting sounds?" The clerk gasped and shook his head. "It's collusion, isn't it?" Peter Anglis said. The bald clerk shook his head with a painful expression on his face, and the neck in his collar also swayed from side to side, his bald head flickered under the chandelier. "Too bad," said Pete Angliss, "what name did I check in with last night?" "You're not registered," the clerk whispered. "Maybe I'm not even here at all," said Pete Anglis softly. "Yes, sir, never saw you before." "It's not me you see now, and you'll never see me—or know me, brother, what do you think?" The clerk moved his neck and wrinkled his face trying to force a smile. Pete Anglis took out his wallet and pulled out three dollars. "I don't like to owe others," he said slowly, "this is the room fee for room 349 from last night to this morning, although it is a bit late. The boy you gave the key to seems to be sleeping soundly in the room Ah." He paused for a moment, fixed his stern eyes on the clerk's face, and said thoughtfully, "Of course, unless he has friends who want to get him out." The clerk frothed and stammered, "He won't be... he won't be..." "Yes," said Peter Angliss, "what do you expect?" With that, he picked up his suitcase, walked out of the street gate, passed under the stenciled sign, and stood for a moment looking at the harsh white glare of Central Avenue. Pete walked the other way, a dark and silent street, and walked four blocks to Noon Street.There are many wooden houses in these four blocks, and this area is completely black. He only met one person on the road, a brown-skinned girl wearing a green hat, ultra-thin silk stockings and a pair of high heels over ten centimeters.She stood smoking under a dusty palm tree, staring back at the Surprise Hotel. The lunch trolley was an old, wheelless dining trolley, its rear facing a vacant lot between a mechanic shop and flats on Noon Street, with Belladonna in cream-faded gold lettering on both sides.Peter Anglis walked up the two iron stairs behind the car and walked into the restaurant that smelled of frying oil. A black chef turned his back to him, his shoulders round and bright.In the far corner of the low counter sat a white girl in a cheap brown felt hat and a battered polo jacket with a high cuff collar, with her left hand resting on her cheek, drinking coffee.Apart from these two, there was no one else in the car. Pete Anglis put down his suitcase, sat on the stool by the door, and said, "Hi, Mopsy!" The fat cook turned his sweaty black face and grinned, with thick lips showing a big blue tongue. He said, "What have you been up to lately? Do you want to eat anything?" "Two eggs, don't overcook them, a cup of coffee, a piece of bread, and no potatoes." "How long has it been since you ate, and you're so hungry?" Mopsy complained. "I'm drunk," said Peter Anglis. The girl behind the counter glanced at him sharply, from the cheap alarm clock on the shelf, to the watch on her gloved wrist, and looked down at her coffee mug. The fat chef cracked the eggs into the pot, added the milk and stirred it, "Dude, would you like a drink?" Pete Anglis shook his head. "Mopsy, I still have to drive." The chef grinned, took out a brown bottle from under the counter, poured a large glass of wine into a glass, and placed it next to Peter Anglis. Pete Anglis suddenly took the cup, raised it to his mouth, and drank it in one gulp. "I'll drive this car another day." He put down the empty cup and said. The girl stood up, walked along the stool, and put the coins on the counter.The fat chef thumped his cash register hard, setting down the nickel change.Pete Anglis stared at the girl indifferently: shabby clothes, innocent eyes, brown curly hair hanging around her neck, eyebrows plucked, faded to the brow bone, painted with exaggerated eyebrow line. "Miss, you're lost, aren't you?" he asked softly in his hoarse voice. The girl opened the bag clumsily and put the change in it. Upon hearing this, she took a few steps back suddenly, and the bag fell to the ground, and all the contents of the bag poured out. The girl stared at the bag with wide eyes. Pete Anglis gets down on one knee and packs his things in his bag, a cheap nickel storage box, a few cigarettes, a purple matchbox with "Rule the Club" printed in gold letters, two multicolored handkerchiefs, crumpled bills , and some silver coins and pennies. He packed the bag, stood up, and handed it to the girl. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "I seem to have frightened you." She breathed heavily, grabbed the bag in his hand and ran out, disappearing immediately. The fat cook looked at her back, "This girl is not from a tough town." He said slowly. He plated the eggs and toast, poured a cup of coffee into a large mug, and placed them in front of Pete Anglis. Pete Anglis touched the food and said absently: "Single one, the match that dominates the club. Trimmer Waltz is after this kind of guy, and you know what happens to the girls who get caught by him." The chef licked his lips, reached for the whiskey under the counter, poured himself a glass, filled the bottle with the same amount of water, and put the bottle back under the counter. "I've never been a harsh person, and I don't want to be," he said slowly, "but a white guy like Trimmer Waltz is really annoying, and sooner or later he's going to get his comeuppance." Pete kicked his suitcase. "Yes, Mopsy, keep my suitcase." Peter Anglis walked out after speaking. It was autumn night with a crisp air, three or two cars whizzed by, but the streets were pitch black and deserted.A night watchman walked slowly down the street, knocking on the doors of a low, dimly lit row of shops.There were many wooden houses across the street, and there were loud noises from several of them. Pete Anglis saw the girl again as he crossed the intersection, three blocks away from the lunch truck. She was pressed against the wall motionless, not far from her, there was a dim yellow light in the stairs of a walk-up apartment.There is a small parking lot beyond, and the front of the parking lot is almost full of billboards.A faint light from nowhere shone on her hat, on her battered cuffed polo top, on one side of her face.Pete knew she was the girl from before. He walked to a door and looked at the girl, who had something shiny on her raised arm—her watch.Not far away, the bell rang eight times, with a low voice, ringing one after another. There was a flash of light around the corner, and a limousine slid in from behind and slid down the block, its headlights fading out, its windows and polished body still gleaming in the night. Pete Anglis was grinning at the door in a custom Diesenberg sedan just six blocks off Central Avenue.There was a sudden sharp click, and he was startled. The girl was running towards him along the sidewalk on her high heels. The lights of the Diesenberg sedan were dimmed, so the people in the car at that distance did not notice the girl.Peter Anglis walked out the door, grabbed her by the arm, dragged her back in, and fished a gun from under his jacket. The girl gasped beside him. The Diesenbeck limousine passed the gate, no shots were fired, and the uniformed driver did not slow down as he passed. "I can't do that, I'm scared to death," the girl gasped and whispered to Pete, and then she ran off suddenly, running a long way down the street, pulling away from the car. Pete Anglis watched the Desenbaker drive away, across from the row of billboards blocking the view of the parking lot.At this time, the car was driving very slowly, almost as if it was crawling. Suddenly, something seemed to be thrown from the left front window of the car, and it fell heavily on the street. As soon as the thing hit the ground, the Disenbeck sedan accelerated quietly with a buzzing sound. Driving into the night, it took a block before the headlights came on all over again. Everything stands still.The thing that had been thrown out of the car lay on the inside of the sidewalk, near the bottom of one of the billboards. After a while, the girl staggered back step by step. Peter Anglis was watching her. When the girl came to him, he said softly, "What happened? Do you need help?" She choked up and turned around, as if she didn't remember him anymore.In the darkness, she turned her head to look at him, her eyes flickered and her face turned pale.She spoke in a low voice, very fast, and her words were full of fear. "You're the guy from the lunch truck, I've seen you." "Tell me, what's the matter—paying the debt?" She turned to look at him again and nodded. "What's in the bag?" Pete Anglis yelled. "Money?" She said hastily, "Would you like to fetch it for me? Well, would you? I would be very grateful for your kindness, and I would—" He laughed, with a deep laugh, "Girl, help you get it? I'll get it, who will pay me? Tell me, what's going on? Come and listen." She pushed him away violently, but he grabbed her arm firmly with one hand, dropped the gun with the other, and grabbed her with both hands.The gun slipped from his jacket out of his sight.Sobbing, she whispered, "He's going to kill me if I don't get that package." Peter Anglis said bitterly: "Who's going to kill you? Trimmer Waltz?" She pushed him hard, nearly breaking free of his grip, but was held by Pete.At this time, there was the sound of procrastinating footsteps on the street, and two black figures appeared in front of the billboard, but they did not stop to pick up the package, but got closer and closer, the cigarette butts in their hands flickering. A voice whispered, "Baby, look there. Honey, do you want to change boyfriends?" The girls huddled behind Pete Anglis, and one of the blacks smiled softly, waving a red cigarette butt. "Shit, that woman is white," said another. "Let's go." They giggled and walked on, disappearing around the corner. "Who," Pete Anglis growled bluntly, "come out!" Obviously annoyed, "Damn it, you stay here, I'll bring you back that broken package." He left the girl, walked gently along the front of the apartment, stopped when he reached the end of the billboard, looked around, and found the package.The outer packaging of the package is black, not bulky but enough to see clearly.He leaned down to look under the billboard, but saw nothing. He took four steps forward, bent down and picked up the bag, which was wrapped in woolen cloth and tied with two thick rubber bands.He stood there motionless, listening. Traffic hummed on the distant main road.A light came on in the apartment across the street behind the glass-paneled door, and a window was open in the apartment, above which it was dark. Suddenly there was a woman's scream behind him. He froze, turned his head, and a light hit him between his eyebrows. The light came from an unlit window across the street, making him dizzy and fell on the billboard. He squinted his eyes, blinked a few times, and then remained motionless. Someone jumped onto the concrete floor, a gun stuck out from the end of the billboard, and the muzzle was pressed against his side. The person behind the gun casually said, "Dude, don't move, you're surrounded by the police." Cops with revolvers surrounded him from both ends of the billboard.There was the clatter of high heels on the cement floor in the distance.For a moment, everything was silent.Then a police car with red lights flashing turned the corner and drove into the crowd surrounding Pete Anglis. Someone said casually: "I'm Angus, Lieutenant of the Criminal Police. If you don't mind, I'll take this bag. Cross your arms and be honest for a while—" The handcuffs were placed coldly on Pete Anglis' wrists. He pricked up his ears to hear the sound of high heels in the distance, but the surroundings were too noisy to hear clearly. The door opened and the Negroes poured out of the room. John Victory is 1.88 meters tall. His handsome face is perfect even in Hollywood. His skin is dark, charming and affectionate. He has a bunch of lovely gray and white sideburns on his temples. His shoulders are wide and his hips are narrow, and his waist is like a British Guards officer. He was straight, the dinner suit fit him well, and he looked so handsome that the clothes were secretly sad. Victory looked at Pete Anglis with an apologetic expression, as if he was sorry that he didn't know Pete.Pete looked at his handcuffs, at his worn shoes on the thick carpet, at the chiming clock high on the wall, his face flushed, his eyes sparkling. Victory cleared his throat and said smoothly and clearly, "No, I've never seen him." Then he smiled at Pete Anglis. Angus, the plainclothes lieutenant, was leaning against the end of a carved desk, tapping his fingers on the brim of his hat.Two other police officers stood by a side wall.A fourth policeman sat at a small table with a stenographer's notebook in front of it. Angus said: "Oh, we just thought you might know him, we didn't get any clues from him." Victory raised his eyebrows and smiled softly, "This really surprised me." He collected the glasses from all over the place and put them on a tray, and then began to mix the drinks. "Occasionally," Angus said. "I thought you guys had a way." Vittorio said softly, pouring Scotch whiskey into the glass. Angus looked at a nail and said, "Mr Victory, when I said he wouldn't tell us anything, I meant he wouldn't tell us anything. He just said his name was Pete Anglis , used to be a fighter, but hasn't been in combat for years. A year or so ago, he was doing a job as a private eye, but now he doesn't have a job. He got drunk after winning some money in a gambling game, and after that Been hanging around. He happened to be on Noon Street that day, saw the bag thrown out of your car, and picked it up. We could arrest him for vagrancy, but there's nothing else we can do." "Maybe that's the case." Vittorio said softly, and after he finished speaking, he served the four policemen two glasses at a time, then raised his own glass and nodded slightly before drinking.Vittorio drank his wine gracefully, his movements extremely noble, "No, I don't know him," he said again, "Frankly, I don't think he looks like a person who would do acid-splashing." He shook a hand. "So bringing him here I'm afraid—" Pete Anglis suddenly raised his head and stared at Victory with a mocking voice. "Victory, these policemen really think highly of you. Normally, they would send out four policemen and take the prisoners to investigate and visit. This is only the case in special circumstances." Victory smiled kindly, "This is Hollywood," he smiled, "After all, I am also famous." "You were just famous once," said Pete Angliss. "Your last picture was the pain you couldn't tell your female fans." Angus was taken aback, Victory's face turned pale, he slowly put down his wine glass, lowered his hands, strode across the carpet, and walked in front of Peter Anglis. "That's your opinion," he said roughly, "but I warn you—" Pete Anglis glared at him, "Listen big man, some bastards said they'd throw vitriol on you if you didn't put $1,000 on the side of the road, so you did. I picked up that $1,000, but I didn't take a ticket in it, so the money went back to you. This thing greatly increased your exposure, which should have cost you $10,000 for this level of publicity, but you didn't spend a dime. The wishful thinking is really good." Angus said sharply, "Fool, that's enough!" "What?" Pete Anglis sneered, "I thought you wanted me to talk, um, but I just said, I hate cowards like you, do you hear me clearly?" Vito was panting with strength, and suddenly punched Pete Anglis on the jaw, causing Pete's head to shake from side to side.Pete Anglis blinked his eyes, closed them, opened them wide again, shook his body, and said calmly, "Victory, if you hit someone like this, your hands will break." Victori took a step back, shook his head, looked at his thumb, his face was no longer so pale, and the smile gradually hung on his face. "I'm sorry," he said ruefully, "I'm sorry, I can't bear to hear him insult me ​​like this. Lieutenant, I don't know this man, maybe you'd better take him away and put him in handcuffs. It's not very good." Brilliance, eh?" "Tell your mates," said Pete Angliss, "that I won't be so easily hurt." Angus walked up to him and patted him on the shoulder, "Dude, stand up, let's go. You still blow your beard and stare when you meet such a nice person, don't you?" "Yes, I don't like this kind of masked good guy." Peter Anglis said. He stood up slowly and shuffled across the plush carpet. The two police officers standing against the wall came to his side. They passed through the arch and walked out of the large room. Angus and another person followed from behind. Several people waited for the elevator in the small private lobby. "What are you thinking?" Angus said angrily, "You want to have a fight with him?" Pete Anglis laughed. "I'm just crazy," he said, "just crazy." The elevator came up, and they took it down to the quiet lobby on the first floor of Chester Tower.Two police officers lolled behind the marble table, while two other clerks stood alert. Pete Anglis raised his handcuffed hands and saluted like a soldier, "What, the journalists haven't come yet?" He mocked, "If this matter is kept secret and not reported, will Vittorio Be happy." "Don't be smart, just go ahead." A police officer snapped and grabbed Pete's arm. They walked down a corridor and out a side door into a narrow street where the treetops hung almost straight down.Looking at the city through the treetops, the lights are like a huge golden carpet, the carpet is colorful and sparkling. The two cars started whirring, and Pete Anglis was pushed into the back seat of the first car, with Angus and another man sitting on either side of him.The car drove down the hill in the night, turned east at the fountain area, and went silently mile after mile.At the junction of the fountain area and the sunset area, the car drove towards the tall white tower of the city hall in the city center.Once at the plaza, the first vehicle turns onto Los Angeles Street and heads south.Another car drove on. After a while, Peter Anglis curled his lips and squinted at Angus. "Where are you taking me? This is not the way to the Headquarters." Angus slowly turned his dark and serious face, but he didn't answer.After waiting for a while, the big detective leaned back in his chair and yawned. The car turned from Los Angeles Street to Fifth Street, then east to San Pedro, and then south, passing many, many blocks, quiet and noisy.On one block a silent man is seen sitting on a rickety front porch, on another a din is heard, a tangle of young thugs of all colours, in cheap Grinding each other in front of restaurants, grocery stores and beer shops where slot machines can be found everywhere. When they arrived in Santa Barbara, the police car turned east again, slowly drove along the road towards Noon Street, and stopped at a corner in front of the dining car.Pete Anglis tensed his face again, but he didn't say anything. "Okay—" Angus said in a drawn-out voice, "unlock the handcuffs." The police officer sitting on the other side of Peter Anglis took out a key from his vest and opened the handcuffs, which made a pleasant clinking sound.The officer then put the handcuffs back on the back of his trousers.Angus opened the car door and got out of the car. "Come out." He said back. Pete got out of the car, Angus walked to one side, stopped after walking for a while, made a gesture, then reached into his jacket and took out a gun, he said softly: "You must force me to play this game , or we have to ask everyone in the town, Pearson is the only one in the town who knows you, do you have anything to say now?" Pete Anglis held the gun, shook his head slowly, put the gun in his coat, and stood in front of the police car. "The person who looked out for you was found," Angus said slowly. "A girl was walking around there, but it might just be a coincidence." Angus stared at Angus quietly for a while, then nodded, got back into the car, closed the door with a bang, and accelerated down the street. Pete Anglis drove along Santa Barbara to the south end of Central Avenue.After a while, Pete saw a conspicuous signboard with a few large purple characters on it - The Domination Club seemed to be staring at him.Pete walked up the spacious carpeted stairs to the loud and hard dance music. The girls were to come across the densely packed tables surrounding the small dance floor.She accidentally rubbed her butt against the back of a customer's shoulder. The man grinned and reached out to grab her hand. She smiled mechanically, shook off his hand, and continued to walk forward. She wore a bronze-colored sequined dress, her arms were bare, and her brown hair fell in curly curls around her neck.It looks prettier this way, better than the worn-out polo jacket and cheap felt hat, and even prettier than this one: stepping on sky high, bare long legs, wearing a midriff-baring dress, Playfully wearing a bulky golden top hat. Her face was small and flat, beautiful though haggard looking, and her eyes were wide open.The dance band was deafeningly loud, drowned out by the sound of meals, chatter and dance steps.The girl walked slowly to the Peter Anglis desk, pulled out another chair, and sat down. She rested her chin on the backs of her hands, her elbows on the tablecloth, and stared at him. "Hello," she said, her voice trembling a little. Pete Anglis pushed a pack of cigarettes across the table and watched her shake out a cigarette and put it in her mouth.He struck a match, and she had to take the match in his hand and light the cigarette. "Shall I have something to drink?" "OK." He beckoned a waiter with almond eyes and shaggy curly hair over and ordered two cocktails.After the waiter walked away, Pete Anglis leaned back in his chair and looked at his rough fingertips. The girl said very gently: "Sir, I received your money." "Are you happy?" He looked away and asked her, his voice sounded casual, but he could feel a bit stiff. She smiled unnaturally. "We have to keep our customers happy." 皮特·安格里斯从她的肩膀看过去，注视着演奏舞台的角落。角落有一个小麦克风，一个男人站在那里吸烟。他体格很壮，但他这年龄做主持人有点大了。一头光滑的银发，鼻子大大的，有着酒鬼惯有的油腻肤色。他对所有的人和事致以微笑，时不时扫一眼各处。皮特·安格里斯看了他一会儿，顺着他投射目光的地方看去，用同样漫不经心的语调生硬地对女孩说：“但不管怎样，你还是出现在这。” 女孩一愣，委顿下来，说：“先生，你没必要侮辱我。” 他眼神放空，至上而下慢慢地打量着她，“姑娘，你都落魄至此一无所有了，我以前也常像你这样孤苦无依，所以我能猜到你的境况。而且，今晚为了找你，堵车都要把我堵吐了，说话不好听你就别介意了。” 那个一头绒绒鬈发的服务员回来了，布上托着一只盘子，他用脏毛巾擦拭完两个杯底，将它们放好，又走了。 那个女孩拿起一只酒杯，猛地喝了一大口，她放下酒杯时不禁打了个冷战，脸色白如蜡纸。 “说点笑话什么的，”她立即说，“别只坐在那，有人看着我呢。” 皮特·安格里斯碰了碰他那杯新鲜的饮料，故意对表演舞台的角落微微一笑。 “是啊，一看就知道有人在监视你。那你说说午街取货的事情吧。” 她迅速伸手摸着他的胳膊，尖利的指甲抠进皮特的肉里。“在这说不行，”她低声说，“我不知道你怎么找到我的，我也不在乎。但你看起来像那种会救女孩出火坑的人。我要被吓死了，请不要在这说这事。你要我做什么，我就做什么；你想我去哪，我就去哪。只要你现在别在这儿说这个事。” 皮特·安格里斯抽出他的手臂，接着又靠在椅背上，他眼神冷冰冰的，但他却没长一张刀子嘴。 “知道了，肯定是特里莫·华尔兹不让你说。他在管这事吗？” 她迅速点了点头，“我走了还不到三个街区他就看到了我，还认为我在跟他开哪门子玩笑。但要是他看到你和我在一起就不会这么想了，你懂了吧。” 皮特·安格里斯抿了一口酒，冷静地说：“他正往这边来。” 那个满头银发的主持人正穿行于各桌之间，一边鞠躬一边说话，正往皮特·安格里斯与女孩坐着的这桌走过来。女孩盯着皮特·安格里斯背后一面镀金的大镜子，突然整张脸扭曲着，惊恐万分，嘴唇不由自主地颤抖着。 特里莫·华尔兹懒散地走到桌边，一只手扶在桌上，将他那个可以看到脉纹的大鼻子探到皮特·安格里斯那，微微一笑。 “嗨，皮特，麦金利被他们'干掉'后就没见到你了。最近怎么样？” “就那样呗，”皮特·安格里斯沙哑地说，“那天我都喝醉了。” 特里莫·华尔兹咧嘴大笑，然后转头看着女孩。女孩迅速跟特里莫对视了一眼，又立马避开他的目光，手指不停拨弄着桌布。 华尔兹轻柔问皮特：“以前认识这姑娘？还是刚刚选中她？” 皮特·安格里斯耸耸肩，一副很无聊的模样，“特里莫，我只是想找人陪我喝一杯，给她发奖金好吗？” “当然，没问题。”华尔兹拿起一杯鸡尾酒，做出一副嗤之以鼻的表情，伤心地摇摇头，“希望我们能够提供更好的酒水，但是50美分一杯能拿出什么好东西，要不去我那喝上几口好酒，如何？” “我和她吗？”皮特·安格里斯温和地问。 “对，你俩都去。等我5分钟左右，我要先去打点一下。” 特里莫捏捏女孩的脸颊，然后离开了，他那穿着定制西装的肩膀松松垮垮地一摇一摆。 女孩绝望地低声沉吟：“所以你叫皮特，你一定是活腻了，皮特。我叫图肯·韦尔，很傻的名字，是吧？” “我喜欢这名字。”皮特·安格里斯轻声说。 女孩盯着皮特·安格里斯喉咙上白色伤疤下面的一个地方，眼睛渐渐噙满了泪水。 特里莫·华尔兹侧着身子在各桌之间移动，不时和每桌的顾客寒暄几句，走到远远的那堵墙那，沿着墙走到表演舞台，站在那儿环视整个舞厅，然后直视着皮特·安格里斯，头一撇，便穿过一对厚厚的窗帘退到了后面。 皮特·安格里斯把他的椅子推进去，站了起来，说：“我们走吧。” 图肯·韦尔颤抖着将烟摁灭在玻璃烟灰缸里，喝完杯中的酒，站了起来。他们从桌子中间穿梭回去，沿着舞池的边缘走到舞台的一侧。 窗帘拉开，出现一个昏暗的走廊，走廊两侧都是门，地板上铺着破旧的红地毯，墙上裂缝斑斑，门也是开裂的。 “左边最后一个。”图肯·韦尔低声说。 皮特和女孩到了门口，皮特·安格里斯敲了敲门。特里莫·华尔兹叫了句“进来”。皮特·安格里斯看着门站了一会儿，然后转头看着女孩，目光坚毅。他推开门，让图肯先进。 房间不是十分敞亮，书桌上一盏椭圆形的小台灯把打磨的地板照得发亮，但那破旧的红地毯和外墙上那又长又重的红窗帘依旧光泽暗沉。空气很闷，散发着浓郁香甜的酒味。 特里莫·华尔兹坐在桌子后面，双手摸着一个托盘，托盘里面有刻花玻璃滤酒器，一些镶金边玻璃杯，冰桶和灌满水的虹吸管。 他笑了，摸了摸他的大鼻子。 “来，你们自己坐。这是苏格兰利口酒，150毫升得花上690美元，这么贵——还是成本价拿来的。” 皮特·安格里斯关上门，慢慢地将房间环视一圈，看看垂至地板的窗帘，又看看未打开的吊灯，然后从容地解开外套最上面的纽扣。 “这里挺热啊，”他轻声说，“可以打开窗帘后面的窗户吗？” 那个女孩坐在华尔兹对面的圆椅上。华尔兹对她很温柔地笑了笑。 “我怎么没想到，”华尔兹说，“请你打开一扇窗好吗？” 皮特·安格里斯走过桌子尾端，向窗帘走去，经过华尔兹旁边时，往外套上方摸，摸到了外套里的那把枪的枪托，他轻轻地移向红色窗帘，差点就没看到在窗帘和墙之间的暗影里有一双宽大的黑色方头鞋。 皮特·安格里斯来到窗前，左手猛地拉开窗帘。 那双鞋靠着墙，可窗帘后面却没人。华尔兹在皮特背后冷笑一声，沙哑冰冷地说：“老兄，给他们点颜色瞧瞧。” 女孩发出一声哽咽，但声音又不像尖叫。皮特放下手，慢慢地转身回头看，看到一个黑人。黑人身材巨大，像大猩猩一样，穿着一件宽松的格子西装，这件格子西装显得他更加庞大。他赤着脚悄悄地从壁橱门出来，右手举着一杆比手还粗的巨大黑枪。 华尔兹也举起了枪，那是一把狙击枪。黑人和华尔兹静静盯着皮特·安格里斯，皮特举起双手，眼睛放空，紧闭着小嘴。 穿格子西装的黑人散漫地大步向皮特走来，将枪抵在他的胸口上，伸手摸进他的外套，摸出一把枪，随即把枪扔在身后的地板上，随性地转起自己的手枪，枪托打在了皮特的下巴上。 皮特打了个趔趄，下巴流出咸咸的血。他眨了眨眼，沙哑地说：“大块头，我记住你了啊，你等着。” 黑人咧嘴一笑，“我等着你，伙计。等着你。” 黑人又敲了皮特一枪，然后突然把枪塞到一个侧边口袋里，抽出两只大手，扼住皮特的喉咙。 “你骨头硬是吧，我就喜欢欺负你这样的。”他几近轻声说。 黑人那像门把手一样又大又硬的拇指按在了皮特脖子上。皮特眼前的这张脸变得越来越大，越来越模糊，但依稀还能看见一抹大大的笑容，那张脸在渐弱的光线里摇摆着，已然成了一张虚幻神奇的脸。 皮特用小得就如玩具气球一样微不足道的力量向那张黑脸挥了一拳，一拳过去落了个空，大块头将他翻了个身，一条膝盖戳在他背上，皮特受迫跪了下来。 好一会儿，房间里只能听到皮特的脑袋流血的声音，没有别的任何声音了。尔后，他似乎听到远处一个女孩微弱的尖叫声，从到更远的地方传来特里莫·华尔兹的喃喃自语：“鲁夫，差不多了，停手吧。” 皮特听到一声枪响，火红的鲜血应声迸溅而出。黑暗变成了静默。没有什么能挤进这片静默中，连血滴的声音都被挡在耳外。 黑人将皮特瘫软的身体放倒在地，后退几步，两只手相互搓着。 “是的，我喜欢欺负你们这样的人。”他说。 穿格子西装的黑人坐在长椅的一侧，疲倦地弹着五弦班卓琴。他的脸很大，表情庄严而平静，透出些许悲伤。他慢慢地拨动着五弦琴琴弦，头偏向一边，嘴角叼着一根皱巴巴的烟头。 他发出一种低沉的嗡嗡声，他在唱歌。 壁炉台上一台廉价的电子钟显示时间是11∶35。这是一个不大的客厅，家具明亮，但摆设过多，屋里有一盏红色落地灯，底座上放着一群法国娃娃，铺着一张艳丽的地毯，上面的图案是一颗大大的钻石，还有两扇装有窗帘的窗户，窗户之间是一面镜子。 房间后面有一扇门，门半开着，它附近另一扇通向大厅的门却关了。 皮特·安格里斯仰面躺在地上，张着嘴，呼出沉重的鼾声，双臂张开，眼睛紧闭着，脸在泛红的灯光下看起来红扑扑的，像发烧了一般。 黑人放下大手里的班卓琴，站起来打了个哈欠，伸展伸展身子。他穿过房间，看着壁炉架上的日历。 “现在怎么是8月呢。”他厌烦地说。 他撕下一页日历，拧成一团，扔在皮特脸上。皮特还在昏迷中，纸扔到他脸上他也没有动弹。黑人将烟头吐到自己手掌上，摊开手掌，然后倏地一下将烟头弹向刚刚纸球飞出的方向。 他踱了几步，俯下身来，摸着皮特太阳穴的淤伤，然后用力一按，轻轻地笑了，但皮特还是没有动弹。 黑人挺直身子，小心地踢了踢皮特的肚子，一遍又一遍，力度不大。皮特动了一下，格格地咳了一声，转了下头。黑人看起来很高兴，回到长椅，把班卓琴靠在前门的墙上。小桌子上有一张报纸，上面放着一把枪。黑人穿过里间一扇半开的门，拿着一瓶品脱装的杜松子酒出来，酒还剩一半。他用手帕仔细地擦拭酒瓶，然后把它放到壁炉架上。 “朋友，差不多了，”他若有所思地大声说，“你醒来的时候也许会觉得不太舒服，可能需要打一针……嘿，不过我想到了更好的方法。” 他又伸手拿过酒瓶，一只硕大的膝盖跪了下来，将杜松子酒泼在皮特的嘴和下巴上，又胡乱洒在他的衬衫上，然后把酒瓶立在地板上，重新擦干后将玻璃塞弹到了长椅下。 “白人，来拿酒喝啊，”他轻声说，“人证物证都在，看你怎么狡辩？” 他拿起那张报纸，把报纸上的枪抖在地毯上，远远踢开枪，皮特即使伸出手也够不到。 黑人从门口仔细查看房内的设置，点了点头，拿起他的班卓琴，打开门，探出头，又回头看。 “再见，朋友。”他轻声说，“我要去透透气了，'你活不了多久了'，但你不用煎熬多久了，很快会结束的。” 他关上门，沿着走廊走下楼梯。门后响起收音机微弱的声音，公寓入口的大厅空空如也。这个穿着花格子西服的黑人溜进大厅黑暗角落的电话亭，塞进硬币，拨打了电话。 一个低沉的声音说：“警察局。” 黑人把嘴贴近话筒，哀诉道。 “是警察吗？是这样，246路东48街汽笛风琴公寓楼4B座发生了枪击，听清了吗？……唉呀，警察，你们赶紧过来呐！” 他赶紧把电话挂了，格格地笑着跑下公寓楼前的台阶，跳进一辆又小又脏的轿车，发动车后向中央大道开去。他离中央大道相距一个街区时看到红色警灯闪烁着从中央大道往东48街去。 黑人在轿车里笑着，继续开车前进，警车从他身边呼啸而过，他在一边哼着歌。 门闩咔嗒一声刚关上，皮特就稍稍睁开眼，慢慢转过头，痛苦地笑着，看到房间一角和房间中部都空无一人。他躺着用力向后仰头，看到了房间的其他地方。 他滚向枪，一把抓住——那是他自己那把枪，笨拙地坐起来，朝门开了一枪，门开了，但他的笑脸却僵住了，因为枪里仅剩的一颗子弹用完了，一股火药味飘散开来。 他站起来，低着头蹑手蹑脚走向一扇开着一条缝的里门，走到门口时，他将腰猫得更低。慢慢推开门，什么也没有发生。他看着卧室，里面有两张床，床上铺着玫瑰锦缎，上面有黄金的设计。 床上躺着一个人，一个女人，她一动不动。皮特又露出他那副冷酷严峻的笑容，他站直，踮着脚尖轻轻地走到床边。远处浴室的门敞开着，但没有什么动静。皮特·安格里斯低头看着床上躺着的这个黑人女孩。 他吸了口气，又慢慢呼出，毫无疑问这个女孩已经死了，她半睁着眼，眼神死死的，手放在身体两侧，腿有点弯曲。她穿着短裙、透明丝袜和一双10多厘米的法式高跟鞋，透过丝袜可以看到裸露的皮肤。地板上放着一顶绿帽子，房间里散发着“午夜水仙”的香气。他想起这个女孩就是那天在惊喜酒店外面看见的那个人。 她的确死了，子弹从左胸射穿，流出的血都已经凝结了，死了很久了。 皮特回到客厅，抓起杜松子酒瓶，一口气全喝了。他喘着气，站在那想了想，枪松松垮垮地挂在他左手上，紧紧抿着他那张小嘴。 皮特用力抓着杜松子酒瓶，一把扔到长椅上，将枪塞进腋下的皮套里，走到门口，悄悄走进大厅。 大厅又长又暗，寒意漫漫。楼梯顶部的一盏壁灯泛着黄光，前廊的纱门通向阳台，纱门的一角透着暗淡的冷冷月光。 皮特·安格里斯轻轻地走下楼梯，来到前大厅，伸手拉玻璃门的把手。 门上出现一个红点，一道炫目的红光透过玻璃和肮脏的窗帘打在门上聚焦成了一个红点。 皮特在门前蹲下，贴墙猫到一侧，迅速扫射大厅，目光定在了黑暗的电话亭上。 “陷阱。”他轻声说着，躲进了电话亭里蜷缩成一团，电话亭的门就要关上了。 这时门廊传来咚咚的脚步声，前门“吱呀”一声被打开，脚步声到了走廊，停了下来。 一个低沉的声音说：“这么安静，嗯？也许是假报案吧。” 另一个声音说：“4B座，就是这儿啊，既然来了就到处查看一下吧。” 脚步声往下面那扇前门去了，然后又折了回来，听着像是上了楼，还敲响了楼上那扇前门。 皮特将电话亭的门向后拉开，溜到前门，缩成一团，眯起眼睛盯着红眩光。 路边停着辆黑色的警车，车身很大，车头灯正照在破裂的人行道上，但皮特看不见车内的情况，他叹了口气，打开门，快步往前走，也不是太快，经过走廊，走下木阶。 警车里没人，两侧的前门都微微打开。街对面，几个黑影小心翼翼地向一起靠拢。皮特直接走向警车，钻进车里，静静地关上门，踩下发动机，挂上挡。 他开车经过一群群街坊邻居，到了第一个拐角转弯，并关掉了红色警灯，然后加速行驶，在不同街区驶进驶出，向远离中央大道的地方开去，不久又开回中央大道。 当他靠近中央大道的街灯，街上车水马龙，他把车停靠在布满尘土的绿树成阴的街道旁，走出警车，任警车丢在那儿。 他向中央大道走去。 特里莫·华尔兹左手抱着电话，右手食指摸着上唇唇沿，噘起嘴，食指慢慢地擦着牙齿和牙龈。他看着桌子对面穿格子西装的大块头黑人，眼神迷离苍白。 “好啊，”他死气沉沉地说，“好啊，警察没抓到人，让他给跑了。鲁夫，干得'漂亮'。” 黑人拿下嘴上的雪茄烟头，用巨大扁平的拇指和食指掐灭。 “他妈的，那时他还睡得跟头猪一样，”他咆哮着，“我到中央大道前看着警车从我身边开过，妈的，他不可能逃得了的。” “可他是皮特·安格里斯啊。”华尔兹无力地说，一边打开他办公桌最上面的抽屉，拿出一把沉重的狙击枪，摆到桌前。 黑人看着那把狙击枪，眼睛呆滞，像黑曜石一样黯淡。他咬咬上嘴唇又咬咬下嘴唇。 “那婊子和三四个人一直找我的麻烦。”他抱怨道，“就该把她解决了。行，就这样吧，现在我去叫些帮手。” 华尔兹正准备起身，两根手指就要摸到枪把儿了，这时他摇了摇头，黑人重新坐下了。 华尔兹说：“鲁夫，皮特·安格里斯要是逃走了的话，他就没法成替罪羊，你就是嫌犯，因为你当时在那儿。你打电话报警说在那发现一具女尸，除非警察抓到皮特，而且枪还在他那儿——但这几乎不可能，他怎么会留着拿把枪，这样一来就没办法嫁祸他了。” 黑人露齿而笑，目光呆滞地盯着那把狙击枪。 他说：“听着怎么让人瘆得慌，真是吓出我一身冷汗，那我应该带上一把枪，对吧？” 华尔兹叹了口气，若有所思地说：“嗯，你最好离开一段时间。现在从格兰岱尔市去还能赶上去弗力斯科的晚班列车。” 黑人一脸怒气，“老板，去弗力斯科？！我才不去，我摸过她的鼻息，她都死了，老板，我不去弗力斯科。” “鲁夫，你现在有自己的主意了啊，”华尔兹平静地说，“一看你那棕色的大眼睛就知道，骗不了我。别想那么多，我会好好罩着你的。去把巷子里的车开过来，我们现在去格兰岱尔市，路上再商量。”他摸了摸他那可以看到脉纹的鼻子，又将白发向后捋平。 黑人眨了眨眼，用他的大手擦掉下巴上的雪茄烟灰。 “你那把亮闪闪的枪最好留在这，”华尔兹补充道，“它也需要休息。” 鲁夫把手伸向后面，慢慢地从臀部的口袋里拿出枪，伸出一根手指，把枪推到打磨的木头桌面的另一端，疲惫地微微一笑。 “好吧，老板。”他呓语般地说道。 鲁夫走到门口，打开门，走了出去。华尔兹站了起来，走到壁橱，穿上一件轻便大衣，戴上黑毡帽和黑手套，把狙击枪装进左口袋，把鲁夫的枪装进右边口袋，走出房间，来到大厅，向伴舞乐队走去。 特里默·华尔兹走到舞厅尽头时管弦乐队正在弹奏一曲华尔兹，他将窗帘拉开，露出一条缝隙，刚好可以瞥见外面，中央大道上人头攒动，但并不吵闹。华尔兹叹了口气，看了一会儿跳舞的人，又将窗帘拉上。 他沿着大厅往回走，穿过他的办公室，来到最里头的一扇门前，这扇门后面是楼梯，楼梯尽头是另一扇门，门后通向大楼后的一条幽黑的小巷。 华尔兹轻轻关上门，靠墙站着，周围一片漆黑。远处传来低速空转的马达声和松散挺杆轻轻的哗啦声。巷子的一端是死胡同，另一端直角转向大楼前面。巷弄尽头的砖墙上灯影斑驳，是中央大道那儿停着的一辆车照过来的灯光。那辆车的另一边停着一辆小轿车，即使夜色中望去也是又破又脏。 华尔兹右手伸进大衣口袋拿出鲁夫的手枪，用大衣挡着。他悄悄地走到轿车旁边，绕着车跑到右侧，打开车门，钻进车里。 汽车里伸出一双巨大粗壮的手，那双手紧紧扼住华尔兹的喉咙，华尔兹虚弱地格格叫，头向后仰，眼睛几乎翻白了，无力地向上张望着。 华尔兹的右手动了动，右手灵活得好像与他那僵硬紧绷的身体，扭曲的脖子和凸起的翻白的眼睛不是同一个人的。他的手小心翼翼地向前移动，直到手里的枪口抵在了某个柔软的东西上，他小心地摸了一下这个柔软的东西，不慌不忙，像是要确信那东西的真身。 华尔兹·特里莫看不清，几乎也什么没感觉，呼吸也很微弱，但他的手就像一支分遣队一样听从他的大脑指挥。鲁夫可怕的手也拿它没办法，华尔兹扣下了扳机。 扼住华尔兹喉咙的手松开了，华尔兹向后仰，肩膀撞到对面的墙上，差点躺倒在小巷上，他慢慢挺直身子，饱受折磨的肺大口喘着气，身子开始发抖。 他几乎没有注意到那“大猩猩”掉下了车，啪的一声，摔在了他脚下的水泥地上。黑人的尸体躺在他脚下，软绵绵的，庞大的，但再也不能威胁他了，也不再重要了。 华尔兹把枪扔到横躺着的尸体上，轻轻摸了一会儿自己的喉咙，呼呼地喘着粗气，舔了舔嘴，舔到了血。他疲惫地抬起眼，看着小巷上方一抹狭长的靛蓝夜空。 过了一会儿，他沙哑地说：“鲁夫，我就知道你不会乖乖听话，你看，我早料到了。” 他笑了下，打了个哆嗦，整了整衣领，跨过横躺的尸体，钻进车里，把车熄了火，然后沿着小巷回到主宰俱乐部的后门。 车后面的暗影里走出一个男人，华尔兹左手立马伸进他的大衣口袋。闪亮的枪口正对着他，华尔兹无力地垂下双手。 皮特·安格里斯说：“特里莫，猜到那个电话会让你出马，就知道你会来这，干得好啊。” 过了一会儿，华尔兹沙哑地说：“他掐我，我这是自卫。” “当然，你的脖子痛，我的也痛，不过我的是枪伤的。” “皮特，你想要怎样？” “你杀了一个女孩，却想嫁祸于我。” 华尔兹突然像疯了一般笑了起来，平静地说：“皮特，我要是逼急了你知道我什么事都做得出来的，你最好别管那个图肯·韦尔的事。” 皮特·安格里斯移开枪，光照在枪管上熠熠发光。他走到华尔兹面前，将枪瞄准他的肚子。 “鲁夫死了，”他轻声说，“现在方便多了。那个女孩在哪儿？” "none of your business?" “别耍滑头，我没那么笨。你就是想敲约翰·维多力一笔，但那个包裹我替图肯去拿的。接下来你来告诉我剩下的事情。” 华尔兹站着一动不动，枪抵在他的肚子上，他的手指在手套里拧来拧去。 “好吧，”他干巴巴地说，“你要多少封嘴费，给多少你会给我永远保密？” “等几个世纪吧，鲁夫可拿走了我的包裹。” “这对我有什么好处呢？”华尔兹慢慢地问。 “不只这一件破事儿，还有放了那个女孩。” 华尔兹轻轻地说：“五个大洋，但那个女孩不能给你，五个大洋对于一个住在中央大道的小阿飞来说已经够多了。放聪明点拿钱走人，别的就不要多说了。” 皮特·安格里斯把枪从他肚子上移开，敏捷地绕着他，拍拍他