Chapter 10 Chapter 10 The Desperado

Merlin Terrence was not a man of action.He used this as an excuse for self-consolation, because now, after leaving the space station, he found that his mind could no longer function freely. He must choose his speed carefully.Not too slow, or it will appear to be loafing; not too fast, or it will appear to be running.Just take it easy, walk like a patrolman, walk like a patrolman on his way to duty, getting into a ground vehicle. If only I could get into a ground vehicle!It is a pity that the education of the Florentians did not include driving a ground vehicle, not even the mayor of Florentine, so he tried to walk and think at the same time, but was never able to do it.He needs quiet surroundings and leisure time.

In addition, he felt himself so weak that he could hardly walk.He may not be a man of action, but he has been moving quickly for a day and a night plus half a day, which has consumed his courage all his life. But he dared not stop. Had it been night, he might have had a few hours to think, but it was just after noon. If he knows how to drive a ground vehicle, he can travel miles away from the city and think a little before deciding on his next move.But his means of transportation are only his legs. If he can think, that's the point, if only he can think.If he could suspend all movement, all action; if he could catch the universe in the stream of time and command it to pause, he could think a lot about it.There must be a way.

Excitedly, he rushed into the shadowed downtown, walking stiffly, imitating the way the patrolman walked in memory.Holding the electric shock baton tightly, he drew circles in mid-air.The streets are deserted, the locals are crammed into shanties—and that's all the better. The mayor chooses his targets carefully.It is best to choose a higher-end residence, the one with colored plastic tiles and polarized glass windows.It's useless to threaten the lower classes, why would they care about losing anything? The "upper class" are different, they will scramble to be the first to be obedient.

He walked along a short path to a house that met the requirements.The house is set back from the street, another sign of affluence.He knew he didn't need to knock or force his way in.As he came up the ramp he noticed movement behind a window (generations of Florenians could smell the patrolman coming), and the gate would open of its own accord. really. It was a young girl who opened the door, her eyes were as wide as copper bells.From the hem of her dress it was clear that her parents were determined to maintain their superior status and not want to join the common "Florenian waste".But the clothes still looked rustic.The girl stood aside to let him in, and a quick breath spewed out from her slightly opened mouth.

The mayor gestured for her to close the door: "Is your father at home, Miss?" She screamed, "Dad!" and said to him, breathlessly, "At home, sir!" "Dad" came out from another room with a guilty conscience, and his movements were slow.It's not that he doesn't know that there are patrolmen coming to the door, but it's safer to let a girl answer the door.Even if the patrolman happens to be angry, the chance of hitting a girl is relatively small. "Your name?" asked the mayor. "Jakov, sir." There was a thin-page notebook in one of the pockets of the patrol uniform. The mayor opened it, looked at it quickly, and ticked it neatly: "Jakov, that's right! I want to see every detail in your house. Members. Quick!"

If he could find room for other emotions besides hopeless depression, Terrence would almost certainly be having a hard time.He is not entirely indifferent to the pleasures of authority. They come out one by one.The first is a thin woman with a sad face and a child about two years old in her arms.Then there was the girl who answered the door and her brother. "Just these few?" "The whole family is out, sir." The man named Jakov said in a low voice. "Can I take care of the baby?" the woman asked anxiously. "It's her nap time and I'm just going to put her to bed." She held the baby forward in her hands, as if the innocent baby might melt the policeman heart of stone.

The mayor didn't look at the boy.A constable, he thought, has no heart, and he was a constable now.He said, "Put her down and gag her with a lollipop. Hey, you, Jakov!" "Yes, sir." "You are a law-abiding boy, aren't you?" The locals, no matter how old they are, can only be regarded as "boys". "Yes, sir." Jakov's eyes sparkled, and his shoulders shrugged slightly, "I am a clerk in a food processing center. I have studied mathematics, I know how to divide, and I can also do logarithms." Yes, thought the mayor, they once taught you how to use the logarithmic table and how to pronounce the word.

Terrence knew this kind of man.The guy is more proud of his logarithms than a tycoon is of his yacht.The polarized glass windows of this room are thanks to his logarithms, and the colored bricks outside the house are thanks to his long division.He despises his uneducated countrymen, as the magnate generally despises all Florentines; "You trust the law, don't you, boy? And the charitable tycoon?" The mayor continued his faux pas, flipping through his notebook. "My husband's a good man," the woman gushed suddenly. "He never gets into trouble, doesn't hang out with those scum. And neither do I, and my kids. We've always..."

Terrence waved her to silence: "Okay, okay. Now listen, boy, you just sit here and do what I say. I want a list of everyone you know on this street. People. Their names, addresses, jobs, and how they behave. That last one is especially important, and if there's any scum in here, I need to know. We're going to get rid of these people, understand?" "Yes, sir. I understand. The worst is Hastings, who lives down the street. He..." "That's not it, boy. You, get him a piece of paper. Now you just sit there and write it all down. Write slowly, because I can't read your native ghost characters."

"I write very well, sir." "Then write and see." Jakov began to bury his head in his work, writing stroke by stroke very slowly.His wife stood behind him and watched. Terrence said to the girl who opened the door for him, "Go to the window. If there are other patrolmen coming this way, let me know immediately. I want to talk to them. Don't call them, just tell me." .” Then, finally, he could relax.In a dangerous environment, he temporarily built a safe nest for himself. Except for the sucking sound of the baby in the corner, there was silence all around.If an enemy is approaching, he will be warned in time, and at least have a chance of escape.

Now, he can start thinking. First, his patrol role is coming to an end.All possible exits from the city were undoubtedly barricaded, and they knew he wouldn't be driving anything more complicated than a magnetic scooter.It would not be long before it dawned on these patrolmen, who were quite new to searching, that if they searched systematically all over the city, street by street, house by house, they would surely find their prey. When they finally decide to do that, they will presumably begin in the suburbs and gradually narrow inwards.If so, this residence will be among the first to be searched, so his time is extremely limited. The silver-and-black patrol uniform is rather conspicuous, but it's been pretty useful so far.The natives had no doubts about it, they hadn't noticed his pale Florentine face; they hadn't looked at his features, the uniform itself said it all. It won't be long before the hounds will learn this fact.They would have thought of issuing instructions to all locals to keep any patrolman who couldn't produce identification, especially a white-skinned, light-haired one.Real patrolmen will hold temporary credentials, and reward announcements will be distributed everywhere.Perhaps only one out of a hundred locals has the courage to face the uniform, the courage to face an obvious impostor, and one per cent of such people is enough. Therefore, he must not pretend to be a patrolman anymore. It's one thing, and another.From now on, he would not find any safe hiding places in Florenna.Killing a policeman was a heinous crime, and for fifty years—even if he escaped for that long—the hunt for him would not be relaxed.Therefore he must leave Florence. How to do it? Well, he assumed he had another day to live.It was an optimistic estimate, assuming that the patrolmen were all stupid as hell and he was lucky as hell. From a certain point of view, this is his bargaining chip.With only twenty-four hours of life, the sacrifice is not too great.This means that he dares to try his luck that normal people dare not take. He jumped up. Jakov raised his head: "I haven't finished writing, sir, I wrote very carefully." "Let me see what you wrote." He looked at the paper: "Enough. If other patrolmen come, don't waste their time, don't say you've made a list. They don't have time to listen to you, and there may be other job sent Here you go, just do as they tell you. Is there any patrolman coming?" The girl standing by the window replied, "No, sir. Shall I take a look in the street?" "No need. Well, let me ask you, where is the nearest lift?" "Turn left when you're out, sir, it's less than half a mile from here. You can-" "Okay, okay, go and open the door." The doors of the elevator closed behind the mayor, just as a squad of patrolmen turned into the street.He could feel his heart pounding.A systematic search probably started, and they followed closely behind. A minute later, he stepped out of the elevator and was uptown, his heart still pounding.There is no longer any cover here, no pillars around him, no cement alloy cover above his head. In the flash of brightly colored buildings he felt himself like a moving black speck, completely exposed to the surface for two miles around, and the sky for five miles above.In this range, it seems that there are many huge arrows pointing at him. There were no other patrolmen nearby, and the tycoons passing by regarded him as a transparent person.If there was anything that saved his life, the Patrolman was something the Florentines feared, but the Tycoon ignored them. He has a little idea of ​​the geography of the upper city, and knows that the "City Park" is in this area.The most logical thing to do is to ask someone for directions, followed by walking into any building and looking out from a high-rise balcony.The first method is absolutely impossible. No patrolman needs directions.The second option is too risky. In a building, a patrolman will be more conspicuous, almost too conspicuous. So, based on the impression of the map of the upper city in his mind, he walked in the direction he thought was right.The memory really worked, and five minutes later, he came to the authentic city park. The City Park is an artificial green space covering an area of ​​about 100 acres.In its native Sack, the park has a lot of exaggerated fame, ranging from idyllic tranquility to nightly revelry.But in Florence, those who have heard of it a little, inflated its scope to ten to a hundred times its actual size, and exaggerated its splendor to a hundred to a thousand times its actual size. And its actual appearance is indeed pleasing to the eye.In Florence's mild climate, it is green all year round, with many lawns, woodlands and caves distributed among them.There is also a small pond with beautiful fishes and a smaller pond for children to play in.Every night, before the drizzle begins, the colorful lights in the garden illuminate a colorful and splendid night scene.From dusk to before it rains, it is the busiest time in the park.There are always dance performances, 3-D movies, and couples reveling in the winding paths. Terrence had never actually been to the park.After entering now, the artificial environment disgusted him for a while.He knew very well that the soil and rocks under his feet, the ponds and trees around him, all built on slabs of cement alloy, bored him.He thought of the long, flat fields of thistles, and the mountains to the south.He despised these aliens for building a bunch of toys in the midst of a magnificent natural landscape. For the next half hour, Terrence plodded aimlessly.What he had to do had to be done in a park in the city.Even here, perhaps, his plan was impossible; but elsewhere, absolutely impossible. No one saw him, no one noticed him, he was sure of that.If the tycoons and tycoons passing by him were asked, "Did you see a patrolman in the park yesterday?" they would just be dumbfounded. Asking them this question is like asking them if they saw a mosquito fly across the trail. The park was so dull that he felt panic set in.He climbed a flight of steps between small boulders and descended to a hollow.There are many small caves around the depression, which provide shelter from the rain for couples who come here at night. (The chances of them being trapped inside by the rain seem pretty good.) Then he saw what he was looking for. a man!Or should I say a tycoon, walking briskly up and down, checking his pocket watch now and then.The man took a sharp drag on the cigarette in his hand, stuffed the butt into the ashtray, and after a while the cigarette butt disappeared in a burst of sparks. There are no other people in the depression, and no one will be active here until evening and night. It was quite obvious that the tycoon was waiting for someone.Terrence looked around, but no one followed him up the steps. , There may be other stairs leading here, there must be.But no matter, he couldn't let go of this opportunity. He walked up to the tycoon.The tycoon, of course, didn't see him until he said "I'm sorry to bother you." This sentence is full of respect, but no tycoon is used to letting the patrolman approach, no matter how respectful the other party is. "What the hell?" said the tycoon. Terrence maintained the respect and urgency in his tone (let him continue talking and let him look into your eyes for half a minute): "This way please, sir, this is a city-wide search related operation in order to hunt down the local murderer .” "what are you talking about?" "Just a moment." Terrence had already quietly pulled out the nerve whip, but the tycoon never saw it.The nerve whip hummed, and the tycoon immediately stiffened and fell to the ground. The mayor, who had never dealt with a tycoon before, was surprised by the instant nausea and guilt. Still no one was around.He dragged the stiff form into the nearest cave, the man's glassy eyes staring at him.He dragged it all the way, until it reached a low place at the end of the cave. It was with great effort that he tore the clothes off the tycoon's stiff hands and feet.Then he shed his dusty, sweat-soaked patrol uniform and put on the tycoon's underpants.In the past, he had only touched the thistle fabric with his fingers, and today was the first time the rest of his body had come into contact with this fabric. Next came the other clothing, especially the cap on Tycoon's head, which he really needed.Among the younger generation, caps are not very popular, but they are still worn.Fortunately, this celebrity Heng is one of them.It was a must for Terrence, otherwise his light hair would have made the Masquerade party impossible.He tugged the hat down over his ears. Then, he began to carry out the necessary aftermath work.It dawned on him that killing a policeman was no crime at all. He adjusted the pistol to maximum dispersion and turned to the unconscious tycoon.Ten seconds later, all that was left of this person was a mass of charred bones.This will delay the identification of the body and make it impossible for pursuers to start. He raised the pistol again, reduced the policeman's uniform to a cloud of powdery ash, and pulled out the blackened silver buckles and belt loops from the inside.This will also make hunting more difficult.Maybe he only earns an hour, but it's worth it. Now he must leave immediately without delay.He paused at the entrance of the cave and sniffed it carefully.The body was cremated cleanly, with only a slight smell of burnt flesh, which would be blown away by a breeze within minutes. He came down the stairs and was met by a young woman.For a moment, he habitually lowered his eyes, because she was a Sark lady.In a blink of an eye, he quickly raised his head again, and with a hasty glance, he only felt that she was quite young, beautiful, and in a hurry. She elongated her face.Of course she wouldn't be able to find the man, she was late, otherwise the man wouldn't have been checking his watch just now.Maybe she thought that the man was getting impatient and had already left first.So he walked a little faster.He didn't want her to come running back, panting, asking if he saw a young man. He left the park, walked aimlessly, and hurried past half an hour. What next?He is no longer a patrolman, now he is a tycoon. What should we do now? He came to a small square with a fountain in the center of one of the lawns.A small amount of detergent has been added to the water, resulting in a lot of iridescent foam, which looks very tacky. Leaning on the railing, with his back to the westward sun, he slowly threw the burnt silver pieces into the fountain bit by bit. He thought of the woman who had passed him on the steps, she was very young indeed.Then he thought about going down town again, and the momentary regret left him. After losing all the silver fragments, his hands were free, and he began to search his pockets slowly, trying to be as casual as possible. Nothing special in the pocket.A stack of key strips, a few coins, and an ID card. (Great Zack! Even the moguls carry them. But then again, they don't have to show it to every cop that comes their way.) Apparently, his new name was Estal Dimon, and he hoped he didn't have to use it.There were only 10,000 men, women, children, and children in the upper city. The chances of meeting someone who knew Dimon well were not high, but they were not so small that they could be ignored. The man was twenty-nine years old.The thought of the pile of ashes left in the cave brought another nausea to his stomach, and he tried to suppress that feeling.A tycoon is a tycoon, and how many Florentines of twenty-nine were murdered at their hands or at their direction?How many nineteen-year-old and nine-year-old Florentines have suffered the same fate? He had an address on him, too, but it meant nothing to him, and he had only a basic idea of ​​the geography of Uptown. Hey! Color pseudo-3D portrait of a young boy, probably only three years old.When he pulled it out, the colors on it began to flicker, and when he put it back, the colors gradually faded away.The guy's youngest son?Or nephew?If that girl in the park was dating him, it couldn't be his son, could it? Or is he already married?Was this meeting their so-called "cheating affair"?Would such a thing be done in broad daylight?Under certain circumstances, why not? Terrence hoped so.If the girl had come to meet a married man, she would not have immediately reported him missing, she would have assumed that he had not escaped from his wife.This will give him some time. no, I can not.In the next moment, depression seized him again.The hide-and-seek child will run into the pile of ashes and run out screaming.Within twenty-four hours, this was bound to happen. He checked the contents of his pocket again.A pocket copy of a yachting licence, not much use.Wealthier tycoons own space yachts and drive them themselves, as is the fashion of this century.Finally, a few Zacks credit cards, which might come in handy for a while. It just occurred to him that he hadn't eaten since leaving the bakery last night.How quickly a man realizes hunger! Suddenly, his mind returned to the yacht driver's license.Wait - now that yacht is unused because the owner died and it has become his yacht.It stops at Terminal 9, shed number 26.Ok…… Where is Terminal 9?He has no idea. He pressed his forehead against the smooth railing around the fountain and felt a chill.What should we do now?What should we do now? A voice startled him. "Hi," said the voice, "are you all right?" Terrence looked up. He was an elderly tycoon, smoking a bay leaf long cigarette, with some kind of green gem on a gold bracelet.His expression was very kind, and for a moment, Terrence was too surprised to speak.Then he remembered that now he was one of them.Among them, tycoons are of course noble human beings. So the mayor said, "I'm just resting. I decided to take a walk, but I didn't calculate the time. Now I'm afraid I'm going to be late." He waved his hand and made a self-deprecating gesture.Because of his long association with the Sack people, he can imitate the Sack accent very well, but he doesn't try to exaggerate, he doesn't make that mistake.Exaggeration is easier to see through than lack of flavor. The man said, "There's no rocket car, is there?" The old man was amused by the young man's stupidity. "Yes, no rocket cars," Terrence admitted. "Use mine." The man immediately suggested generously, "Just park it outside. After you're done using it, you can set the control system and let it return here by itself. I won't be using it for an hour." For Terrence, this was arguably the ideal idea.The rocket car is as fast and light as lightning, and its speed and agility surpass any patrol ground vehicle.The only downside is that, just as he can't fly, Terrence can't fly a rocket car at all. "From here to Sack." He knew the Sack slang for "thank you," so he said it casually. "I think I'll walk. It's not far to Terminal Nine." "It's not far." The man agreed. This sentence did not bring any hints to Terrence, so he continued to probe: "Of course, it would be better to be closer, but walking to the Thistle Highway is also good for health." "Jiji Highway? What does that have to do with Terminal 9?" Does he look at himself with strange eyes?Terrence suddenly wondered if he wasn't wearing the right clothes.He said quickly: "Oh! I'm confused, I'm walking confused. Let me think about it..." He looked around wildly. "Look, this is Richter Road. You just need to go to Traverse Avenue, then turn left, and then go straight ahead, and you will walk into the terminal." He naturally pointed his finger. "Yes, yes." Terrence smiled slightly, "Looks like I have to start using my brain and stop daydreaming. From here to Zack, Your Excellency." "Actually, you can use my rocket car." "You are so kind, but..." Terrence waved his hand, got up and left, and walked a little too fast.The tycoon didn't have time to say anything, he could only look at his disappearing figure. Perhaps tomorrow, when they found the body in the cave and searched, the tycoon would think of today.He'd probably say, "That guy's kind of weird, you know what I mean. He talks weird and doesn't seem to know where he is. I could swear he's never heard of Triface Avenue." But that's for tomorrow. He walked in the direction pointed by the tycoon, and soon saw the shining "Trifes Avenue" road sign.In front of the iridescent orange buildings, the road sign looks drab. , He turned left immediately. There are quite a few young people in yacht suits at Terminal 9, and it feels very lively.The hallmarks of that outfit seem to be the top hat and the shorts that fit close to the hips.Terrence thought he was conspicuous, but no one noticed him at all.There were high-spirited voices everywhere, mixed with some words he didn't understand. He found shed twenty-six, but waited several minutes before approaching.He must make sure that there is no one near the shed, especially the tycoon who just parked his yacht in the adjacent shed, otherwise if he meets someone who knows the real Estal Dimon, he will definitely wonder if this stranger is behind him What are you doing next to your yacht. Finally, when it was clear that the surrounding area of ​​the shed was safe, he walked over.The tip of the nose of the yacht exposed the shed, and he was among the other sheds. He stretched his neck and took a look. What should we do now? In the past twelve hours, he had killed three people.He rose from mayor of Florence to policeman, and from policeman to tycoon.He went from downtown to uptown, and from uptown to a space station.He also pretty much owns a space yacht, enough to carry him to the safety of any inhabited world in this part of the galaxy. There is only one problem left. He can't pilot a space yacht. Sleepiness to the marrow, hunger to the toes: he had come here, but he could go no further.He is on the edge of space, but there is no way to cross this boundary. At this time, the patrolman must have determined that he was not in the lower city.As soon as their stupid heads figured out that the Florentine had the guts to come up, they would immediately turn to search the upper city.Then they'd find the body, change direction, and start looking for a fake tycoon. And here he is.He crawled into the deepest part of a dead-end alley, leaning against the end with no exit.He could only wait for the vague pursuit to grow louder and louder, and finally the hounds would come to him. Thirty-six hours ago, the greatest opportunity of his life was in his hands.Now the opportunity had slipped away, and soon his life would follow.