thedestroyer.deathcheck-第9部分

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　〃You　are　full　of　shit；〃　Remo　said。
　〃And　you　are　another　fascist　functionary　who　dribbles　righteousness　until　I　cross　your　palm　with　silver。　The　good　guys　and　the　bad　guys。　Law　and　order　versus　the　people　in　black　hats。　It　is　not　that　way；　Mr；　Pelham。〃
　〃It　can　be　no　other　way；　Doctor　Brewster；〃　Remo　said　and　he　caught　his　jaw　trembling。　Goddam　it；　it　was　the　peak。　More　than　three　months　of　it　this　and　he　was　ing　apart　at　the　seams。　Sitting　here；　trying　to　talk　sense　to　this　liberalisric　lunatic。　Brewster　was　still　talking：
　〃Please。　We　really　just　cannot　afford　this　here；　of　all　places。　I　am　willing　to　discuss　anything　you　wish；　but　please　no　overreaction。　You　have　a　job　to　do；　such　as　it　is；　and　I　have　a　job　to　do。　We're　here　together；　let's　make　the　most　of　it。〃
　〃What　makes　you　think　McCarthy　was　killed？〃　Remo　said；　calm　again。
　〃I　knew　you　would　e　back　to　that。　I　think　he　was　killed　because　he　is　not　the　sort　of　man　to　use　heroin。　To　use　heroin；　you　must　have　a　basic　dissatisfaction　with　your　role　in　life。　McCarthy　never　had　enough　imagination　to　be　dissatisfied。　He　was　a　bear…in…a…saloon　type；　Knights　of　Columbus；　worry　about　mortgage。　Very　nice　fellow；　indeed。　And　frankly；　I　prefer　him　to　you。　McCarthy　was　a　realist。〃
　〃And　knowing　or　believing　he　was　murdered；　you　didn't　give　your　suspicions　to　anyone？〃
　〃And　have　this　place　crawling　with　law　enforcement　types？〃
　Brewster　sucked　on　his　pipe　with　finality；　a　man　who　saw　the　world　in　clear　light　while　the　rest　muddled　in　the　fog。　The　Remo　Pelhams　of　the　world　who　prehended　nothing；　even　of　such　an　elemental　subject　as　violence。
　Through　the　English　glass　windows　of　the　office　came　a　distant　roar　that　rather　rapidly　became　louder；　than　a　symphony　of　belching　exhausts　that　rode　into　the　circle；　and　then　round　and　round　the　small　blue　fountain。
　The　motorcycle　riders　looked　like　refugees　from　the　SS。　They　had　black　leather　jackets；　high　peaked　caps；　and　swastikas　on　their　backs。　Unlike　the　SS；　however；　they　were　unshaven；　and　there　was　no　uniformity　to　their　cycles；　green　and　red　and　yellow　and　black；　festooned　with　rib…。　bons；　banners　and　skull；　leather　pieces　flowing　over　highly　polished　chrome。
　Brewster　went　to　the　window。　Remo　behind　him。　Out　of　the　cottages；　the　office…homes　that　surrounded　the　circle；　came　the　department　directors　of　Brewster　Forum。　There　was　Father　Boyle　and　Professor　Schulter。　There　was　Ferrante；　and　on　the　right　was　Ratchett。　And　there　was　a　fifth。　She　came　from　the　farthest　cottage。　A　young　woman　who。　could　have　been　twenty　or　thirty。　Her　high　cheek　bones　and　strong　aristocratic　nose　were　ageless。　Her　dark　hair　flowed　down　over　her　shoulders　like　a　royal　mantle。　Her　lips　were　etched　deeply　in　milk　smooth　skin。
　While　her　colleagues　hovered　by　their　doors；　she　went　to　the　edge　of　the　gravel。　The　leader　of　the　motorcycles　aimed　at　her　and　charged　her　headlong；　swerving　sharply　at　the　last　moment。
　She　smiled。　Remo　thought；　she's　amused。
　Another　cyclist　circled　behind　her　and　still　she　did　not　move。　The　pack　roared　around　again；　and　this　time　the　leader　drove　into　a　skid　stop　that　sprayed　gravel　at　her　feet。　Still　smiling；　she　turned　and　walked　back　calmly　to　her　office。
　Remo　smiled　to　himself。　She　was　a　rare　one。　If　she　had　tried　to　run；　the　group　would　have　been　at　her　like　a　pack　of　dogs。　But　she　waited　until　the　leader　temporarily　turned　off　the　aggression　by　sliding　into　that　skid　stop　and　then　she　just　walked　away。　She　disappeared　as　an　attack　object。　Quite　a　performance。
　Now　Ratchett　waddled　out　to　the　leader　so　rapidly　he　appeared　to　be　skipping。　His　hair　flowed　behind　him　and　his　tiny　fingers　tickled　the　air　excitedly　at　the　farthest　reaches　of　his　arms。　He　whispered　into　the　gold…ringed　ear　of　the　leader　who　grabbed　the　collar　of　Ratchett's　velveteen　shirt　and　began　to　twist；　as　Ratchett's　face　grew　pink；　then　red。　When　Ratchett　managed　to　get　a　roll　of　bills　out　of　his　pocket；　the　hand　loosened。　Ratchett　kissed　the　wrist　of　the　hand　at　his　throat；　then　the　leader　released　him　and　he　stood　like　a　little　boy　hiding　his　privates　in　a　public　shower。
　The　leader　strode　the　sidewalk；　his　boots　galonking　on　the　pavement；　his　followers'　boots　adding　support　to　the　galonk；　galonk；　galonk　toward　Brewster's　office。
　Brewster　turned　to　Remo。　〃Now　I　don't　want　any　trouble。　Remember　violence　begets　worse；　etc。　We　can　just　ignore　the　whole　thing。〃
　Remo　went　back　to　his　chair。
　〃Hey　cop；〃　yelled　the　leader　of　the　gang。　〃e　out　here。〃
　Remo　stage…whispered　to　Brewster：　〃I'm　doing　nothing；　sitting　right　here。〃
　〃Good。〃
　〃Hey；　Pelham。　You　straight　shit。　Get　out　here。〃　The　leader　was　over　six…feet…six　and　massive。　But　the　bulk　was　weight…lifter's　bulk。　His　walk　was　a　pose。　His　challenge　was　a　pose。　Mr。　Six…Foot…Six　had　won　most　of　his　battles　by　posing　menacingly。　His　major　weapon　was　fear　in　the　hearts　of　the　timid。
　Now　he　nodded　and　a　follower　threw　an　object…yes；　it　was　a　rock；　judged　Remo；　just　before　it　crashed　through　the　window　and　broke　into　the　natural　rhythm　of　Brewster's　nose。　Brewster　spun　and　gasped　and　shrieked　and　covered　his　nose。　Then　he　looked　at　his　hands。　They　were　dressed　in　blood；　flowing　down　his　wrists　into　his　tweed　jacket。
　〃Oh；　no。　The　bastards。　My　nose。〃
　Indeed；　the　nose　was　broken；　a　rapidly…spreading　red　glob　that　released　large　amounts　of　blood。　Broken　it　was；　tragic　it　wasn't。
　〃It's　broken；　that's　all；〃　said　Remo。　〃Keep　your　hands　away　from　it。　Only　the　splinter　can　be　dangerous。〃
　〃Oh；　no。　The　pain。　The　blood。　You're　security　officer。　Do　something。　I　order　it。　I　even　give　permission。　Do　something。　Call　the　police。　Call　a　doctor。〃
　〃Call　the　oppressive；　trouble…creating　counterforce？〃
　〃Don't　be　so　smartass；　Pelham。　I'm　bleeding。　Go　out　there　and　thrash　the　scum。　If　you　have　a　gun；　use　it。　Kill　the　little　bastards。〃
　Remo　walked　to　the　window。　The　seven…man　gang　was　growing　restive。　Their　next　step　would　be　to　walk　into　Brewster's　office；　and　that　might　wind　up　causing　damage　to　Brewster's　files　and　the　work　of　the　forum。　Remo　would　have　to　go　out　and　work　in　front　of　witnesses。
　〃Excuse　me；〃　he　told　Brewster。　〃I'll　only　be　a　moment。〃
　He　pushed　open　the　door　to　the　courtyard；　and　stood　there　a　minute　telling　himself；　no　matter　how　many　months　he　had　been　at　peak；　he'd　better　not　slip　and　kill　one　of　these　lugs。
　The　head　lug　took　Remo's　momentary　hesitation　for　fear。
　〃e　over　here；　you　fag　bastard；〃　he　called。
　Remo　walked　up　to　him；　gauging　the　distance；　exactly　three　and　one　half　feet　away；　the　precise　distance　for　the　toe　kick　to　the　kneecap。
　〃Did　you　call　me；　sir？〃　he　said　to　Six…Foot…Six　as　the　other　half…dozen　cyclists　lined　up　behind　their　leader。　From　left　to　right　in　the　row；　they　were　carrying；　chains；　lug　wrench；　knife；　chain；　chain　and　knife。
　The　leader　posed。　He　brandished　his　size　and　weight。　'
　Ratchett　was　far　down　the　courtyard；　masturbating　by　rubbing　his　hands　inside　his　pants　pockets。　None　of　his　colleagues　noticed；　their　eyes　were　on　Remo。
　〃Yeah；　I　called　you；　fag。　What　do　you　think　of　that？〃
　〃What　do　I　think　of　what；　sir？〃　Remo　drew　his　right　hand　closer　to　his　side；　and　slightly　turned　it　palm　facing　front。　The　fingernails　would　be　good　for　two　eyeballs　when　the　second　row　made　its　move。
　〃You're　a　fag。　And　you　like　to　cheat　people　at　games。〃
　〃Very　true；　sir；〃　Rerao　said。　He　bent　his　left　elbow　slightly。　He　must　be　sure　the　elbow　would　hit　the　nose；　an　inch　too　low　and　the　blow　could　be　fatal。
　〃You　like　to　cause　trouble。〃
　〃Very　true；　sir；〃　Remo　said。　He　extended　the　fingers　on　his　left　hand；　then　pulled　his　thumb　back　against　the　palm；　almost　like　cocking　a　revolver。
　Mister　Six…Foot…Six　was　being　confused。　〃You're　a　fag；〃　he　insisted。
　〃Well；　sir；〃　Remo　said。　〃I've　really　enjoyed　our　conversation；　but　I　must　be　about　my　business。　Unless　there's　something　else　you'd　like　to　ask　me。〃
　〃You're　a　faggot。　A　fairy。　A　queer。　Do　you　like　being　that？〃　Six…Foot…Six　was　getting　desperate　now。　Time　to　end　the　nonsense。
　〃No；　I　don't　like　being　that；〃　Remo　said。　〃You　know　what　I　like？〃
　〃What？〃
　〃I　like　being　called　names　by　shitfaces　like　you。　Because　it　justifies　all　the　painful　things　I'm　going　to　do　to　you。　And　these　turds　that　hover　around　you；　like　flies　around　a　pig's　ass。〃
　Ratchett　clutched　in　awesome　excitement　at　his　organ。
　〃I　don't　want　to　have　to　look　at　your　ugly　pimpled　face　anymore　or　hear　that　belching　that　you　call　words。　Now　step　forward；　shit。　Step　forward　one　inch；　and　I'm　going　to　fix　you　so　that　you'll　never　walk　again　without　the　pain　reminding　you　of　me。　e　on。　Just　one　inch。〃
　The　leader　laughed。　But　his　followers　didn't。　They　waited；　and　their　silence　shouted　at　him；　and　accused　him；　and　finally；　in　frustration；　he　stepped　forward；　just　one　inch；　and　then　he　moved　himself　into　something　very　fast　that　seemed　to　plunge　a　knife　into　his　kneecap；　and　then　there　was　a　wrench；　and　then　the　sky；　and　then　that　awful　tearing；　and　he　was　staring　at　the　sky　and　it　became　dark；　then　black；　then　nothing。
　Remo　worked　the　others　rather　lightly。　The　right　hand　fingernails　took　care　of　an　eyeball　each　on　chain　and　knife　at　the　right　end　of　the　line。
　The　elbow　took　care　of　chain　at　the　left；　and　Remo　was　pleased　when　it　neatly　smashed　the　nose　like　a　dried　cracker；　without　slipping　off　toward　the　potentially…fatal　upper　lip。　The　edge　of　his　left　hand　cracked　like　a　baseball　bat　against　the　forehead　of　lug　wrench；　second　from　the　left；　and　he　dropped　in　a　heap。
　This　wouldn't　do。　Five　of　them　were　down；　and　Remo　still　hadn't　moved　from　the　spot。　All　that　was　left　was　knife　and　chain　in　the　middle。
　If　Remo　had　raised　his　arms　and　shouted　〃boo；〃　they　would　have　fun。　But　Remo　needed　them。　He　didn't　want　it　to　look　too　easy。　He　backed　up　a　step；　encouraging　knife　and　chain　to　charge。　He　moved　around　between　the　two　of　them；　lunging；　blocking；　making　it　all　look…very　hard；　and　then　suddenly　he　didn't　give　a　shit　who　was　watching；　and　he　busted　an　ear　drum　on　each　one　of　them。
　So　there　they　were；　seven　of　them　groaning　on　the　gravel。　Ratchett　spent；　Brewster；　who　had　e　to　the　door；　on　the　verge　of　a　scream　of　gratitude；　and　Remo　holding　his　head。　Remo　was　holding　his　head　because　he　had　collected　some　blood　from　one　of　the　seven　and　he　put　it　on　his　head　to　show　a　wound。　Then；　still　bent　over；　he　forced　his　mind　onto　his　blood　vessels…out；　in；　circulation…very　strong　thoughts　of　fire；　oppression；　sweltering　sun　taking　his　fluids；　and　was　finally　able　to　work　up　a　sweat。
　〃I　love　you。　I　love　you；〃　yelled　Ratchett。　Then　he　ran　inside；　presumably；　Remo　thought；　to　change　his　pants。
　〃That　ode's　still　bovid；〃　Brewster　called　through　his　broken　nose。　〃Kick　hib　or　sobthid。〃
　〃You　kick　him；〃　Remo　said。
　〃I　deed　a　doctor；〃　Brewster　said　and　vanished　indoors。
　With　the　exception　of　their　leader　whose　knee　cap　had　turned　suddenly　to　jelly；　the　cyclists　were　capable　of　driving　away。　They　carried　Mr。　Six…Foot…Six。
　Then　something　very　surprising　happened。　The　staff　of　Brewster　Forum…the　faces　in　the　pictures；　the　new　intellectuals…crowded　around　Remo　like　school　children；　congratulating　him。　There　was　Ferrante。　And　Schulter。　There　was　even　the　forum's　chess　instructor；　who　said　something　about　〃a