ericlustbader.the ninja-第52部分

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　exuded　another　perfume；　that　it　bore　the　imprint　of　another　woman。
　It　had　taken　time　and　a　lot　of　hard　work　but；　in　the　end；　Matty　the　Mouth　had　e　through。　Now　it　was　this　woman's　name　and　address　Croaker　was　anxiously　waiting　for。　Angela　Didion's　lover。　Or；　more　accurately；　one　of　them。　She　could　not；　of　course；　have　been　the　murderer。　Judging　from　the　size　of　the　negligee；　she　was　far　too　small　to　have　inflicted　such　terrible　wounds　on　another　human　adult。　There　were　no　instruments　used；　the　M。E。　had　said；　other　than　the　fists。　That　meant　someone　strong　and　with　a　massive　build：　some　of　the　bruises　were　quite　large。
　No；　this　woman　was　no　murderer　but；　Croaker　was　convinced；　she　had　been　a　witness　to　the　murder。　She　knows；　he　thought　now。　She　knows。　And　she's　scared　shitless　of　what　she's　seen。　No　one　had　got　to　her。　No　one　would　but　Croaker。　He　must　see　to　that。
　e　on；　Matty；　deliver　the　goods。　He　found　his　hand　trembling　against　the　table；　stared　down　at　it　as　if　it　belonged　to　someone　else。　He　knew　he　wanted　this　conviction　badly。　More　than　he　had　wanted　any　other　in　his　career。　And　the　hell　of　it　was；　he　knew　who　had　killed　Angela　Didion。　Knew　it　as　surely　as　he　knew　his　own　name。　But　without　this　witness；　there　was　nothing：　nothing　but　conjecture　and　theory　and　circumstantial　evidence　that　McCabe　wouldn't　even　touch；　let　alone　ask　for　an　arrest　on　it。　Jesus；　he　hated　counting　this　heavily　on　someone　else　but　he　had　spent　seven　years　cultivating　Matty　the　Mouth　and　now　it　looked　as　if　it　would　finally　pay　off。　If　he　came　through。　When　he　es　through；　Croaker　corrected　himself。　Think　positively。
　Which　all　led　him　back　to　this　ninja。　The　case　was　getting　nowhere；　spinning　on　its　own　momentum。　That；　Croaker　knew　from　long；　hard　experience；　was　extremely　dangerous。　〃It　meant　he　had　no　handle　and　that　meant　he　had　no　control。　People　tended　to　get　severely　hurt　when　that　happened。
　And　then　there　was　the　problem　of　Nicholas　Linnear。　Vincent　had　been　right；　he　felt　instinctively。　Linnear　had　been　highly　offended　by　what　he'd　said。　It　had　been　a　stupid　thing　to　say。　He　had　known　it　as　soon　as　he　had　said　it。　Now　he　realized　that　Linnear　might　be　the　key　to　the　case。　He　knows　more　about　the　ninja　than　anyone　in　or　out　of　Japan；　Vincent　had　said　towards　the　end　of　the　evening。　Trust　him。　He　knows　what　he's　talking　about。　Now　he's　working　for　that　bastard　Tomkin；　Croaker　thought。　He　had　a　strong　urge　to　back　off　then；　to　let　events　happen　without　him。　Perhaps　Tomkin　would　fall。　But　that；　he　knew；　he　could　never　do。　It　was　not　the　way　he　wanted　it　to　happen。　And　then　there　was　the　consideration　of　the　four　other　deaths。　If　the　ninja　was　after　Tomkin；　why　had　he　killed　four　people　who　did　not　know　the　man；　let　alone　have　any　kind　of　association　with　him？　No　one　seemed　to　know　the　answer　and　there　was　certainly　no　one　on　the　force　he　could　talk　this　over　with。　It　came　back　to　Linnear　again。　If　anyone　might　have　a　clue；　he　would。
　Croaker　looked　at　his　watch；　thought　about　calling　Linnear；　then　quickly　changed　his　mind。　The　telephone　wasn't　the　right　medium　and；　anyway；　he　was　too　high　to　be　able　to　think　things　out　with　enough　clarity　to　satisfy　himself。　He　sighed；　finished　off　the　bottle　of　sake。　He'd　had　enough。
　Still　he　could　not　face　the　thought　of　going　home。　Yet　he　wanted　a　woman。　Into　his　mind　swam　an　image　and　abruptly　he　was　as　hard　as　a　bar　of　iron。　Her　face　seemed　familiar　but　where　had　he　seen　her　before？　Perhaps　nowhere。　Perhaps　on　some　billboard。　The　image　had　surfaced　from　deep　inside　of　him。　Perhaps　she　was　long　gone。　Or；　again；　had　never　even　existed。
　Vincent　exhaled　in　a　rush；　attempting　to　free　his　lungs　of　the　mist。　It　was　a　useless　gesture；　his　mind　knew；　yet　his　body　would　not　be　denied　its　chance。
　His　eyes　began　to　burn　and　tear。　He　reached　blindly　for　the　door…handle。　The　cab　started　up　as　the　light　changed。　He　leaned　on　the　handle；　got　it　open　on　the　second　try。　The　city　rushed　in　on　him　as　he　half　tumbled　out。　His　foot　caught　for　a　moment　and　then　he　was　free；　rolling　along　the　street　for　a　moment　while　horns　blared。　He　could　hear　the　harsh　squeal　of　brakes　and　muted　shouts。　Then　he　was　up　and　running　clumsily；　slipping　on　dogshit　as　if　it　were　a　banana　peel。　He　balanced　himself　with　his　arms　outspread　and　hit　the　kerb；　sprinted　up　onto　the　sidewalk。
　Behind　him　he　could　feel　the　looming　presence　of　the　Checker　cab　as　the　driver　pulled　hard　over　and　jumped　out。　'Hey　1'　he　called。　'e　back！　I　want　my　fare！'　Vincent　stumbled　along　the　crowded　street；　bumping　into　people。　Black　faces　turned；　wide…eyed；　to　stare。
　He's　a　cool　bastard；　he　thought　as　he　was　spun　around　by　an　enormous　black　man　with　an　open　shirt　and　tight　maroon　pants。　'Hey；　man！　Be　cool。　Watch　yo'self。'
　He　wove　in　and　out　of　the　crowd；　wondering　how　long　he　had。　He　had　no　illusions　about　what　he　had　inhaled。　Even　without　the　characteristic　odour；　he　would　have　known　it　was　a　neural　toxin。
　He　turned　his　head　but　could　not　see　his　pursuer。　He　took　a　chance；　darted　off　the　kerb；　trying　to　hail　a　passing　cab　…　it　was　no　good　expecting　a　cop　to　pop　up　here。　But　immediately　he　saw　the　man　stalking　him　along　the　periphery　of　the　crowd　as；　spying　Vincent；　he　leapt　forward。
　Vincent　whirled；　darting　back　into　the　thick　of　the　throng　on　the　sidewalk。　He　began　to　run　again　but　this；　he　knew；　would　only　spread　the　toxin　more　quickly。　Already　his　heart　was　pounding　furiously　and　the　tips　of　his　fingers　felt　numb：　a　bad　sign。　Yet　since　the　man　was　pursuing　him　still；　perhaps　there　was　a　chance　that　he　had　not　inhaled　a　sufficient　amount　of　the　poison。
　Death　was　very　close　now；　Vincent　knew。　It　rode　his　shoulder　like　an　expectant　predator。　He　realized　now　just　how　much　he　wanted　to　live；　how　strong　the　drive　still　was　inside　him。　This　knowledge　came　as　a　revelation　and　it　buoyed　him　for　a　time。　He　would　need　all　his　wits　to　overe　this　demon；　he　knew。　He　was　overmatched；　but　he　put　this　thought　out　of　his　mind　as　he　ran　on　and　on　into　the　spangled　night。
　He　cut　to　his　right；　stumbling　off　the　kerb；　but　again　he　was　balked　by　the　man。　No　good。　A　cab　was　definitely　out。
　He　coughed　as　he　ran　now；　trying　to　retch。　He　felt　as　if　he　could　not　get　enough　oxygen　into　his　system。　His　arms　felt　weak　and　he　had　to　force　his　legs　to　work。　He　heard　a　harsh　shout　from　behind　him　and　the　sound　of　running　feet。　He　pushed　his　way　frantically　through　the　crowd；　his　mind　whirling；　trying　to　alight　on　some　。。。　The　mist！　What　a　fool　he'd　been！　It　was　being　absorbed　through　the　pores　of　his　skin　…　the　burning　should　have　told　him。　Inhaling　was　only　peripheral。
　Have　to　find　。。。　He　was　aware　of　how　terribly　exposed　he　was　here　on　this　mean　street　where　no　help　would　be　forthing。　A　restaurant　was　no　good：　too　well　lighted。　He　needed　some　dark　place。
　It　was　right　in　front　of　him。　He　put　on　a　last　burst　of　speed；　feeling　his　heart　pounding　painfully　as　if　it　were　being　overworked。
　He　skidded　to　a　stop　in　front　of　a　movie　theatre。　In　front　was　a　billboard　dominated　by　a　cut…out　of　a　blonde　with　large　breasts。　Beneath　it；　a　blown…up　newspaper　review　of　the　film。　'An　erection！'　proclaimed　a　banner。　'Highest　rated！'　Vincent　shoved　a　man　away　from　the　ticket　booth；　threw　a　bill　at　the　man　inside　the　booth。　He　pushed　through　the　turnstile；　ignoring　the　shouts。　'Hey；　mister！　Wait　I　Your　change！'
　Into　the　darkness；　smelling　of　mildew；　stale　sweat　and　dried　sperm。　Hazy　images　moved　on　the　screen　and　there　was　the　sound　of　heavy　breathing；　magnified　by　the　speakers；　amplified　throughout　the　theatre。　There　was　a　liquid　sound　and　a　moaning。
　Vincent　blinked　several　times；　adjusting　to　the　low　light。　He　looked　for　the　men's　room；　found　that　it　was　two　flights　up；　past　the　balcony。　He　didn't　think　he　could　make　it。
　He　moved　cautiously　along　the　rear　aisle；　past　two　people　standing　watching　the　screen。　He　came　upon　a　bank　of　machines。　Popcorn。　Candy。　Soda。
　He　dug　in　his　trouser　pocket；　fumbled　out　two　quarters。　He　rolled　them　into　the　slot；　stabbed　a　button　at　random。　He　waited　impatiently　while　the　waxed…paper　cup　clattered　down；　followed　by　the　soda　and　the　syrup。　He　stuck　his　hand　in；　caught　the　shaved　ice　as　it　came　down　the　vertical　chute。　He　rubbed　the　ice　over　his　face。　He　blinked　and　blinked；　feeling　the　cold　water　running　into　his　eyes；　over　his　face。　Perhaps　he　had　got　to　it　in　time。　The　ice　was　like　a　soothing　balm；　diminishing　the　pain。　There　was　a　chance。　The　cab　had　been　air…conditioned；　the　windows　closed；　but　he　had　got　out　very　quickly。　He　tried　to　judge　the　overall　time；　gave　it　up　as　hopeless。
　He　turned　his　head　to　look　at　the　doorway。　Someone　came　in；　someone　went　out。　They　were　shadows　to　him。　Was　his　pursuer　here　already？　There　was　no　way　of　knowing　and　here；　in　the　rear；　he　was　a　perfect　target。
　He　turned　into　the　theatre　proper；　went　quickly　down　the　aisle。　His　vision　had　seemed　to　clear　and　he　could　see　men　sitting　as　still　as　statues；　staring　at　the　screen　filled　with　writhing　bodies。
　He　slipped　into　a　row　midway　down；　moving　to　his　right　all　the　way　over　until　he　was　wedged　against　one　wall。　In　the　darkest　part　of　the　theatre　he　sat　down。　The　floor　was　sticky；　the　place　smelled　of　accelerated　age。　His　head　swivelled　ar