jherbert.sepulchre-第13部分

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　Damascus；　boys　who　wander　alone；　others　who　prowl　in　packs；　stealing；　begging；　and　joining　lost　causes　because　they　will　supply　them　with　guns。　Pah！　The　self…important　British　knew　nothing　of　such　things。
　　The　boy　is　smiling。　An　unsure；　nervous　smile。　He　is　lost　in　this　huge　railway　station　with　its　throngs　of　blank…eyed　strangers。　He　would　be　even　more　lost　in　the　city　itself　should　he　step　outside。　Now　he　assumes　he　has　found　a　friend。　If　only　he　realised。　Hah；　yes；　if　only　the　boy　understood。
　　Ajel；　be　quick；　Youssef；　do　not　linger　on　this　plain　of　shuffling　travellers　and　vagrants。　Policemen　patrol；　they　search　for　runaways　such　as　this　one。
　　Now　he　is　hesitant。　The　boy　is　uncertain。　Perhaps　it　is　the　dark　skin　he　does　not　trust。　The　English　nurture　such　intolerances；　instil　them　in　their　young。
　　Talk　smoothly；　Youssef；　my　friend。　He　looks　around；　the　movement　casual；　nothing　mare　than　a　glance　at　arrival　and　departure　times；　a　constantly　changing　pattern　high　on　the　station　wall：　but　Youssef　really　looks　to　see　if　he　and　the　boy　are　being　observed。　You　are　not；　my　friend；　I；　Asil；　have　already　looked　for　you。　I　am　the　only　one　who　is　interested。　Besides；　a　man　talking　to　a　shab　is　familiar　cares　Life　is　too　personal　to　these　surroundings。　Nobody　really　He　places　a　reassuring　hand　on　the　runaway's　shoulder　and　the　boy　does　not　flinch　away。　Perhaps　money　is　mentioned。　Ah；　I　see　the　boy　nods。　He　has　all　the　boldness　and　the　stupidity　of　the　unworldly。
　　My　friend　turns　away　and　the　boy　follows。　They　walk　side　by　side。　Not　close；　not　like　lovers；　but　like　associates　in　sin。　I　see　it　in　your　eyes；　Youssef；　the　gleam　that　shines　from　your　dark　soul；　even　though　outwardly　you　are　calm。　And　the　boy　swaggers；　but　this　is　a　self…conscious　posturing；　an　arrogant　affectation。
　　I　must　quickly　go　to　the　car。　I　must　be　ready　in　the　darkness　of　the　backseat。　The　boy　will　hardly　feel　the　needle's　sting；　he　will　only　sense　my　presence　when　it　is　too　late。
　　Then；　for　him；　sleep。　A　long；　deep　sleep。
　　And　when　he　wakes…our　pleasure　and　the　master's　sustenance。
　　　
　　　
　　　10　INTRUDER
　　
　　Hurry；　Youssef；　ajel。　I　suspect　that　same　gleam　is　now　m　my　own　eyes。　My　body　is　already　aching。
　　Monk　was　surprised。　Nobody　was　due　this　time　of　night。　Leastwise；　nobody'd　told　him。
　　The　elevator　was　humming　though。　Faint；　but　it　was　on　its　way　up。　Sounded　like　the　one　from　the　chairman's　suite。　No　way　could　it　be　Felix's　elevator；　the　one　that　slid　all　the　way　down　to　the　basement。　Nobody　else　had　the　code　for　that。　Even　the　chick；　Cora；　had　to　wait　'til　it　was　sent　down　for　her。
　　Monk　was　momentarily　distracted　by　Cora's　image。　The　image　was　naked　from　the　waist　down。
　　Sound's　stopped。　It'd　travelled　no　more'n　four　storeys。　Yeah；　from　Sir　Vic's　den。　Who　the　hell　…？
　　Monk　heard　the　doors　open。
　　But　no　one　stepped　out。
　　The　bodyguard　laid　down　his　magazine　and　rose　from　the　chair　at　the　end　of　the　corridor。　He　released　the　restraining　hoop　on　his　shoulder…holster；　but　stayed　where　he　was；　awaiting　developments。
　　No　mood　for　fuckouts　tonight；　he　told　himself。　It'd　been　a　bad　day　already。　He'd　been　shown　for　a　jackass　that　morning；　a　clumsy　meatloaf；　and　he　was　in　no　mind　for　surprises　tonight；　even　if　some　jerk　had　made　a　mistake　in　ing　up　to　the　twenty…second。　Just　step　outside；　lessee　the　colour　of　your　teeth。
　　Still　no　one。　But　the　doors　weren't　closing；　and　that　wasn't　right。
　　Monk　crept　down　the　corridor；　one　hand　on　the　butt　of　his　pistol；　a　big　lumbering　man　who　nevertheless　approached　the　lift　silently；　soft　carpeting　helping　his　stealth。　The　corridor　was　gloomy…dark…the　way　Felix　liked　it…and　mellow　light　from　the　opening　ahead　stained　the　floor　and　opposite　wall。
　　The　door　should've　closed　by　now。　Unless　someone　had　a　mitt　on　the　O　button。
　　Monk　drew　out　the　Snaith　and　Wesson。
　　He　paused；　the　opening　only　two　feet　away。　There　were　no　shadows　in　the　glow　that　spread　from　it。
　　He　braced　himself；　readied　to　spring　forwards　and　sideways；　gun…arm　pointed　into　the　lift。　But　he　thought　better　of　that　tactic。　Monk　wasn't　stupid。　His　bulk　was　too　good　a　target。
　　So　he　got　down　on　his　hands　and　knees　and　crawled　forward；　gunbarrel　almost　alongside　his　nose；　elbows　digging　into　the　deep…pile。　No　one　expected　to　see　a　face　appear　below　knee　level。
　　He　was　at　the　very　corner；　easing　his　massive　head　past　the　shiny　metal　ridge；　the　lift's　interior　ing　into　view。　His　gun　hand　was　no　more　than　a　few　inches　ahead　of　him。
　　Nobody　there。　It　looked　like　there　was　nobody　there　after　A　hand　grabbed　his　hair　and　yanked　him　forward　onto　his　belly。　A　leg　straddled　him　and　crushed　his　gun　into　the　carpet。　Iron　fingers　still　dug　into　his　hair　making　the　roots　scream。　Something　slammed　hard　into　his　neck　and　his　thoughts　became　unsettled　dreams。
　　Janusz　Palusinski　sat　at　the　kitchen's　breakfast　bar　slapping　butter　on　bread　with　a　carving　knife　whose　blade　was　at　least　nine　inches　long。　Beside　his　plate　was　a　tumbler　half…full　of　vodka。
　　He　checked　his　wristwatch；　parts　of　tattooed　numbers　showing　at　the　edge　of　the　broad　strap；　then　sawed　off　chunks　of　roast　beef；　the　red　meat　rare　almost　to　the　point　of　being　raw。　As　he　cut　he　wondered　if　Felix…moj　Pan；　he　mentally　and　with　more　than　a　degree　of　cynicism　added…would　scream　in　his　sleep　tonight。　A　terrifying　sound　that　stilled　the　blood　of　anyone　who　heard　it。　What　did　the　man　dream　of？　What　fears　possessed　him　when　he　slept？　How　close　to　total　madness　had　he　e？　But　no。　Janusz　must　not　even　have　a　negative　thought　about　his　master。　Felix　would　know；　he　would　sense。
　　Felix；　Felix；　Felix。
　　Just　the　name　could　cause　an　ache　in　Palusinski's　head。
　　The　Pole　wiped　the　back　of　his　fist　across　his　forehead；　the　knife　he　held　catching　light　from　overhead　in　a　sudden　flare。　Normally　the　kitchen　lights；　like　all　the　others　in　the　penthouse；　would　be　kept　low　by　dimmer　switches；　but　at　present　Felix　was　sleeping；　he　wouldn't　know。　Yet　sometimes　he　did　。　。　。　Sometimes　he　would　accuse　them　all　of　things　that　he　should　never　have　been　aware　of；　and　they　would　cringe；　they　would　cower；　they　would　be　craven　before　him。　Still　Felix…O　lord；　master；　and　oppressor…would　make　them　suffer；　sometimes　the　punishment　cruel；　other　times　involving　a　mere　few　hours　of　disfort。　Palusinski　often　felt　that　the　two　Arabs　enjoyed　that　part　of　their　servitude。　Monk's　brain　was　too　curdled　to　care　either　way；　blazen　that　he　was。
　　But　Janusz　was　different；　he　assured　himself。　Janusz　was　aware　of　certain　things　。　。　。　The　others　were　fools。　No；　the　Arabs　were　not　fools。　They　believed　。　。　。
　　Palusinski　gulped　neat　vodka；　then　unscrewed　the　mustard　jar　lid。　He　dug　in　the　tip　of　the　carving　knife；　sunk　it　four　inches；　then　spread　the　dollop　it　came　out　with　across　the　cut　meat。　He　slammed　another　thick　slice　of　bread；　also　lavishly　buttered；　on　top；　pressing　down　with　the　flat　of　his　hand　so　that　yellow　goo　oozed　from　the　sides。
　　Twenty　minutes　before　the　gorilla　was　to　be　relieved；　he　told　himself　as　he　raised　the　overflowing　sandwich　and　barged　his　mouth　into　it。　Monk…a　good　name　for　an　animal　such　as　he。　flours　of　sitting　watching　an　empty　corridor　was　a　fitting　task　for　such　an　idiota。　But　for　Janusz；　it　meant　five　hours　of　misery　to　look　forward　to。　A　torment。　Another　torture　imposed　by　Felix。　Even　pain　was　better　than　boredom。
　　What　was　it　that　had　made　Felix　so　nervous？　The　man　was　mad；　there　could　be　no　doubting　that。　But　a　genius　also！　No　doubting　that；　either。　Gowno！　No　doubt　at　all。　But　why　afraid　now；　moj　szef？　You；　who　lives　in　shadows；　who　distrusts　the　light　unless　it　is　for　your　purpose。　What　fresh　fear　haunts　you　now；　mgzcayana　of　many　dreads？
　　Palusinski　chomped　on　meat　and　bread；　lips　glistening　from　the　surplus　of　butter。　He　stilled　his　jaw　to　gulp　vodka；　seasoning　the　mushed　food　in　his　mouth　with　fire。　His　eyes　were　small　behind　the　wire…framed　spectacles　he　wore；　their　lids　never　fully　raised；　like　blinds　half…drawn　in　a　room　where　secrets　were　kept。　They　were　focused　upon　the　rim　of　the　open　mustard　jar；　everything　else　a　soft　periphery；　yet　his　eyes　were　not　seeing　that　rim　with　its　sliver　of　reflected　li