el.angeleyes-第34部分

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ooking　at　had　left　his　seat。　Tori　knew　there　was　a　need　to　hurry；　the　noise　was　perfect　cover。　But　they　could　not　afford　to　divert　attention　to　themselves。
　〃How　do　you　want　to　do　this？〃　Estilo　asked。
　〃You　go　up　behind　him；〃　Tori　said。　〃I'll　try　to　get　between　him　and　Cruz。〃
　Estilo　nodded；　and　the　two　of　them　split　up。　Estilo　made　his　way　up　the　tiers；　higher　and　higher；　working　through　the　throng；　which　was　still　on　its　feet；　applauding　the　beautiful　death　of　the　bull。
　Tori　was　now　near　enough　to　the　dark…skinned　man　to　see　the　death　stare　in　his　eyes。　It　was　a　look　she　knew　well；　the　mark　of　pure　concentration；　when　the　environment　narrows　down　to　one　focus　point：　the　kill。　In　this　case；　the　victim　was　Cruz。
　Estilo　had　identified　the　dark…skinned　man　as　a　member　of　the　Orola　drug　clan；　Cruz's　bitter　rival。　The　Orolas　were　from　Cali；　and　Estilo　knew　them　all。
　The　dark…skinned　man　was　ing　not　with　a　shotgun　or　a　MAC…10　machine　pistol；　but　with　a　small…caliber　handgun。　It　was　a　suicide　mission；　for　sure；　but　it　was　the　kind　of　surgical　strike　the　Orolas　preferred。　It　was　the　Medellin　sicarios　who　loved　to　blow　away　half　a　city　block　to　get　their　job　done。　Moreover；　there　was　an　elegant　sense　of　irony　at　work　here；　executing　Cruz　at　the　corrida；　in　the　tumultuous　moment　after　the　kill；　that　was　typical　of　the　Orola　mind。　Tori　admired　the　strategy　even　as　she　worked　herself　into　place　to　foil　it。
　She　was　very　near　the　dark…skinned　man　now；　and　she　stood　still；　contracting　her　wa；　allowing　his　concentrated　energies　to　pass　over　her。　He　was　aware　of　nothing　but　his　target：　Cruz。　He　need　not　even　concern　himself　with　Cruz's　bodyguards；　who；　in　any　case；　were　trained　to　look　for　weaponry；　because　he　did　not　have　to　think　about　an　escape。　There　was　no　escape。
　The　crowd　was　chanting；　roaring；　surging　as　the　matador　ceremoniously　withdrew　his　blade　from　the　heart　of　the　beast。　A　single　line　of　blood　ran　down　his　sword。
　Tori　waited　until　the　dark…skinned　man　drew　his　gun。　He　raised　it；　aiming　at　Cruz's　heart。　With　a　great　kiai　shout。　Tori　lunged　forward；　the　hardened　underedge　of　her　hand　snapping　the　bone　in　the　dark…skinned　man's　extended　forearm。
　She　was　aware　of　Cruz　turning　in　a　defensive　crouch；　the　contraction　of　the　circle　of　his　bodyguards；　their　shotguns　swinging　down　in　concert。　Screams　from　the　crowd；　the　beginnings　of　a　core　of　panic　from　those　bystanders　nearest　the　incident。
　There　was　no　reason　for　haste　now。　Tori　twisted　the　gun　from　the　dark…skinned　man's　trembling　hand；　held　him　up　as　his　legs　gave　way　beneath　him。　His　head　fell　loosely　in　shock。　As　she　saw　the　vulnerable　spot　at　the　back　of　his　head；　she　thought　of　the　bull；　lying　in　its　own　blood　in　the　red　dust　of　the　corrida　below　her。　In　this；　she　thought；　Estilo　is　wrong；　there　can　be　no　beauty；　no　artistry　in　this。　Death　is　its　own　realm；　it　is　finite；　and　when　it　es；　it　es；　finis。
　Cruz　was　shouting　to　his　bodyguards；　and　they　nimbly　stepped　around　the　fleeing　people。　All　of　them　were　focused　on　her。　Cruz　moved　along　the　are　of　the　tier　to　where　Tori　stood；　holding　the　dark…skinned　man。
　When　she　judged　Cruz　close　enough。　Tori　grabbed　a　handful　of　the　dark…skinned　man's　hair；　jerked　his　head　up　so　Cruz　could　see　his　face。
　〃Do　you　know　this　man？〃　Cruz　asked　her　in　a　voice　made　hoarse　by　the　proximity　to　death　and　by　his　innate　suspicion。
　〃He　is　from　Cali；〃　Tori　said。　〃He　was　to　be　a　gift　from　the　Orolas。〃
　〃A　final　gift；　it　would　seem；''　Cruz　said；　taking　the　gun　from　her。　He　examined　it；　then　looked　full　into　Tori's　face。　〃He　had　to　get　close　to　use　this。　He　wasn't　going　to　get　out；　was　he？〃
　〃Not　today。〃
　Cruz　put　the　muzzle　of　the　man's　gun　against　the　back　of　his　head　and　pulled　the　trigger。　〃Not　any　day；〃　he　said。
　Cruz　lived　in　an　enormous　suite　on　the　top　floor　of　the　Monaco　Building；　a　glitzy　apartment　dwelling　in　El　Poblado；　Med…ellin's　choicest　district。　His　men　patrolled　the　surrounding　block；　and　there　were　two　guards　armed　with　shotguns　in　the　hallway　of　his　apartment。　Inside；　the　living　room　was　lined　with　bear　and　leopard　skins；　Flemish　tapestries；　and　his　lieutenants…more　sicarios。
　Because　he　had　summarily　executed　the　Orola　assassin　without　first　interrogating　him；　Tori　had　lowered　her　estimation　of　Cruz。　But　it　would　have　meant　a　loss　of　face　in　front　of　all　those　paisas　had　he　not　killed　the　man　immediately；　and　his　business　would　no　doubt　have　suffered　as　a　consequence。
　He　was　not　a　bad…looking　sort；　though　he　was　flat…faced。　His　black　hair　came　down　in　a　widow's　peak；　he　wore　it　slicked　back；　very　long　against　his　neck。　But　he　scowled　a　great　deal；　he　had　an　overactive　trigger　finger；　and　he　was　much　feared　in　and　around　Machine…Gun　City。
　Certainly　the　Orolas　found　him　something　more　than　a　nuisance。　Just　about　three　months　ago　he　and　ten　of　his　sicarios　had　ambushed　the　youngest　of　the　Orola　brothers　at　the　El　Cerrito　tollbooth。　He　had　been　making　inquiries　of　Cruz's　contacts　with　the　Bolivian　cocaleros…the　coca　farmers　who　grew　the　plant　from　which　cocaine　was　ultimately　refined。　Cruz　had　not　taken　kindly　to　what　he　had　seen　as　an　act　of　war；　and　he　had　retaliated　in　the　only　true　language　he　spoke。　The　five…minute　hail　of　bullets　fired　from　the　massed　MAC…10's　of　Cruz's　sicarios　had　taken　out　not　only　their　target；　but　his　three　bodyguards；　a　dozen　human　mules　moving　one　hundred　kilos　of　raw　cocaine；　and　four　bystanders；　not　to　mention　taking　the　concrete　and　tin　tollbooth　apart　at　the　seams。　Cruz　had　bragged　about　the　kill　for　weeks　afterward。
　〃This　was　not　the　first　attempt　on　my　life　made　by　the　Orolas；〃　Cruz　said　as　they　seated　themselves　in　his　enormous　living　room。　〃But　they　are　inpetent。　They　do　not　know　how　to　refine　the　art　of　killing。〃　He　was　bragging　again；　but　what　the　hell；　Tori　thought；　he　was　safe；　in　the　center　of　his　own　turf；　with　the　scalp　of　another　of　his　enemies　fresh　on　his　fingers。　He　was　entitled。
　Tori　made　the　introductions；　and　Cruz　listened　politely　but；　she　thought；　a　bit　disinterestedly。　She　was　prepared　to　do　something　about　that；　but　only　at　the　right　moment。
　〃Do　you　know　what　this　country　would　be　without　me　and　the　people　like　me？〃　Cruz　said。　〃Fucked。〃　He　laughed。　〃Ask　the　economists；　if　you　doubt　me。　The　Colombian　economy　is　so　fragile；　like　the　glass　of　one　of　my　Ming　vases。　Without　cocaine　trafficking　to　prop　it　up；　our　country　would　be　plunged　into　a　recession　so　severe　I　fear　there　would　be　no　end。　No；　no；　on　second　thought　don't　ask　the　economists；　they're　a　bunch　of　maricones。　Ask　the　people　of　Colombia；　they　will　tell　you　the　truth。　They　do　not　want　this　internal　war　the　president　has　pushed　on　the　country。　They　are　sick　of　their　government。　And　I　am　sick　of　planting　bombs　in　post　offices　and　government　buildings。　In　my　opinion　the　government　of　Colombia　is　dead。〃
　His　self…promotion　was　like　a　cheap　perfume；　Tori　thought；　making　everything　around　it　reek。　She　already　felt　contaminated　by　his　braggadocio。
　Cruz's　woman；　Sonia；　was　servilely　making　the　rounds；　getting　drinks　for　everyone。　Tori　thought　she　looked　a　little　pale　beneath　her　rich　tan。
　Tori　sat　next　to　Russell　on　a　long　sofa　covered　in　pinto　horse…hide。　A　Chinese　vase…one　of　several　throughout　the　room…sat　on　the　center　of　a　Lalique　crystal　cocktail　table　just　in　front　of　her。　She　noticed　that　the　brocade　curtains　half　closed　across　the　windows　were　lined　with　metal　foil。　She　wondered　whether　this　made　them　bulletproof　as　well　as　soundproof。　〃Do　you　know　what　you're　doing？〃　Russell　asked　her。
　She　said；　〃Are　you　good　at　improvisation；　Russ？　I　hope　so。〃
　Cruz　grunted。　〃So。　Now　you　are　here。''　His　tone　and　manner　suggested　that　this　was　all　she　was　likely　to　get　from　him　by　way　of　a　thank…you　for　saving　his　life：　an　invitation　to　the　great　man's　sanctuary。　He　gave　the　impression　that　he　was　already　bored　with　their　pany。　Perhaps　he　had　e　to　believe　that　he　was　immortal；　that　her　intervention　had　been　irrelevant。　Or；　just　as　likely；　his　absolute　power　had　corrupted　him　absolutely；　and　he　was　now　nothing　more　than　a　pig。
　Either　way；　Tori　decided；　she　was　going　to　shake　him。　This　fat　man；　Cruz；　was　not　so　different　from　others　of　his　ilk。　She　knew　what　made　him　tick：　po