dk.intensity-第17节

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　She　listened　as　the　killer　disengaged　the　hose　spout　from　the　nozzle　boot；　opened　the　fuel　port　on　the　side　of　the　motor　home；　and　removed　the　tank　cap。　She　figured　it　would　take　a　few　minutes　to　fill　the　behemoth；　so　she　began　to　ease　out　of　her　hiding　place　even　as　she　heard　the　spout　thunk　into　the　tank。
　Still　flat　at　ground　level；　she　suddenly　saw　the　butcher　knife。　Out　on　the　blacktop。　Ten　feet　from　the　front　bumper。　The　yellow　light　glimmered　along　the　cutting　edge。
　Even　as　she　was　sliding　into　the　open；　however；　before　she　could　push　to　her　feet；　she　heard　boot　heels　on　blacktop。　She　glanced　back　under　the　motor　home　and　saw　that　the　killer　evidently　had　fixed　the　nozzle　trigger　in　place　with　the　regulator　clip；　because　he　was　on　the　move　again。
　Frantically　and　as　silently　as　possible；　she　retreated　beneath　the　vehicle　once　more。　She　could　hear　gasoline　sloshing　into　the　fuel　tank。
　The　killer　walked　forward　along　the　starboard　side；　around　the　front；　to　the　driver's　door。　But　he　didn't　open　the　door。　He　paused。　Very　still。　Then　he　walked　to　the　butcher　knife；　stooped；　and　picked　it　up。
　Chyna　held　her　breath；　though　it　seemed　impossible　that　the　killer　could　intuit　the　meaning　of　the　knife。　He'd　never　seen　it　before。　He　couldn't　know　that　it　had　e　from　the　Templeton　house。　Although　it　was　indisputably　odd　to　find　a　butcher　knife　lying　on　a　servicestation　approach　lane；　it　might　have　fallen　out　of　any　vehicle　that　had　passed　through。
　With　the　knife；　he　returned　to　the　motor　home　and　climbed　inside；　leaving　the　driver's　door　open　behind　him。
　Over　Chyna's　head；　the　footsteps　on　the　steel　floor　were　as　hollow　as　voodoo　drums。　As　best　she　could　tell；　he　stopped　in　the　dining　area。
　Vess　isn't　prone　to　see　omens　and　portents　everywhere　he　looks。　A　single　hawk　flying　across　the　face　of　the　full　moon；　glimpsed　at　midnight；　will　not　fill　him　with　expectations　of　either　disaster　or　good　fortune。　A　black　cat　crossing　his　path；　a　mirror　shattering　while　his　reflection　is　captured　in　it；　a　news　story　about　the　birth　of　a　two…headed　calfnone　of　these　things　will　rattle　him。　He　is　convinced　that　he　makes　his　own　fate　and　that　spiritual　transcendence…if　such　a　thing　can　happen…ensues　merely　from　one's　acting　boldly　and　living　with　intensity。
　Nevertheless；　the　large　butcher　knife　makes　him　wonder。　It　has　a　totemic　quality；　an　almost　magical　aura。　He　carefully　places　it　on　the　counter　in　the　kitchen；　where　the　light　lays　a　wet　sheen　along　the　weapon's　cutting　edge。
　When　he　picked　it　off　the　blacktop；　the　blade　had　been　cold　but　the　handle　had　been　vaguely　warm；　as　if　with　the　anticipatory　heat　of　his　grip。
　Eventually　he　will　experiment　with　this　strangely　discarded　blade　to　determine　if　anything　special　happens　when　he　cuts　someone　with　it。　At　the　moment；　however；　it　doesn't　provide　him　with　the　advantage　that　he　needs　for　the　work　at　hand。
　He　has　the　Heckler　&　Koch　P7　snug　in　the　right…hand　pocket　of　his　raincoat；　but　he　doesn't　feel　that　even　it　is　adequate　to　the　situation。
　The　two　lads　behind　the　cashiers'　counter　are　not　in　the　war　zone　of　a　big…city　7…Eleven　market；　but　they　are　smart　enough　to　take　precautions。　Not　even　Beverly　Hills　and　Bel　Air；　peopled　by　wealthy　actors　and　retired　football　stars；　are　any　longer　safe　at　night　either　for　or　from　their　citizens。　These　fellows　will　have　a　firearm　for　self…　protection　and　will　know　how　to　use　it。　Dealing　with　them　will　require　an　intimidating　weapon　with　formidable　stopping　power。
　He　opens　a　cabinet　to　the　left　of　the　oven。　A　Mossberg　shortbarreled；　pistol…grip；　pump…action；　12…gauge　shotgun　is　mounted　in　a　pair　of　spring　clamps　on　the　shelf。　He　pops　it　loose　of　the　clamps　and　lays　it　on　the　countertop。
　The　magazine　tube　of　the12…gauge　is　already　loaded。　Although　he　doesn't　belong　to　the　American　Automobile　Association；　Edgler　Vess　is　otherwise　always　prepared　for　any　eventuality　when　he　travels。
　In　the　cabinet　is　a　box　of　shotgun　shells；　open　for　easy　access。　He　takes　a　few　and　puts　them　on　the　counter　next　to　the　Mossberg；　though　he　is　not　likely　to　need　them。
　He　quickly　unbuttons　the　raincoat　but　doesn't　take　it　off。　He　transfers　the　pistol　from　his　right…hand　exterior　pocket　to　an　interior；　right…hand　breast　pocket　in　the　lining。　This　is　also　where　he　places　the　spare　shells。
　From　a　kitchen　drawer；　he　withdraws　a　pact　Polaroid　camera。
　He　tucks　it　into　the　pocket　from　which　he　just　removed　the　Heckler　&　Koch　P7。　From　his　wallet；　he　removes　a　trimmed　Polaroid　snapshot　of　his　special　girl；　Ariel；　and　he　slips　it　into　the　same　pocket　that　contains　the　camera。
　With　his　seven…inch　switchblade；　which　is　tacky　from　all　the　work　for　which　it　was　used　at　the　Templeton　house；　he　slashes　the　lining　of　the　left　coat　pocket。　Then　he　rips　away　these　tattered　fragments　of　fabric。　Now；　if　he　were　to　drop　coins　into　this　pocket；　they　would　fall　straight　to　the　floor。
　He　puts　the　shotgun　under　his　open　coat　and　holds　it　with　his　left　hand；　through　the　ruined　pocket。　The　concealment　is　effective。　He　does　not　believe　that　he　looks　at　all　suspicious。
　He　quickly　paces　back　to　the　bedroom；　then　forward；　practicing　his　walk。　He　is　able　to　move　freely　without　banging　the　shotgun　against　his　legs。
　After　all；　he　can　draw　upon　the　nimbleness　and　the　grace　of　the　spider　from　the　Templeton　house。
　Although　he　doesn't　care　what　damage　he　does　to　the　birthmarked　cashier　with　the　ashen　eyes；　he'll　have　to　be　careful　not　to　destroy　the　face　of　the　young　Asian　gentleman。　He　must　have　good　photographs　for　Ariel。
　Overhead；　the　killer　seemed　to　be　occupied　in　the　dining　area。　The　floor　creaked　under　him　as　he　shifted　his　weight。
　Unless　he　had　drawn　open　the　curtains；　he　couldn't　see　outside　from　where　he　was。　With　luck；　Chyna　could　make　a　break　for　freedom。
　She　considered　remaining　under　the　vehicle；　letting　him　tank　up；　and　drive　away；　and　only　then　going　inside　to　call　the　police。
　But　he　had　tound　the　butcher　knife；　he　would　be　thinking　about　it。　Though　she　could　see　no　way　that　he　could　grasp　the　significance　of　the　knife；　by　now　she　had　an　almost　superstitious　dread　of　him　and　was　irrationally　convinced　that　he　would　find　her　if　she　remained　where　she　was。
　She　crawled　out　from　under　the　motor　home；　rose　into　a　crouch；　glanced　at　the　open　door；　and　then　looked　back　and　up　at　the　windows　along　the　side。　The　curtains　were　closed。
　Emboldened；　she　got　to　her　feet；　crossed　to　the　inner　service　island；　and　stepped　between　the　pumps。　She　glanced　back；　but　the　killer　remained　inside　the　vehicle。
　She　went　out　of　the　night　into　bright　fluorescent　light　and　the　twang　of　country　music。　Two　employees　were　behind　the　counter　on　the　right；　and　she　intended　to　say　Call　the　police；　but　then　she　glanced　through　the　glass　door　that　had　just　closed　behind　her；　and　she　saw　the　killer　getting　out　of　the　motor　home　and　ing　toward　the　store；　even　though　he　hadn't　finished　filling　the　fuel　tank。
　He　was　looking　down。　He　hadn't　seen　her。　She　moved　away　from　the　door。　The　two　men　stared　at　her　expectantly。　If　she　told　them　to　call　the　police；　they　would　want　to　know　why；　and　there　was　no　time　for　a　discussion；　not　even　enough　time　for　the　telephone　call。　Instead；　she　said；　〃Please　don't　let　him　know　I'm　here；〃　and　before　they　could　reply；　she　walked　away　from　them；　along　an　aisle　with　goods　shelved　six　feet　high　on　both　sides；　to　the　far　end　of　the　store。
　As　she　stepped　out　of　the　aisle　to　hide　at　the　end　of　a　row　of　display　cases；　Chyna　heard　the　door　open　and　the　killer　enter。　A　growl　of　wind　came　with　him；　and　then　the　door　swung　shut。
　The　redheaded　cashier　and　the　young　Asian　gentleman　with　the　liquid…night　eyes　are　staring　at　him　strangely；　as　if　they　know　something　they　shouldn't；　and　he　almost　pulls　the　shotgun　from　under　his　coat　the　moment　that　he　walks　through　the　door；　almost　blows　them　away　without　preamble。　But　he　tells　himself　that　he　is　misreading　them；　that　they　are　merely　intrigued　by　him；　because　he　is；　after　all；　a　striking　figure。　Often　people　sense　his　exceptional　power　and　are　aware　that　he　lives　a　larger　life　than　they　do。　He　is　a　popular　man　at　parties；　and　women　are　frequently　attracted　to　him。　These　men　are　merely　drawn　to　him　as　are　so　many　others。　Besides；　if　he　whacks　them　immediately；　without　a　word；　he　will　be　denying　himself　the　pleasure　of　foreplay。
　Alanjackson　is　no　longer　singing　on　the　radio；　and　cocking　one　ear　appreciatively；　Vess　says；　〃Man；　I　like　that　Emmylou　Harris；　don't　you？　Was　there　ever　anyone　could　sing　this　stuff　so　it　got　to　you　that　way？〃
　〃She's　good；〃　says　the　redhead。　Previously　he　was　outgoing。　Now　he　seems　reserved。
　The　Asian　says　nothing；　inscrutable　in　this　Zen　temple　of　Twinkies；　Hershey　bars；　beer　nuts；　snack　crackers；　and　Doritos。
　〃I　love　a　song　about　home　fires　and　family；〃　Vess　says。
　〃You　on　vacation？〃　asks　the　redhead。　〃Hell；　friend；　I'm　always　on　vacation。〃
　〃Too　young　to　be　retired。〃
　〃I　mean；〃　says　Vess；　〃life　itself　is　a　vacation　if　you　look　at　it　the　right　way。　Been　doing　some　hunting。〃
　〃Around　these　parts？　What　game's　in　season？〃　the　redhead　asks。
　The　Asian　remains　silent　but　attentive。　He　takes　a　SlimJim　sausage　off　a　display　rack　and　skins　open　the　plastic　wra