jg.thefirm-第35节

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　a　point　where　it　forked　and　offered　a　choice　between　the　bypass　to　the　north　and　the　scenic　route　straight　ahead　on　what　was　called　the　Miracle　Strip。　He　chose　the　scenic　route　next　to　the　beach…the　strip　that　ran　for　fifteen　miles　by　the　water　and　was　lined　on　both　sides　with　condos；　cheap　motels；　trailer　parks；　vacation　cottages；　fast…food　joints　and　T…shirt　shops。　This　was　Panama　City　Beach。
　　Most　of　the　ten　zillion　condos　were　empty；　but　there　were　a　few　cars　parked　about　and　he　assumed　that　some　families　vacationed　on　the　beach　for　Christmas。　A　hot…weather　Christmas。　At　least　they're　together；　he　said　to　himself。　The　dog　barked；　and　they　stopped　by　a　pier　where　men　from　Pennsylvania　and　Ohio　and　Canada　fished　and　watched　the　dark　waters。
　　They　cruised　the　Miracle　Strip　by　themselves。　Hearsay　stood　on　the　door　and　took　in　the　sights；　barking　at　the　occasional　flashing　neon　of　a　cinder…block　motel　advertising　its　openness　and　cheap　rates。　Christmas　on　the　Miracle　Strip　closed　everything　but　a　handful　of　diehard　coffee　shops　and　motels。
　　He　stopped　for　gas　at　an　all…night　Texaco　with　a　clerk　who　seemed　unmonly　friendly。
　　〃San　Luis　Street？〃　Mitch　asked。
　　〃Yes；　yes；〃　the　clerk　said　with　an　accent　and　pointed　to　the　west。　〃Second　traffic　light　to　the　right。　First　left。　That's　San　Luis。〃
　　The　neighborhood　was　a　disorganized　suburb　of　antique　mobile　homes。　Mobile；　yes；　but　it　was　apparent　they　had　not　moved　in　decades。　The　trailers　were　packed　tightly　together　like　rows　of　dominoes。　The　short；　narrow　driveways　seemed　inches　apart　and　were　filled　with　old　pickups　and　rusted　lawn　furniture。　The　streets　were　crowded　with　parked　cars；　junk　cars；　abandoned　cars。　Motorcycles　and　bicycles　leaned　on　the　trailer　hitches　and　lawn…mower　handles　protruded　from　beneath　each　home。　A　sign　called　the　place　a　retirement　village…〃San　Pedro　Estates…A　Half　Mile　from　the　Emerald　Coast。〃　It　was　more　like　a　slum　on　wheels；　or　a　project　with　a　trailer　hitch。
　　He　found　San　Luis　Street　and　suddenly　felt　nervous。　It　was　winding　and　narrow　with　smaller　trailers　in　worse　shape　than　the　other　〃retirement　homes。〃　He　drove　slowly；　anxiously　watching　street　numbers　and　observing　the　multitude　of　out…of…state　license　plates。　The　street　was　empty　except　for　the　parked　and　abandoned　cars。
　　The　home　at　486　San　Luis　was　one　of　the　oldest　and　smallest。　It　was　scarcely　bigger　than　a　camper。　The　original　paint　job　looked　to　be　silver；　but　the　paint　was　cracked　and　peeling；　and　a　dark　green　layer　of　mold　covered　the　top　and　inched　downward　to　a　point　just　above　the　windows。　The　screens　were　missing。　One　window　above　the　trailer　hitch　was　badly　cracked　and　held　together　with　gray　electrical　tape。　A　small　covered　porch　surrounded　the　only　entrance。　The　storm　door　was　open；　and　through　the　screen　Mitch　could　see　a　small　color　television　and　the　silhouette　of　a　man　walking　by。
　　This　was　not　what　he　wanted。　By　choice；　he　had　never　met　his　mother's　second　husband；　and　now　was　not　the　time。　He　drove　on；　wishing　he　had　not　e。
　　He　found　on　the　Strip　the　familiar　marquee　of　a　Holiday　Inn。　It　was　empty；　but　open。　He　hid　the　BMW　away　from　the　highway；　and　registered　under　the　name　of　Eddie　Lo…max　of　Danesboro；　Kentucky。　He　paid　cash　for　a　single　room　with　an　ocean　view。
　　The　Panama　City　Beach　phone　book　listed　three　Waffle　Huts　on　the　Strip。　He　lay　across　the　motel　bed　and　dialed　the　first　number。　No　luck。　He　dialed　the　second　number；　and　again　asked　for　Eva　Ainsworth。　Just　a　minute；　he　was　told。　He　hung　up。　It　was　11　P。M。　He　had　slept　for　two　hours。
　　The　taxi　took　twenty　minutes　to　arrive　at　the　Holiday　Inn；　and　the　driver　began　by　explaining　that　he　had　been　home　enjoying　leftover　turkey　with　his　wife　and　kids　and　kinfolks　when　the　dispatcher　called；　and　how　it　was　Christmas　and　he　hoped　to　be　with　his　family　all　day　and　not　worry　about　work　for　one　day　of　the　year。　Mitch　threw　a　twenty　over　the　seat　and　asked　him　to　be　quiet。
　　〃What's　at　the'Waffle　Hut；　man？〃　the　driver　asked。
　　〃Just　drive。〃
　　〃Waffles；　right？〃　He　laughed　and　mumbled　to　himself。　He　adjusted　the　radio　volume　and　found　his　favorite　soul　station。　He　glanced　in　the　mirror；　looked　out　the　windows；　whistled　a　bit；　then　said；　〃What　brings　you　down　here　on　Christmas？〃
　　〃Looking　for　someone。〃
　　〃Who？〃
　　〃A　woman。〃
　　〃Ain't　we　all。　Anyone　in　particular？〃
　　〃An　old　friend。〃
　　〃She　at　the　Waffle　Hut？〃
　　〃I　think　so。〃
　　〃You　some　kinda　private　eye　or　something？〃
　　〃No。〃
　　〃Seems　mighty　suspicious　to　me。〃
　　〃Why　don't　you　just　drive。〃
　　The　Waffle　Hut　was　a　small；　rectangular；　boxlike　building　with　a　dozen　tables　and　a　long　counter　facing　the　grill；　where　everything　was　cooked　in　the　open。　Large　plate…glass　windows　lined　one　side　next　to　the　tables　so　the　customers　could　take　in　the　Strip　and　the　condos　in　the　distance　while　they　enjoyed　their　pecan　waffles　and　bacon。　The　small　parking　lot　was　almost　full；　and　Mitch　directed　the　driver　to　an　empty　slot　near　the　building。
　　〃Ain't　you　getting　out？〃　the　driver　asked。
　　〃No。　Keep　the　meter　running。〃
　　〃Man；　this　is　strange。〃
　　〃You'll　get　paid。〃
　　〃You　got　that　right。〃
　　Mitch　leaned　forward　and　rested　his　arms　on　the　front　seat。　The　meter　clicked　softly　as　he　studied　the　customers　inside。　The　driver　shook　his　head；　slumped　in　the　seat；　but　watched　out　of　curiosity。
　　In　the　corner　next　to　the　cigarette　machine　a　table　of　fat　tourists　with　long　shirts；　white　legs　and　black　socks　drank　coffee；　and　all　talked　at　the　same　time　while　glancing　at　the　menus。　The　leader；　the　one　with　an　unbuttoned　shirt；　a　heavy　gold　chain　draped　upon　his　chest　hair；　thick　gray　sideburns　and　a　Phillies　baseball　cap；　looked　repeatedly　toward　the　grill；　in　search　of　a　waitress。
　　〃You　see　her？〃　asked　the　driver。
　　Mitch　said　nothing；　then　leaned　forward　and　frowned。　She　appeared　from　nowhere　and　stood　at　the　table　with　her　pen　and　order　book。　The　leader　said　something　funny；　and　the　fat　people　laughed。　She　never　smiled；　just　kept　writing。　She　was　frail　and　much　thinner。　Almost　too　thin。　The　black…and…white　uniform　fit　snugly　and　squeezed　her　tiny　waist。　Her　gray　hair　was　pulled　tightly　and　hidden　under　the　Waffle　Hut　bonnet。　She　was　fifty…one；　and　from　the　distance　she　looked　her　age。　Nothing　worse。　She　seemed　sharp。　When　she　finished　scribbling　she　snatched　the　menus　from　their　hands；　said　something　polite；　almost　smiled；　then　disappeared。　She　moved　quickly　among　the　tables；　pouring　coffee；　handing　ketchup　bottles　and　giving　orders　to　the　cook。
　　Mitch　relaxed。　The　meter　ticked　slowly。
　　〃Is　that　her？〃　asked　the　driver。
　　〃Yes。〃
　　〃What　now？〃
　　〃I　don't　know。〃
　　〃Well；　we　found　her；　didn't　we？〃
　　Mitch　followed　her　movements　and　said　nothing。　She　poured　coffee　for　a　man　sitting　alone。　He　said　something；　and　she　smiled。　A　wonderful；　gracious　smile。　A　smile　he　had　seen　a　thousand　times　in　the　darkness　staring　at　the　ceiling。　His　mother's　smile。
　　A　light　mist　began　to　fall　and　the　intermittent　wipers　cleaned　the　windshield　every　ten　seconds。　It　was　almost　midnight；　Christmas　Day。
　　The　driver　tapped　the　wheel　nervously　and　fidgeted。　He　sank　lower　in　the　seat；　then　changed　stations。　〃How　long　we　gonna　sit　here？〃
　　〃Not　long。〃
　　〃Man；　this　is　weird。〃
　　〃You'll　be　paid。〃
　　〃Man；　money　ain't　everything。　It's　Christmas。　I　got　kids　at　home；　kinfolks　visiting；　turkey　and　wine　to　finish　off；　and　here　I　am　sitting　at　the　Waffle　Hut　so　you　ean　look　at　some　old　woman　through　the　window。〃
　　〃It's　my　mother。〃
　　〃Your　what！〃
　　〃You　heard　me。〃
　　〃Man；　oh　man。　I　get　all　kinds。〃
　　〃Just　shut　up；　okay？〃
　　〃Okay。　Ain't　you　gonna　talk　to　her？　I　mean　it's　Christmas；　and　you　found　your　momma。　You　gotta　go　see　her；　don't　you？〃
　　〃No。　Not　now。〃
　　Mitch　sat　back　in　the　seat　and　looked　at　the　dark　beach　across　the　highway。　〃Let's　go。〃
　　At　daybreak；　he　dressed　in　jeans　and　a　sweatshirt；　no　socks　or　shoes；　and　took　Hearsay　for　a　walk　on　the　beach。　They　walked　east；　toward　the　first　glow　of　orange　peeking　above　the　horizon。　The　waves　broke　gently　thirty　yards　out　and　rolled　quietly　onto　shore。　The　sand　was　cool　and　wet。　The　sky　was　clear　and　full　of　sea　gulls　talking　incessantly　among　themselves。　Hearsay　ran　boldly　into　the　sea；　then　retreated　furiously　when　the　next　wave　of　white　foam　approached。　For　a　house　dog；　the　endless　stretch　of　sand　and　water　demanded　exploration。　He　ran　a　hundred　yards　ahead　of　Mitch。
　　After　two　miles　they　approached　a　pier；　a　large　concrete　structure　running　two　hundred　feet　from　the　beach　into　the　ocean。　Hearsay；　fearless　now；　darted　onto　it　and　ran　to　a　bucket　of　bait　next　to　two　men　standing　motionless　and　staring　down　at　the　water。　Mitch　walked　behind　them；　to　the　end　of　the　pier；　where　a　dozen　fishermen　talked　occasionally　to　each　other　and　waited　for　their　lines　to　jump。　The　dog　rubbed　himself　on　Mitch's　leg　and　grew　still。　A　brilliant　return　of　the　sun　was　in　progress；　and　for　miles　the　water　glistened　and　turned　from　black　to　green。
　　Mitch　leaned　on　the　railing　and　shivered　in　the　cool　wind。　His　bare　feet　were　frozen　and　gritty。　For　miles　along　the　beach　in　both　directions；　the　hotels　and　condos　sat　quietly　and　wait