level 8
上两张图：
两张图反映了艾登不同的心情，寻找真相的迷茫和执着。不过，我还是很喜欢第二张。期待看门狗的电影和第二部的上市。
level 8
myfather103
楼主
首先说一下，自从看了看门狗这个游戏。我学习计算机编程非常有感觉，对计算机编程学习的兴趣增加了，变得更加喜欢，看计算机专业课本也变得非常投入。感谢育碧的游戏。
上两张图：
两张图反映了艾登不同的心情，寻找真相的迷茫和执着。不过，我还是很喜欢第二张。期待看门狗的电影和第二部的上市。
2015年03月05日 08点03分
2
上两张图：
两张图反映了艾登不同的心情，寻找真相的迷茫和执着。不过，我还是很喜欢第二张。期待看门狗的电影和第二部的上市。
因为第二张帅很多吧，艾登的脸，我了个擦擦擦
2015年03月22日 08点03分
level 11
这里现在在学c语言 楼主在学什么？
2015年03月05日 10点03分
4
Linux内核编程。
2015年03月05日 11点03分
回复 myfather103 :这个的使用人数好像很多，一起加油！![[真棒]](/static/emoticons/u771fu68d2.png)
2015年03月05日 11点03分
level 8
myfather103
楼主
sort of avatar of the city, becoming a legend.He’d wreaked his revenge on his enemies...and slipped away into some unknown corner of the Chicago demimonde. Some people thought he was dead; some were skeptical he even existed.
“That guy? Naw, he never existed.Just a story made up by the power structure to justify its own house cleaning...”
Wolfe had heard that claim more than once. But he knew Aiden Pearce was real—he’d known him, when Wolfe was a boy and Pearce a young man, in the Yards. Pearce had been a friend of his father; a friend to Irish liberation causes, just like Colin Wolfe... It was just a matter of finding him. T-Bone had put him onto Blank who had contacted Pearce and set the meeting up.
Now Wolfe was fifty steps from his destination, up at the corner. No one was there yet. Nothing but a piece of paper spinning in a momentary whirlwind.
He glanced up again, hearing a whirring sound as another ctOS camera tracked him. Theoretically it was possible to hack into the ctOS—word from Wolfe’s DedSec contacts had it that it was the electronic “alchemist’s stone” that Pearce had used to unlock every corner of Chicago. But the Blume Corporation had redesigned it, lately, to frustrate the Aiden Pearces of the world...
Wolfe suspected that, even if half of what T-Bone Grady had told him was right, Blume Corp and the other power brokers in Chicago underestimated Pearce. Chances were, he could still break into ctOS. Pearce still had DedSec contacts —white, gray, and maybe a few black hat hackers. He made deals with them; in turn, T-Bone claimed, they dealt with Blume’s new firewalls.
What if my coming here warns Pearce off? If he’s tracking me on that camera...
But Wolfe was hoping that Pearce didn’t yet know he was being tracked by anyone. If Pearce did see him—would he recognize him? Would he know him for a friend? Or assume he was an enemy?
For all he knew, Aiden Pearce was pointing a gun at him right now, with his finger tightening on the trigger.
The wind rose, the mist swirled, the cars hummed—and then he saw someone walking down cross street toward the corner. The man had red-brown hair, wore an open knee-length brown leather coat, a brown leather baseball-style cap embellished with a cryptic symbol; he wore dark glasses, though there wasn’t much glare out here. He had a dark kerchief down around his neck. The man’s profile looked familiar.
It had to be. It was Aiden Pearce.
Blank had come through. The derelict had claimed he could get a message to Pearce. The message would be gotten to him via a “drop” on the street, instead of being transmitted—most transmission was too risky, too much chance it could be monitored. The message contained simple coordinates: a Chicago street corner, near the Lake Michigan shore. And five words: Deep in the Back Yard.
It was a code that had been used twelve years ago, when Pearce was getting out of the gangs. Pearce had gone from gangbanger to rogue criminal. He worked for himself, picking his targets and striking hard. And some of those targets, not so very long ago now, had pulled Pearce in too deep— and gotten his niece killed. Her murder had been like a pebble rolling down Chicago’s rugged hillside...starting an avalanche of crushing stone. A bit farther back, when Pearce was a gangster, Mick Wolfe had been a runner for the Chicago gangs, carrying money, cash from a host of illegal deals.
2015年03月05日 11点03分
6
“That guy? Naw, he never existed.Just a story made up by the power structure to justify its own house cleaning...”
Wolfe had heard that claim more than once. But he knew Aiden Pearce was real—he’d known him, when Wolfe was a boy and Pearce a young man, in the Yards. Pearce had been a friend of his father; a friend to Irish liberation causes, just like Colin Wolfe... It was just a matter of finding him. T-Bone had put him onto Blank who had contacted Pearce and set the meeting up.
Now Wolfe was fifty steps from his destination, up at the corner. No one was there yet. Nothing but a piece of paper spinning in a momentary whirlwind.
He glanced up again, hearing a whirring sound as another ctOS camera tracked him. Theoretically it was possible to hack into the ctOS—word from Wolfe’s DedSec contacts had it that it was the electronic “alchemist’s stone” that Pearce had used to unlock every corner of Chicago. But the Blume Corporation had redesigned it, lately, to frustrate the Aiden Pearces of the world...
Wolfe suspected that, even if half of what T-Bone Grady had told him was right, Blume Corp and the other power brokers in Chicago underestimated Pearce. Chances were, he could still break into ctOS. Pearce still had DedSec contacts —white, gray, and maybe a few black hat hackers. He made deals with them; in turn, T-Bone claimed, they dealt with Blume’s new firewalls.
What if my coming here warns Pearce off? If he’s tracking me on that camera...
But Wolfe was hoping that Pearce didn’t yet know he was being tracked by anyone. If Pearce did see him—would he recognize him? Would he know him for a friend? Or assume he was an enemy?
For all he knew, Aiden Pearce was pointing a gun at him right now, with his finger tightening on the trigger.
The wind rose, the mist swirled, the cars hummed—and then he saw someone walking down cross street toward the corner. The man had red-brown hair, wore an open knee-length brown leather coat, a brown leather baseball-style cap embellished with a cryptic symbol; he wore dark glasses, though there wasn’t much glare out here. He had a dark kerchief down around his neck. The man’s profile looked familiar.
It had to be. It was Aiden Pearce.
Blank had come through. The derelict had claimed he could get a message to Pearce. The message would be gotten to him via a “drop” on the street, instead of being transmitted—most transmission was too risky, too much chance it could be monitored. The message contained simple coordinates: a Chicago street corner, near the Lake Michigan shore. And five words: Deep in the Back Yard.
It was a code that had been used twelve years ago, when Pearce was getting out of the gangs. Pearce had gone from gangbanger to rogue criminal. He worked for himself, picking his targets and striking hard. And some of those targets, not so very long ago now, had pulled Pearce in too deep— and gotten his niece killed. Her murder had been like a pebble rolling down Chicago’s rugged hillside...starting an avalanche of crushing stone. A bit farther back, when Pearce was a gangster, Mick Wolfe had been a runner for the Chicago gangs, carrying money, cash from a host of illegal deals.
level 8
myfather103
楼主
The cops didn’t pay much attention to a grimy twelve year old boy running through the streets with a back pack. If they’d looked in that backpack, they’d have found it packed with cash from dozens of dirty deals. Out of all that cash, Wolfe had gotten only five dollars a delivery.
Wolfe’s father, Colin, had intervened with Pearce, asked him to take him out of the life. Pearce had gotten Mick off the street and back in school.
But not before Wolfe had learned the gang’s basic code words...including the five words that Pearce used, back then, for his own operations. Deep in the Back Yard. It seemed he remembered them. Because here was Pearce.
Was it curiosity that had brought Aiden Pearce here?
Wolfe noticed a van behind Pearce, a gray van trolling the street, coming up slowly behind the vigilante. Was the van a vehicle protecting Pearce—or something else?
Pearce paused on the corner and turned to look narrowly at Wolfe. They were ten paces apart. Wolfe could tell Pearce was trying to remember who Wolfe was.
“Aiden! It’s Mick!” Wolfe called. “It’s been years but...”
Then his peripheral vision caught a flicker, at that van. He turned to look and saw the van’s side door opening, a man leaning out. And the man was aiming a silenced pistol at Aiden Pearce.
“Aiden—get down!” Wolfe shouted.
A hissing gunshot, then another, as Pearce reacted to Wolfe’s shout and threw himself down. But even from here Wolfe caught the flash of splashing blood.
Wolfe dug under his coat, pulled his .38, aimed it at the van—but it was speeding away. The license plate had been removed. It was roaring off down the street and if he fired he might hit one of the other cars.
Wolfe put the gun away, got out his cell phone instead, and dialed 91 ...and frowned. His phone was crackling, the call not going through. The screen on it said no signal.
No signal——now? Here?
Wolfe ran to Pearce, and went down on one knee by him. “Aiden!”
Aiden Pearce was sprawled face down on the sidewalk. A small pool of dark scarlet was spreading around him. There was blood all over the back of Pearce’s head. And he was just lying there, completely still...
Wolfe got to his feet and tried his cell phone again. Still no good. He looked around, saw people in cars staring as they drove past. He waved his arms at the drivers. No one stopped.
Got to get help for Pearce. How?
Then he heard a siren. Maybe someone else had seen the attack, called an ambulance. Sure got here fast, even for ctOS.
The ambulance was screaming around the corner, screeching to a halt on the street close by the fallen Aiden Pearce.
It was barely stopped before the medics were out, two burly black Emergency Medical Techs in blue and yellow uniforms—on their shoulders patches read CFR: Chicago’s Fastest Responders.
A third man jumped out of the back of the ambulance——a lanky white guy in an ill-fitting uniform. The EMT rushed up to Wolfe, a hand outthrust like a football block, making Wolfe step away from Aiden.
“Stay back, sir—”
“He’s been shot, he’s going to need a compress, blood clotter, quick! They fired twice—”
The man was still backing Wolfe up. “Thank you, sir. If you have any more information, give
2015年03月05日 11点03分
7
Wolfe’s father, Colin, had intervened with Pearce, asked him to take him out of the life. Pearce had gotten Mick off the street and back in school.
But not before Wolfe had learned the gang’s basic code words...including the five words that Pearce used, back then, for his own operations. Deep in the Back Yard. It seemed he remembered them. Because here was Pearce.
Was it curiosity that had brought Aiden Pearce here?
Wolfe noticed a van behind Pearce, a gray van trolling the street, coming up slowly behind the vigilante. Was the van a vehicle protecting Pearce—or something else?
Pearce paused on the corner and turned to look narrowly at Wolfe. They were ten paces apart. Wolfe could tell Pearce was trying to remember who Wolfe was.
“Aiden! It’s Mick!” Wolfe called. “It’s been years but...”
Then his peripheral vision caught a flicker, at that van. He turned to look and saw the van’s side door opening, a man leaning out. And the man was aiming a silenced pistol at Aiden Pearce.
“Aiden—get down!” Wolfe shouted.
A hissing gunshot, then another, as Pearce reacted to Wolfe’s shout and threw himself down. But even from here Wolfe caught the flash of splashing blood.
Wolfe dug under his coat, pulled his .38, aimed it at the van—but it was speeding away. The license plate had been removed. It was roaring off down the street and if he fired he might hit one of the other cars.
Wolfe put the gun away, got out his cell phone instead, and dialed 91 ...and frowned. His phone was crackling, the call not going through. The screen on it said no signal.
No signal——now? Here?
Wolfe ran to Pearce, and went down on one knee by him. “Aiden!”
Aiden Pearce was sprawled face down on the sidewalk. A small pool of dark scarlet was spreading around him. There was blood all over the back of Pearce’s head. And he was just lying there, completely still...
Wolfe got to his feet and tried his cell phone again. Still no good. He looked around, saw people in cars staring as they drove past. He waved his arms at the drivers. No one stopped.
Got to get help for Pearce. How?
Then he heard a siren. Maybe someone else had seen the attack, called an ambulance. Sure got here fast, even for ctOS.
The ambulance was screaming around the corner, screeching to a halt on the street close by the fallen Aiden Pearce.
It was barely stopped before the medics were out, two burly black Emergency Medical Techs in blue and yellow uniforms—on their shoulders patches read CFR: Chicago’s Fastest Responders.
A third man jumped out of the back of the ambulance——a lanky white guy in an ill-fitting uniform. The EMT rushed up to Wolfe, a hand outthrust like a football block, making Wolfe step away from Aiden.
“Stay back, sir—”
“He’s been shot, he’s going to need a compress, blood clotter, quick! They fired twice—”
The man was still backing Wolfe up. “Thank you, sir. If you have any more information, give
level 8
myfather103
楼主
it to the police, they’ll be here pretty soon...”
“Sure, sure. But...”
This medic sure had dirty fingernails for a guy who worked in an ambulance.
There was a name tag on his uniform.
P. COLLINGSWOOD, it said.
“What hospital are you taking him to?” Wolfe asked.
“Lakeside Hospital, just a few blocks away, sir.”
Wolfe looked past the EMT and saw the other two already had Pearce on a portable gurney. They were wheeling it toward the back of the ambulance, lifting it in. Pearce was still lying face down.
He had a cell phone clutched in his hand. Had he called these guys himself somehow?
Wolfe had seen a lot of medical technicians at work, here and overseas in Delta Force—he’d never seen anybody go about it this fast. They didn’t seem to be following procedure.
The first two Emergency Technicians got in the front of the ambulance; the third EMT was jumping in the back, slamming the door from the inside—and the ambulance was moving away even before the door was completely closed.
Wolfe made a mental note of the number on the side of the CFR vehicle: 103.
The vehicle did a tight, tire-burning U-turn and then drove away, careening down the street at top speed.
He heard another siren—a police siren.
Wolfe stared at the puddle of blood on the sidewalk and thought, No way I’m staying here to answer police questions.
He had an unregistered gun—and there were a whole lot of questions he didn’t want to answer. He turned and strode away, not too fast, slipping between the nearest buildings at the first opportunity.
He looked around the corner of the buildings, back to the site of the shooting. A cop car was just pulling up. Officers were getting out, gesturing at the blood, then looking around in confusion.
Then an ambulance drove up, and stopped in the street by the patrol cars.
Wolfe watched as an EMT got out, and he could read the body language of the EMT and the two cops pretty clearly.
Puzzlement. They seem surprised to find no one there.
“But you’re sure this is the hospital they’d have come to?” Wolfe asked.
“Yes, I’m sure of it,” the Admissions Nurse told him. She was a squat, thick- bodied woman in a pink-white uniform with a lot of dyed blond hair piled up on top of her head. She sniffed a lot as she talked to him. Allergies.
Wolfe glanced nervously around the admissions lobby. “This place is only, like, three blocks from the hospital...why would they take him anywhere else?
You’re saying he’s not here at all?”
“That’s what I’m telling you, sir! No gunshot victims have been brought in, no one of that description. No one like that at all...”
2015年03月05日 11点03分
8
“Sure, sure. But...”
This medic sure had dirty fingernails for a guy who worked in an ambulance.
There was a name tag on his uniform.
P. COLLINGSWOOD, it said.
“What hospital are you taking him to?” Wolfe asked.
“Lakeside Hospital, just a few blocks away, sir.”
Wolfe looked past the EMT and saw the other two already had Pearce on a portable gurney. They were wheeling it toward the back of the ambulance, lifting it in. Pearce was still lying face down.
He had a cell phone clutched in his hand. Had he called these guys himself somehow?
Wolfe had seen a lot of medical technicians at work, here and overseas in Delta Force—he’d never seen anybody go about it this fast. They didn’t seem to be following procedure.
The first two Emergency Technicians got in the front of the ambulance; the third EMT was jumping in the back, slamming the door from the inside—and the ambulance was moving away even before the door was completely closed.
Wolfe made a mental note of the number on the side of the CFR vehicle: 103.
The vehicle did a tight, tire-burning U-turn and then drove away, careening down the street at top speed.
He heard another siren—a police siren.
Wolfe stared at the puddle of blood on the sidewalk and thought, No way I’m staying here to answer police questions.
He had an unregistered gun—and there were a whole lot of questions he didn’t want to answer. He turned and strode away, not too fast, slipping between the nearest buildings at the first opportunity.
He looked around the corner of the buildings, back to the site of the shooting. A cop car was just pulling up. Officers were getting out, gesturing at the blood, then looking around in confusion.
Then an ambulance drove up, and stopped in the street by the patrol cars.
Wolfe watched as an EMT got out, and he could read the body language of the EMT and the two cops pretty clearly.
Puzzlement. They seem surprised to find no one there.
“But you’re sure this is the hospital they’d have come to?” Wolfe asked.
“Yes, I’m sure of it,” the Admissions Nurse told him. She was a squat, thick- bodied woman in a pink-white uniform with a lot of dyed blond hair piled up on top of her head. She sniffed a lot as she talked to him. Allergies.
Wolfe glanced nervously around the admissions lobby. “This place is only, like, three blocks from the hospital...why would they take him anywhere else?
You’re saying he’s not here at all?”
“That’s what I’m telling you, sir! No gunshot victims have been brought in, no one of that description. No one like that at all...”
level 10
level 8
level 8
myfather103
楼主
The man was poking at a smartphone as he spoke.
“Applications?”
The clerk glanced up at him. “You aren’t here for the job?”
“No. Um—a friend of mine was picked up today by CFR. Trouble is— there’s some, uh, miscommunication about what hospital he was taken to.”
The guy sighed and rolled his eyes. “Not my responsibility.”
Wolfe fished a twenty dollar bill from his pants’ pocket, folded the bill and tapped it on the counter. “Just take a minute.”
The twenty vanished. “Whatever. Where was this?”
He told the counter clerk the street corner and gave Pearce’s name—though that might not be the name found on Aiden Pearce, who probably had as many I.D.s as he needed.
The clerk peered into a computer monitor. “Nope. Nobody picked up on the waterfront at all today. Nobody on that corner, nobody on that street. Mostly we’ve had guys picking up gunshot vics over at Washington Park. As usual.”
“Nobody by that name anywhere?”
“Nope.”
Wolfe kept asking questions and kept getting nope, nope, nope and no. CFR denied ever picking up anyone on that corner, at that time or any other time today.
“And we got no employees named Collingswood. Not one.”
“And the ambulance number? One- oh-three?”
“Not in use today. Being serviced.” “Serviced. Right.”
Wolfe turned and walked silently out.
Aiden Pearce had been shot. Then he had disappeared, as if he had been taken away by a ghostly ambulance, and spirited to a ghostly hospital.
Either that, or those guys had been with the assassin...and Pearce was dead. So maybe he was a real ghost, now, instead of the ghostlike vigilante he’d been. A real ghost——for good.
Wolfe decided he wouldn’t believe that till there was proof. He walked out to the corner of the building, preparing to go back and borrow the illegally borrowed car one more time before he abandoned it...
And that’s when the dark Crown Victoria pulled up in front of him. Wolfe knew an unmarked cop car when he saw one.
Aiden Pearce was quite alive, but was almost wishing he weren’t.
It was the burning pain in his head. It was the throbbing; it was the nausea. That’s what made him wish he were at least unconscious.
The bullet, he was told, had only nicked his skull. But it had given him a concussion, not a terribly severe one that required hospitalization, but no concussion is good. Scalp wounds appear to bleed a lot of blood, more than they really do, so he’d gushed out impressively. “Doc” Morrsky, a onetime doctor who’d had his license pulled for selling Oxycodone, had done the diagnosis and stitches, telling Pearce, “Yeah, you’re okay, just a scratch and a concussion.”
He hadn’t offered Pearce any Oxycodone. Right now, Pearce wouldn’t mind a few hundred milligrams.
Pearce was lying on a bed in one of his safehouses, on the South Side. His head ached as if it had been shot a moment ago. One of the EMTs had given him a local anesthetic. It wasn’t quite
2015年03月07日 05点03分
13
“Applications?”
The clerk glanced up at him. “You aren’t here for the job?”
“No. Um—a friend of mine was picked up today by CFR. Trouble is— there’s some, uh, miscommunication about what hospital he was taken to.”
The guy sighed and rolled his eyes. “Not my responsibility.”
Wolfe fished a twenty dollar bill from his pants’ pocket, folded the bill and tapped it on the counter. “Just take a minute.”
The twenty vanished. “Whatever. Where was this?”
He told the counter clerk the street corner and gave Pearce’s name—though that might not be the name found on Aiden Pearce, who probably had as many I.D.s as he needed.
The clerk peered into a computer monitor. “Nope. Nobody picked up on the waterfront at all today. Nobody on that corner, nobody on that street. Mostly we’ve had guys picking up gunshot vics over at Washington Park. As usual.”
“Nobody by that name anywhere?”
“Nope.”
Wolfe kept asking questions and kept getting nope, nope, nope and no. CFR denied ever picking up anyone on that corner, at that time or any other time today.
“And we got no employees named Collingswood. Not one.”
“And the ambulance number? One- oh-three?”
“Not in use today. Being serviced.” “Serviced. Right.”
Wolfe turned and walked silently out.
Aiden Pearce had been shot. Then he had disappeared, as if he had been taken away by a ghostly ambulance, and spirited to a ghostly hospital.
Either that, or those guys had been with the assassin...and Pearce was dead. So maybe he was a real ghost, now, instead of the ghostlike vigilante he’d been. A real ghost——for good.
Wolfe decided he wouldn’t believe that till there was proof. He walked out to the corner of the building, preparing to go back and borrow the illegally borrowed car one more time before he abandoned it...
And that’s when the dark Crown Victoria pulled up in front of him. Wolfe knew an unmarked cop car when he saw one.
Aiden Pearce was quite alive, but was almost wishing he weren’t.
It was the burning pain in his head. It was the throbbing; it was the nausea. That’s what made him wish he were at least unconscious.
The bullet, he was told, had only nicked his skull. But it had given him a concussion, not a terribly severe one that required hospitalization, but no concussion is good. Scalp wounds appear to bleed a lot of blood, more than they really do, so he’d gushed out impressively. “Doc” Morrsky, a onetime doctor who’d had his license pulled for selling Oxycodone, had done the diagnosis and stitches, telling Pearce, “Yeah, you’re okay, just a scratch and a concussion.”
He hadn’t offered Pearce any Oxycodone. Right now, Pearce wouldn’t mind a few hundred milligrams.
Pearce was lying on a bed in one of his safehouses, on the South Side. His head ached as if it had been shot a moment ago. One of the EMTs had given him a local anesthetic. It wasn’t quite
level 8
myfather103
楼主
and passed it over.
“This Army I.D.’s expired.”
“Yeah. I was discharged.”
Tranter handed it back. “I’m investigating a shooting. An...alleged shooting. You were at the hospital, asking about someone who may or may not be involved in the shooting.”
“And you found me here? Man, ctOS is fast.”
“It is. Facial ID. Camera on the street, in the hospital and out front here. Your I.D. card confirms it. But...weird thing is, when you got close to that corner, ctOS cameras snowed over. Just lost the picture!
We didn’t see what happened after that.”
“Not my fault the cameras fritzed.” This was interesting. Cameras had gone down, when he’d gotten closer to Pearce. That wasn’t Wolfe’s doing. Was it Pearce’s? Had Pearce blocked the local camera feed?
Tranter was looking Wolfe distastefully up and down. Taking in the unshaven jaw, rumpled clothes with disapproval. “Where you going at this instant?”
“Me? Tell you the truth, I was going to commit a misdemeanor. I was going to pee behind the building. Man, I got to go. They wouldn’t let me use their bathroom in there.”
“You weren’t going to that car parked in back?”
“Me? No.”
“So the Acura’s not yours?”
“Naw. I look like a guy could own a nice new car like that? I heard freckles inside talking on the phone about his new Acura. Leasing. You wouldn’t believe what he’s paying.”
Tranter nodded, but it was not necessarily a nod of agreement. It might be a “this dude is full of crap” nod.
“What’s your interest in Pearce?” Tranter asked.
“Me? Oh, he was a friend of my dad’s from when we lived in the Yards. I’m trying to find a job, thought he might get me one. Went to meet him on the street—that’s the spot he asked for. But
he never showed. Someone said somebody’d been shot...”
“Who said that?”
“A bum. High smelling guy with a big brown beard.”
Better keep all these lies straight...
“I can check your whereabouts, you know. Where you been around town?”
Wolfe shrugged. “Suit yourself. I really got to pee. You going to give me a ticket if I pee right here?”
“What? You’re not peeing here!”
“Okay. I’ll just grip myself and squeeze it shut.” He grabbed his crotch. He didn’t want Tranter to put him in the back of his unmarked cop car and run that license number.
“And don’t do that either!” “Can’t hold it much longer, detective.”
Thinking about it, Wolfe was pretty sure that if Tranter had already run the plates on the Acura, he’d find out it wasn’t registered or leased to anybody; he’d figure it was stolen, and Wolfe would already be in handcuffs for just being a suspicious person heading toward a stolen car.
Tranter must not have seen any ctOS footage of him getting into that car, either. They hadn’t followed up on him that far. But they would...so Wolfe needed to get out of here, first chance.
2015年03月07日 05点03分
15
“This Army I.D.’s expired.”
“Yeah. I was discharged.”
Tranter handed it back. “I’m investigating a shooting. An...alleged shooting. You were at the hospital, asking about someone who may or may not be involved in the shooting.”
“And you found me here? Man, ctOS is fast.”
“It is. Facial ID. Camera on the street, in the hospital and out front here. Your I.D. card confirms it. But...weird thing is, when you got close to that corner, ctOS cameras snowed over. Just lost the picture!
We didn’t see what happened after that.”
“Not my fault the cameras fritzed.” This was interesting. Cameras had gone down, when he’d gotten closer to Pearce. That wasn’t Wolfe’s doing. Was it Pearce’s? Had Pearce blocked the local camera feed?
Tranter was looking Wolfe distastefully up and down. Taking in the unshaven jaw, rumpled clothes with disapproval. “Where you going at this instant?”
“Me? Tell you the truth, I was going to commit a misdemeanor. I was going to pee behind the building. Man, I got to go. They wouldn’t let me use their bathroom in there.”
“You weren’t going to that car parked in back?”
“Me? No.”
“So the Acura’s not yours?”
“Naw. I look like a guy could own a nice new car like that? I heard freckles inside talking on the phone about his new Acura. Leasing. You wouldn’t believe what he’s paying.”
Tranter nodded, but it was not necessarily a nod of agreement. It might be a “this dude is full of crap” nod.
“What’s your interest in Pearce?” Tranter asked.
“Me? Oh, he was a friend of my dad’s from when we lived in the Yards. I’m trying to find a job, thought he might get me one. Went to meet him on the street—that’s the spot he asked for. But
he never showed. Someone said somebody’d been shot...”
“Who said that?”
“A bum. High smelling guy with a big brown beard.”
Better keep all these lies straight...
“I can check your whereabouts, you know. Where you been around town?”
Wolfe shrugged. “Suit yourself. I really got to pee. You going to give me a ticket if I pee right here?”
“What? You’re not peeing here!”
“Okay. I’ll just grip myself and squeeze it shut.” He grabbed his crotch. He didn’t want Tranter to put him in the back of his unmarked cop car and run that license number.
“And don’t do that either!” “Can’t hold it much longer, detective.”
Thinking about it, Wolfe was pretty sure that if Tranter had already run the plates on the Acura, he’d find out it wasn’t registered or leased to anybody; he’d figure it was stolen, and Wolfe would already be in handcuffs for just being a suspicious person heading toward a stolen car.
Tranter must not have seen any ctOS footage of him getting into that car, either. They hadn’t followed up on him that far. But they would...so Wolfe needed to get out of here, first chance.
level 8
myfather103
楼主
But...suddenly the record got ugly. Arrest for suspicion of embezzlement of federal funds. Started with a not guilty plea in the military court. Insufficient evidence. Prosecuted for assault, perjury. Pled Nolo Contendere for those charges.
What assault? There it was: fistfight with an officer, assault, perjury, resulting in...a year in the United States Disciplinary Barracks up north of Leavenworth. Military prison. And then... Dishonorable discharge.
Not so proud after all. “Oh kid, what did you do?” Pearce muttered.
Who was this officer he’d gotten into the ruckus with? Verrick, the document said.
A Major Verrick. Definitely not a good idea to punch out a Major when you’re a mere NCO.
Pearce remembered a dirty-faced boy, maybe thirteen, running up and down the sidewalks. Every so often the boy would see Pearce on the corner, ask cheerily, “What’s up, Aiden?” Young Mick Wolfe wanting to seem like an important guy on the street.
Verrick. The name rang a bell. Pearce did a simple search for the name in Chicago, along with Army, and came up with Roger Verrick, the new head of Blume Security for Chicago. He was also a significant shareholder in Blume and a supposed innovator in security technology. A cross check confirmed it—the same guy. There was his picture: curly brown receding hair, lined face, nearly lipless smile, broad shoulders. Former Major in the US Army, Delta Force, his family had long term investments in Blume, he’d joined the corporation after retiring from the military about a year and a half ago.
That was some pretty damn quick advancement at the Blume Corporation, right out of the box. But then Verrick had inside connections through his family.And maybe he’d brought some military tech out with him to sweeten the deal. Had he smuggled out classified tech? It was possible. That possibility was something to remember.
If Verrick was the new head of Blume Security, he would be very aware of Aiden Pearce. Pearce didn’t have a big problem with the Blume Corporation ——in fact, he relied on the company—but there had been Blume factions who had gotten on Pearce’s bad side; factions who had connections with the Club.Namely the Chicago South Club which was otherwise known as the Irish mob— formerly run by the late, not-so-lucky Lucky Quinn. Quinn’s son was rumored to be planning to take the Club over now...
Had this been a Club attack on him, today? Was Verrick connected with the Club? Could be that Verrick arranged the attempted hit through Mick Wolfe. Maybe Verrick had found out Wolfe had
known Pearce and after making a deal with Wolfe, he’d gotten a thug from the Club to take a shot at him.
But if Wolfe had been setting up the hit, why warn the target that someone was about to shoot him down?
Maybe he’d had a change of heart at the last moment.
Pearce’s gut told him that Mick Wolfe hadn’t been involved in the attempted hit, though. There had been astonishment in that voice when Wolfe had warned him. Wolfe had seemed genuinely surprised by the assassination attempt...
But how had they known where he was going to be, if not through Wolfe? Could be that someone watching for “the vigilante” had spotted him driving through the area, and made a call. The tail had responded to the call, and started following him. That faint tingling in the back of his neck had warned Pearce; the van seen once too many times in the rearview mirror...
2015年03月07日 05点03分
17
What assault? There it was: fistfight with an officer, assault, perjury, resulting in...a year in the United States Disciplinary Barracks up north of Leavenworth. Military prison. And then... Dishonorable discharge.
Not so proud after all. “Oh kid, what did you do?” Pearce muttered.
Who was this officer he’d gotten into the ruckus with? Verrick, the document said.
A Major Verrick. Definitely not a good idea to punch out a Major when you’re a mere NCO.
Pearce remembered a dirty-faced boy, maybe thirteen, running up and down the sidewalks. Every so often the boy would see Pearce on the corner, ask cheerily, “What’s up, Aiden?” Young Mick Wolfe wanting to seem like an important guy on the street.
Verrick. The name rang a bell. Pearce did a simple search for the name in Chicago, along with Army, and came up with Roger Verrick, the new head of Blume Security for Chicago. He was also a significant shareholder in Blume and a supposed innovator in security technology. A cross check confirmed it—the same guy. There was his picture: curly brown receding hair, lined face, nearly lipless smile, broad shoulders. Former Major in the US Army, Delta Force, his family had long term investments in Blume, he’d joined the corporation after retiring from the military about a year and a half ago.
That was some pretty damn quick advancement at the Blume Corporation, right out of the box. But then Verrick had inside connections through his family.And maybe he’d brought some military tech out with him to sweeten the deal. Had he smuggled out classified tech? It was possible. That possibility was something to remember.
If Verrick was the new head of Blume Security, he would be very aware of Aiden Pearce. Pearce didn’t have a big problem with the Blume Corporation ——in fact, he relied on the company—but there had been Blume factions who had gotten on Pearce’s bad side; factions who had connections with the Club.Namely the Chicago South Club which was otherwise known as the Irish mob— formerly run by the late, not-so-lucky Lucky Quinn. Quinn’s son was rumored to be planning to take the Club over now...
Had this been a Club attack on him, today? Was Verrick connected with the Club? Could be that Verrick arranged the attempted hit through Mick Wolfe. Maybe Verrick had found out Wolfe had
known Pearce and after making a deal with Wolfe, he’d gotten a thug from the Club to take a shot at him.
But if Wolfe had been setting up the hit, why warn the target that someone was about to shoot him down?
Maybe he’d had a change of heart at the last moment.
Pearce’s gut told him that Mick Wolfe hadn’t been involved in the attempted hit, though. There had been astonishment in that voice when Wolfe had warned him. Wolfe had seemed genuinely surprised by the assassination attempt...
But how had they known where he was going to be, if not through Wolfe? Could be that someone watching for “the vigilante” had spotted him driving through the area, and made a call. The tail had responded to the call, and started following him. That faint tingling in the back of his neck had warned Pearce; the van seen once too many times in the rearview mirror...
level 8
myfather103
楼主
Before he’d parked and walked over to where he was to meet Wolfe, Pearce looked around for that van, and hadn’t seen it. He’d decided it was safe, but just to be sure he put his phone on camera scramble, once he got onto the block where the meeting was to be. He didn’t want ctOS to know exactly where he was.
He had known he was taking a chance—an unusual chance, going out there. But though the message’s sender hadn’t identified himself, Pearce had suspected that the code phrase had come
from Mick Wolfe. He’d heard the kid was back in town—not such a kid, an ex-soldier in his mid-twenties now. And Wolfe was probably almost the last person alive who knew that code phrase.
Pearce felt he owed something to Mick Wolfe. Because the bomb blast that had taken Mick Wolfe’s father out of the picture was just another crime that had been, indirectly, Aiden Pearce’s fault.Back in the day, when Pearce was a teen in the South Yards gang, Colin Wolfe had warned Pearce that he was going to the police to give evidence. Colin had been his friend—and he’d given Pearce a chance to cover his tracks, move to another territory.
But a fellow gang thumper had warned the bosses that Colin was going to rat on one of their operations. Same guy who got the job of taking care of the “rat”.
And—boom. The whole top of Colin Wolfe’s house had been blown away, dissolving into a ball of fire and raining debris.
After that, Pearce had done what he could to befriend the kid. He’d come around, from time to time, talking to Mick for the sake of his father, trying to get him to agree to stay out of the gangs. He couldn’t be seen with the boy in public a lot but he’d taken him with him on a rented cabin cruiser, out on Lake Michigan, more than once—until Mick had moved to another ward, when his Ma remarried. Pearce had lost touch...
Maybe the kid knew that Aiden Pearce had inadvertently caused his father’s death. Not really Pearce’s fault, when you thought about it—but still: Maybe Mick Wolfe wanted to punish Pearce for it.
After what happened today, I shouldn’t trust Mick Wolfe...
But Pearce’s instincts told him that Mick Wolfe wasn’t his enemy. And the kid had managed to find him, when no one else had. Which meant that Wolfe was pretty damned effective.
If there was confirmation that Wolfe hadn’t set him up, then maybe Wolfe could do some work for Aiden Pearce.
Pearce was going to have to keep his grazed head down, keep it all on the extra down low awhile, until he found out who’d tried to assassinate him.
It occurred to him that it might not have been a case of someone just spotting Aiden Pearce and dropping a dime. It might’ve been one of his own people—someone he worked with, around town. There was a handful of people he trusted...
Had one of them found out where he was going that day?
If so—they’d gotten paid for turning over that information.
And it was up to Pearce to find out who was getting paid—and who was paying that bill...
Because now he had a payment to make of his own.
Or to be precise, payback—for someone creasing his skull with a bullet.
And in Chicago, payback is a bitch.
“Tranter. Come in.”
2015年03月07日 05点03分
18
He had known he was taking a chance—an unusual chance, going out there. But though the message’s sender hadn’t identified himself, Pearce had suspected that the code phrase had come
from Mick Wolfe. He’d heard the kid was back in town—not such a kid, an ex-soldier in his mid-twenties now. And Wolfe was probably almost the last person alive who knew that code phrase.
Pearce felt he owed something to Mick Wolfe. Because the bomb blast that had taken Mick Wolfe’s father out of the picture was just another crime that had been, indirectly, Aiden Pearce’s fault.Back in the day, when Pearce was a teen in the South Yards gang, Colin Wolfe had warned Pearce that he was going to the police to give evidence. Colin had been his friend—and he’d given Pearce a chance to cover his tracks, move to another territory.
But a fellow gang thumper had warned the bosses that Colin was going to rat on one of their operations. Same guy who got the job of taking care of the “rat”.
And—boom. The whole top of Colin Wolfe’s house had been blown away, dissolving into a ball of fire and raining debris.
After that, Pearce had done what he could to befriend the kid. He’d come around, from time to time, talking to Mick for the sake of his father, trying to get him to agree to stay out of the gangs. He couldn’t be seen with the boy in public a lot but he’d taken him with him on a rented cabin cruiser, out on Lake Michigan, more than once—until Mick had moved to another ward, when his Ma remarried. Pearce had lost touch...
Maybe the kid knew that Aiden Pearce had inadvertently caused his father’s death. Not really Pearce’s fault, when you thought about it—but still: Maybe Mick Wolfe wanted to punish Pearce for it.
After what happened today, I shouldn’t trust Mick Wolfe...
But Pearce’s instincts told him that Mick Wolfe wasn’t his enemy. And the kid had managed to find him, when no one else had. Which meant that Wolfe was pretty damned effective.
If there was confirmation that Wolfe hadn’t set him up, then maybe Wolfe could do some work for Aiden Pearce.
Pearce was going to have to keep his grazed head down, keep it all on the extra down low awhile, until he found out who’d tried to assassinate him.
It occurred to him that it might not have been a case of someone just spotting Aiden Pearce and dropping a dime. It might’ve been one of his own people—someone he worked with, around town. There was a handful of people he trusted...
Had one of them found out where he was going that day?
If so—they’d gotten paid for turning over that information.
And it was up to Pearce to find out who was getting paid—and who was paying that bill...
Because now he had a payment to make of his own.
Or to be precise, payback—for someone creasing his skull with a bullet.
And in Chicago, payback is a bitch.
“Tranter. Come in.”
level 8
myfather103
楼主
“Mr. Verrick. Okay to talk about just anything in here?”
“Yeah. I just had the office swept.” He’d had the office checked for bugs that morning. Of course, there were guys like Aiden Pearce supposedly able to listen in on your office phone without putting a listening device directly in it...through some form of wireless hacking. But even Pearce would have to be close to get that done. And they were on the thirty-ninth floor.
It was a big, corner office in the new Blume building, with a view on the lake
—anyhow, you could see a piece of Lake Michigan if you leaned over and peered past the John Hancock Center.
Major Roger Verrick, US Army retired, had a nice layout, here, and he reveled in it. He had a big mahogany desk, wall-windows that cornered together nicely, a Picasso lithograph over the leather sofa, a wet bar, and a top grade espresso machine.
Looking at Tranter standing just inside the closed office door, Verrick shifted in the expensive ergonomic chair —he’d hurt his back in an IED attack that’d flipped over the humvee, in Somalia, and it had never perfectly healed, despite the operations.
“You look a bit rattled, Tranter.”
“Yeah. The, uh, arrow missed its target, Mr. Verrick.”
“Did it? Which idiot did you hire?
Never mind, don’t tell me. We had good intel—only a moron could blow it.
Pearce is rarely out on the streets in plain sight these days. How’d our man manage to miss?”
“Someone on the street warned him.” “He missed—so why didn’t he take another shot?”
“He took two, thought his second shot nailed Pearce right in the head.
Only...he seems to have gotten up and walked away. We’re not sure how he got out of there. I guess he could be dead but until it’s confirmed...we got to assume a miss.”
“Who warned Pearce?”
“Some guy he was going to meet. I didn’t know about that. I mean, who it was...”
“Wait. That sounds like you had an encounter with this pain in the ass who warned Pearce.”
“Yes sir.” Tranter looked crestfallen. “We knew Pearce was planning to be in that neighborhood. We didn’t know why. This other guy was on the security camera. We didn’t think he was, you know, important. I didn’t want to just drag him in, make any more noise on the street than we already had. But we found out he was from the same neighborhood —I mean, the Yard. Grew up around Pearce. So...maybe he was more important than we thought...”
“So he was the one meeting with Pearce. And he was the one who warned him. And you were the one who talked to this loudmouth and...let him go.”
Tranter cleared his throat. “Yes sir.
He seemed like a...harmless bozo. Maybe a PTSD case out of the war.”
“Indeed. Hold on—the war? Which war?”
“Uh—I don’t know. I saw his Army
I.D. Guy was Delta Force.”
“Delta Force?” Verrick sat up straight, ignoring the spike of pain in his back. “Tranter. What was this soldier’s name?”
“Uh...Wolfe. Mick Wolfe.” Verrick closed his eyes. “Oh my
God. I knew I should’ve had him killed up Leavenworth.”
“Sir?”
Verrick gave Tranter his coldest stare. “Tranter. You want to keep getting that extra money
2015年03月07日 05点03分
19
“Yeah. I just had the office swept.” He’d had the office checked for bugs that morning. Of course, there were guys like Aiden Pearce supposedly able to listen in on your office phone without putting a listening device directly in it...through some form of wireless hacking. But even Pearce would have to be close to get that done. And they were on the thirty-ninth floor.
It was a big, corner office in the new Blume building, with a view on the lake
—anyhow, you could see a piece of Lake Michigan if you leaned over and peered past the John Hancock Center.
Major Roger Verrick, US Army retired, had a nice layout, here, and he reveled in it. He had a big mahogany desk, wall-windows that cornered together nicely, a Picasso lithograph over the leather sofa, a wet bar, and a top grade espresso machine.
Looking at Tranter standing just inside the closed office door, Verrick shifted in the expensive ergonomic chair —he’d hurt his back in an IED attack that’d flipped over the humvee, in Somalia, and it had never perfectly healed, despite the operations.
“You look a bit rattled, Tranter.”
“Yeah. The, uh, arrow missed its target, Mr. Verrick.”
“Did it? Which idiot did you hire?
Never mind, don’t tell me. We had good intel—only a moron could blow it.
Pearce is rarely out on the streets in plain sight these days. How’d our man manage to miss?”
“Someone on the street warned him.” “He missed—so why didn’t he take another shot?”
“He took two, thought his second shot nailed Pearce right in the head.
Only...he seems to have gotten up and walked away. We’re not sure how he got out of there. I guess he could be dead but until it’s confirmed...we got to assume a miss.”
“Who warned Pearce?”
“Some guy he was going to meet. I didn’t know about that. I mean, who it was...”
“Wait. That sounds like you had an encounter with this pain in the ass who warned Pearce.”
“Yes sir.” Tranter looked crestfallen. “We knew Pearce was planning to be in that neighborhood. We didn’t know why. This other guy was on the security camera. We didn’t think he was, you know, important. I didn’t want to just drag him in, make any more noise on the street than we already had. But we found out he was from the same neighborhood —I mean, the Yard. Grew up around Pearce. So...maybe he was more important than we thought...”
“So he was the one meeting with Pearce. And he was the one who warned him. And you were the one who talked to this loudmouth and...let him go.”
Tranter cleared his throat. “Yes sir.
He seemed like a...harmless bozo. Maybe a PTSD case out of the war.”
“Indeed. Hold on—the war? Which war?”
“Uh—I don’t know. I saw his Army
I.D. Guy was Delta Force.”
“Delta Force?” Verrick sat up straight, ignoring the spike of pain in his back. “Tranter. What was this soldier’s name?”
“Uh...Wolfe. Mick Wolfe.” Verrick closed his eyes. “Oh my
God. I knew I should’ve had him killed up Leavenworth.”
“Sir?”
Verrick gave Tranter his coldest stare. “Tranter. You want to keep getting that extra money
level 8
myfather103
楼主
every month?”
“Yes sir. I do.”
“And you want to continue living, right?”
Tranter stared coldly back at him. Tranter might be corrupt, but he was tough, and Verrick could tell that Tranter wouldn’t easily stand for that kind of threat.
But Verrick meant it. First of all, he’d made a deal with the Club—it was important that Pearce go down. But then there was Wolfe. Talk about a loose cannon. He had made a big mistake deciding not to have Wolfe killed in prison. He’d been afraid it would awaken suspicion, and people might start looking at Wolfe’s testimony over again. They might start taking Wolfe seriously once he was dead. So Verrick had let him live, confident that destroying the man’s career would destroy the man too.
But here he was again, turning up like a bad penny. Maybe trying to use Pearce to get at his former commanding officer, Major Roger Verrick.
And Verrick wasn’t going to make any more mistakes. He silently vowed to take out anyone who got in his way from now on. There was more at stake here than covering his ass. From his point of view, the destiny of the world was in the balance.
“You better get on it, Tranter,” he said at last. “I have a lot of people backing me. They’ll snuff you out like a twenty-cent birthday candle if you fail. And you will not fail. You will see not only that Aiden Pearce is killed...but Mick Wolfe as well.”
2015年03月07日 05点03分
20
“Yes sir. I do.”
“And you want to continue living, right?”
Tranter stared coldly back at him. Tranter might be corrupt, but he was tough, and Verrick could tell that Tranter wouldn’t easily stand for that kind of threat.
But Verrick meant it. First of all, he’d made a deal with the Club—it was important that Pearce go down. But then there was Wolfe. Talk about a loose cannon. He had made a big mistake deciding not to have Wolfe killed in prison. He’d been afraid it would awaken suspicion, and people might start looking at Wolfe’s testimony over again. They might start taking Wolfe seriously once he was dead. So Verrick had let him live, confident that destroying the man’s career would destroy the man too.
But here he was again, turning up like a bad penny. Maybe trying to use Pearce to get at his former commanding officer, Major Roger Verrick.
And Verrick wasn’t going to make any more mistakes. He silently vowed to take out anyone who got in his way from now on. There was more at stake here than covering his ass. From his point of view, the destiny of the world was in the balance.
“You better get on it, Tranter,” he said at last. “I have a lot of people backing me. They’ll snuff you out like a twenty-cent birthday candle if you fail. And you will not fail. You will see not only that Aiden Pearce is killed...but Mick Wolfe as well.”
level 8
myfather103
楼主
He pulled off O’Malley’s coat and belt, used the belt to tie the busboy’s hands behind him, then shoved an oily rag into his mouth.“Sorry, Kurt,” Wolfe muttered. “I’ll try and remember to let you go when I head out...”
Wolfe took off his own coat, put it in his pack, and put on O’Malley’s white coat. He found an employee’s men’s room, got his shaving stuff out of his pack, shaved and cleaned up as well as he could. He hurried out of the bathroom, and went into the kitchen trying to look busy and purposeful.Everyone was too busy to look him over much; he figured if they noticed him carrying a backpack over one shoulder, they’d figure he was on his way to clock out.
It was the Oxycodone that did it: made Verrick talkative, made him feel something like friendly warmth toward the girl. The back pain got Verrick the Oxy prescription but he tried not to take it too often. Trouble was, “not too often” was getting more and more often.
“Yeah it got ugly in Mali, and uglier in Somalia,” Verrick was saying. He looked up at the red silk canopy over the king-sized bed. The lights were dialed down to half so it was dim but not dark. He smelled of chlorine from the hot tub, which still bubbled over on the other side of the room. He was lying on his side, naked, head propped on one hand. Rose had put on her sheer stuff and was kneeling on the white rug in front of the coffee table, getting high. He could hear the sound of the casino downstairs, coming through the curtained window; croupiers calling numbers, the merged murmur of a crowd. Sometimes there were cocktail parties in this big room for visiting Club bosses. They could open the curtains, and watch the action down on the main floor. If he got up and threw open the curtains he’d be visible from the roulette table and the high stakes poker table and the blackjack table—framed in that window stark naked. That’d throw some gamblers off their game. He chuckled at the thought, and went on, “And one day I just got tired of snipers trying to shoot me in the gullet. I mean, I was risking getting capped for what, for an officer’s pension, and I said Fuck this, I’m gonna change things up. I can quit this and go to work for Blume. Right after that General Van Ness and I got smashed on his Scotch when I was on leave in Algiers, and he tells me about an outfit called Purity. So it all came together.”
“Purity is an organization, Roger?” she asked, as she tapped a powder from a small canister onto the mirrored table.
“That’s...kind of a lodge, you might say.”
“Like the Moose Club?”
He laughed. “Kinda! But real secret. And this one is gonna change the world.”
“How?”
How? That was definitely something he wasn’t going to tell her. He wondered if maybe she’d been leading him into talking about this while he was stoned— maybe she was a federal agent?
No. Couldn’t be.
But he should have her capped anyway just to make sure. Maybe later
tonight. Shame...but he was getting tired of her anyway.
He looked at her, checking her out through the rose and blue lingerie; her delicate fingers industriously chopping the china white she liked to snort. He’d told her he wouldn’t get into that stuff, but here he was, taking Oxycodone, not that much different. He’d swallowed some Oxy and one other drug...
He was about to put the Viagra to good use when he noticed a bus boy pushing a cart in through the door.
2015年03月07日 13点03分
25
Wolfe took off his own coat, put it in his pack, and put on O’Malley’s white coat. He found an employee’s men’s room, got his shaving stuff out of his pack, shaved and cleaned up as well as he could. He hurried out of the bathroom, and went into the kitchen trying to look busy and purposeful.Everyone was too busy to look him over much; he figured if they noticed him carrying a backpack over one shoulder, they’d figure he was on his way to clock out.
It was the Oxycodone that did it: made Verrick talkative, made him feel something like friendly warmth toward the girl. The back pain got Verrick the Oxy prescription but he tried not to take it too often. Trouble was, “not too often” was getting more and more often.
“Yeah it got ugly in Mali, and uglier in Somalia,” Verrick was saying. He looked up at the red silk canopy over the king-sized bed. The lights were dialed down to half so it was dim but not dark. He smelled of chlorine from the hot tub, which still bubbled over on the other side of the room. He was lying on his side, naked, head propped on one hand. Rose had put on her sheer stuff and was kneeling on the white rug in front of the coffee table, getting high. He could hear the sound of the casino downstairs, coming through the curtained window; croupiers calling numbers, the merged murmur of a crowd. Sometimes there were cocktail parties in this big room for visiting Club bosses. They could open the curtains, and watch the action down on the main floor. If he got up and threw open the curtains he’d be visible from the roulette table and the high stakes poker table and the blackjack table—framed in that window stark naked. That’d throw some gamblers off their game. He chuckled at the thought, and went on, “And one day I just got tired of snipers trying to shoot me in the gullet. I mean, I was risking getting capped for what, for an officer’s pension, and I said Fuck this, I’m gonna change things up. I can quit this and go to work for Blume. Right after that General Van Ness and I got smashed on his Scotch when I was on leave in Algiers, and he tells me about an outfit called Purity. So it all came together.”
“Purity is an organization, Roger?” she asked, as she tapped a powder from a small canister onto the mirrored table.
“That’s...kind of a lodge, you might say.”
“Like the Moose Club?”
He laughed. “Kinda! But real secret. And this one is gonna change the world.”
“How?”
How? That was definitely something he wasn’t going to tell her. He wondered if maybe she’d been leading him into talking about this while he was stoned— maybe she was a federal agent?
No. Couldn’t be.
But he should have her capped anyway just to make sure. Maybe later
tonight. Shame...but he was getting tired of her anyway.
He looked at her, checking her out through the rose and blue lingerie; her delicate fingers industriously chopping the china white she liked to snort. He’d told her he wouldn’t get into that stuff, but here he was, taking Oxycodone, not that much different. He’d swallowed some Oxy and one other drug...
He was about to put the Viagra to good use when he noticed a bus boy pushing a cart in through the door.
level 8
myfather103
楼主
“What the fuck!” Rose said blearily, losing the ladylike diction she put on for customers. “What’s he doin’ in here?”
“Door’ supposed to be locked,” Verrick muttered, instinctively pulling a purple satin sheet to cover his nakedness. “How’d the hell you get in? Get outta here...’
“Oh sorry, sir,” said the busboy. He didn’t sound very damn sincere. With the drug and the dimness it was hard to see the guy’s face. Verrick blurrily noted that there was a small backpack on the lower shelf of the cart.
“We don’t need anything bussed out of here,” Rose said.
“Might need Verrick bussed out of here,” the busboy said, closing the door behind him—and pulling a small pistol from the pocket of his white coat.
“Shit,” Verrick said. His own .25 backup pistol was in his pants, which were lying on the floor next to the hot tub. Getting sloppy. That’s what the Oxy does to you, you fool! Shoulda had a bodyguard in the hall.
He didn’t like the bodyguards knowing his private business, though...
“How much are they paying you?” Verrick asked. “You seem like a good man to have around. Tell you what. You could make twice as much working for me.”
“Already worked for you,” the busboy said, reaching over with one hand to dial up the light. He did it without looking away from Verrick; without that gun muzzle wavering. Rose moaned when he did that, and scrambled back from the glass coffee table.
“Wolfe!” Verrick burst out. “That’s right, Major.”
Verrick looked at his trousers across the room. He tried to figure out how he’d get to them—and that pistol. “Hey— you’re going to shoot me, at least let me put my pants on. Rose—hand me my trousers.”
Rose stirred...
“No, uh uh, you make a move, pretty lady, and I’ll put a bullet in you,” Wolfe said.
Rose froze.
“How’d you get in?” Verrick said, stalling. Pretty sure that Wolfe was here to shoot him. Maybe someone would realize Wolfe had gotten in...
“Door lock’s electronic,” Wolfe said genially. “I came equipped for that. Back door, though—that’s an old fashioned lock. So I had to knock some fool out.”
“And you took his place?
Resourceful. That offer to work for me still goes.”
Wolfe’s soft laughter was bitter. “Oh, I’ll do something for you, Verrick. You straighten out my life and I very deliberately won’t put a bullet through each of your knees. And I won’t break your spine just above your tailbone. And, I won’t drop a dime and tell every fucking reporter in the country what a thieving, treasonous scumbag you are.”
So Wolfe wasn’t definitely planning to kill him? That emboldened Verrick. “You already tried smearing me in military court. You sent some letters out from that prison too.”
“They didn’t get anywhere, way I heard it. Somebody intercepted them.”
“That’s right. I should’ve...”
“Should’ve what? Had me killed,Verrick? I expected you would. Maybe you could still do it if I decide to leave you alive today. Only you’d have to find me. And you won’t. You won’t find me. But I can always find you.
You’re a public figure, Major Verrick! You can pile on the bodyguards but it won’t help
2015年03月07日 13点03分
26
“Door’ supposed to be locked,” Verrick muttered, instinctively pulling a purple satin sheet to cover his nakedness. “How’d the hell you get in? Get outta here...’
“Oh sorry, sir,” said the busboy. He didn’t sound very damn sincere. With the drug and the dimness it was hard to see the guy’s face. Verrick blurrily noted that there was a small backpack on the lower shelf of the cart.
“We don’t need anything bussed out of here,” Rose said.
“Might need Verrick bussed out of here,” the busboy said, closing the door behind him—and pulling a small pistol from the pocket of his white coat.
“Shit,” Verrick said. His own .25 backup pistol was in his pants, which were lying on the floor next to the hot tub. Getting sloppy. That’s what the Oxy does to you, you fool! Shoulda had a bodyguard in the hall.
He didn’t like the bodyguards knowing his private business, though...
“How much are they paying you?” Verrick asked. “You seem like a good man to have around. Tell you what. You could make twice as much working for me.”
“Already worked for you,” the busboy said, reaching over with one hand to dial up the light. He did it without looking away from Verrick; without that gun muzzle wavering. Rose moaned when he did that, and scrambled back from the glass coffee table.
“Wolfe!” Verrick burst out. “That’s right, Major.”
Verrick looked at his trousers across the room. He tried to figure out how he’d get to them—and that pistol. “Hey— you’re going to shoot me, at least let me put my pants on. Rose—hand me my trousers.”
Rose stirred...
“No, uh uh, you make a move, pretty lady, and I’ll put a bullet in you,” Wolfe said.
Rose froze.
“How’d you get in?” Verrick said, stalling. Pretty sure that Wolfe was here to shoot him. Maybe someone would realize Wolfe had gotten in...
“Door lock’s electronic,” Wolfe said genially. “I came equipped for that. Back door, though—that’s an old fashioned lock. So I had to knock some fool out.”
“And you took his place?
Resourceful. That offer to work for me still goes.”
Wolfe’s soft laughter was bitter. “Oh, I’ll do something for you, Verrick. You straighten out my life and I very deliberately won’t put a bullet through each of your knees. And I won’t break your spine just above your tailbone. And, I won’t drop a dime and tell every fucking reporter in the country what a thieving, treasonous scumbag you are.”
So Wolfe wasn’t definitely planning to kill him? That emboldened Verrick. “You already tried smearing me in military court. You sent some letters out from that prison too.”
“They didn’t get anywhere, way I heard it. Somebody intercepted them.”
“That’s right. I should’ve...”
“Should’ve what? Had me killed,Verrick? I expected you would. Maybe you could still do it if I decide to leave you alive today. Only you’d have to find me. And you won’t. You won’t find me. But I can always find you.
You’re a public figure, Major Verrick! You can pile on the bodyguards but it won’t help
level 8
myfather103
楼主
was on. Shit.
Wolfe fired the .38 and Verrick felt something tug at his right side. He grabbed Rose and pulled her to her feet between him and Wolfe.
“Roger! Don’t!” she squeaked. “He’s going to shoot me!”
“Shaddup, Rose!”
Luke was in stepping into the room, swinging his .45 toward Wolfe—but Wolfe was hammering down on Luke’s head with the butt of his gun. Luke stumbled back. Verrick fumbled with the
.25 with one hand, the other holding the whimpering Rose in front of him.
Then the lights went out. It was dark in there except for a patch of light at the door and a dusty little ray coming through the bullet hole in the window curtains.
People were shouting down the hall. “We found a guy tied up in a closet and he...”
Verrick felt his drugginess more, with the lights out—he was dizzily aware of someone rushing past him.
It must be Wolfe. Verrick spun Rose around to keep her shielding him—and then the curtains were gone from the window, flooding the room with light.
Verrick shoved Rose away, turned, stumbled to the window—now he really was standing there naked, though nobody was looking at him—and he saw Wolfe had jumped through, carrying the
curtains down to the tables.
There he was, already halfway across the room, that little backpack in one hand, the gun in the other: Wolfe running down the casino’s gaming aisles.
Verrick tried to get a bead on him with the small pistol—he fired. Missed.
Wolfe snapped off a shot at a uniformed security guard—knocked the billed cap off the guard’s head. The security guard dived down and Wolfe ran past him, out the double doors to the front corridor...
Son of a bitch. The guy might get away.
Verrick looked down at his side. Not a bad wound at all.
He turned, grabbed his pants, shouting. “Somebody get out there and stop that bastard!”
Wolfe had to plow his right shoulder into a heavy set black bouncer at the door. The bouncer went Whoof!, the air knocked out of him, and fell out of the way. Carrying the backpack, Wolfe opened the door, rushed out into the night air of the recessed doorway, shutting the door hard behind him.
The shiver-inducing blast of the Hawk almost felt good, now. At least that cold slash of air meant he was still alive. It’d been a close thing in there...
He heard shouting from overhead and remembered the sentries on the roof. How was he going to get past those guys? Soon as he ran out from the doorway they’d shoot him down with those AKs...
Then a vehicle came screaming down the streets, sirens blasting. Cops, already?
Maybe turning himself over to the cops was the best thing—he’d be alive, in their custody. For a while. But for how long, with Tranter and his kind around?
Then he realized it wasn’t a cop car —it was an ambulance. The ambulance veered toward him and up onto the sidewalk, bouncing when it hit the curb. It fishtailed to a stop with a harsh
2015年03月07日 13点03分
28
Wolfe fired the .38 and Verrick felt something tug at his right side. He grabbed Rose and pulled her to her feet between him and Wolfe.
“Roger! Don’t!” she squeaked. “He’s going to shoot me!”
“Shaddup, Rose!”
Luke was in stepping into the room, swinging his .45 toward Wolfe—but Wolfe was hammering down on Luke’s head with the butt of his gun. Luke stumbled back. Verrick fumbled with the
.25 with one hand, the other holding the whimpering Rose in front of him.
Then the lights went out. It was dark in there except for a patch of light at the door and a dusty little ray coming through the bullet hole in the window curtains.
People were shouting down the hall. “We found a guy tied up in a closet and he...”
Verrick felt his drugginess more, with the lights out—he was dizzily aware of someone rushing past him.
It must be Wolfe. Verrick spun Rose around to keep her shielding him—and then the curtains were gone from the window, flooding the room with light.
Verrick shoved Rose away, turned, stumbled to the window—now he really was standing there naked, though nobody was looking at him—and he saw Wolfe had jumped through, carrying the
curtains down to the tables.
There he was, already halfway across the room, that little backpack in one hand, the gun in the other: Wolfe running down the casino’s gaming aisles.
Verrick tried to get a bead on him with the small pistol—he fired. Missed.
Wolfe snapped off a shot at a uniformed security guard—knocked the billed cap off the guard’s head. The security guard dived down and Wolfe ran past him, out the double doors to the front corridor...
Son of a bitch. The guy might get away.
Verrick looked down at his side. Not a bad wound at all.
He turned, grabbed his pants, shouting. “Somebody get out there and stop that bastard!”
Wolfe had to plow his right shoulder into a heavy set black bouncer at the door. The bouncer went Whoof!, the air knocked out of him, and fell out of the way. Carrying the backpack, Wolfe opened the door, rushed out into the night air of the recessed doorway, shutting the door hard behind him.
The shiver-inducing blast of the Hawk almost felt good, now. At least that cold slash of air meant he was still alive. It’d been a close thing in there...
He heard shouting from overhead and remembered the sentries on the roof. How was he going to get past those guys? Soon as he ran out from the doorway they’d shoot him down with those AKs...
Then a vehicle came screaming down the streets, sirens blasting. Cops, already?
Maybe turning himself over to the cops was the best thing—he’d be alive, in their custody. For a while. But for how long, with Tranter and his kind around?
Then he realized it wasn’t a cop car —it was an ambulance. The ambulance veered toward him and up onto the sidewalk, bouncing when it hit the curb. It fishtailed to a stop with a harsh
level 8
myfather103
楼主
squeal and the smell of burning rubber.
The rear doors of the ambulance popped open and that EMT with the dirty fingernails looked out at him. “Get in, fast!”
Wolfe ran to the ambulance, and dived in the back, backpack in one hand and gun in the other. Bullets ricocheted off the street behind him as the sentries opened fire. Then the EMT had him by the collar, pulled him in, and slammed the rear doors shut.
The ambulance roared away down the street, driven by another, much larger guy up front. A rear window of the ambulance webbed with a bullet impact, then the columns supporting the L Train tracks were in the way, and the sentries couldn’t hit the ambulance.
It swerved around a corner, and Wolfe levered himself to a sitting position.
“Damn, that was close,” The EMT gasped, hunched over as he came and sat down on a gurney near Wolfe. “I tell you dude, don’ think Pearce is paying me well enough for this shit.”
“Pearce? How’d he know?” “What you think, he hasn’t been
following you? Them ctOS cameras,
those are his eyes, man! Blume thinks they got that thing insulated against him —naw, no way! The Club still has cameras that watch big shots with the whores in case, it needs to blackmail them. And Pearce can hack the Club’s cameras well as anybody’s...”
“You going to take me to him?” “Hey I don’t even know where he is —moved to a new safe house. No, I’m dropping you off someplace else you can lay low for a while. But you’re going to hear from Pearce. Oh yeah, you can count on that. ‘Cause you owe him, now, man. You owe Aiden Pearce bigtime, Wolfe.”
2015年03月07日 13点03分
29
The rear doors of the ambulance popped open and that EMT with the dirty fingernails looked out at him. “Get in, fast!”
Wolfe ran to the ambulance, and dived in the back, backpack in one hand and gun in the other. Bullets ricocheted off the street behind him as the sentries opened fire. Then the EMT had him by the collar, pulled him in, and slammed the rear doors shut.
The ambulance roared away down the street, driven by another, much larger guy up front. A rear window of the ambulance webbed with a bullet impact, then the columns supporting the L Train tracks were in the way, and the sentries couldn’t hit the ambulance.
It swerved around a corner, and Wolfe levered himself to a sitting position.
“Damn, that was close,” The EMT gasped, hunched over as he came and sat down on a gurney near Wolfe. “I tell you dude, don’ think Pearce is paying me well enough for this shit.”
“Pearce? How’d he know?” “What you think, he hasn’t been
following you? Them ctOS cameras,
those are his eyes, man! Blume thinks they got that thing insulated against him —naw, no way! The Club still has cameras that watch big shots with the whores in case, it needs to blackmail them. And Pearce can hack the Club’s cameras well as anybody’s...”
“You going to take me to him?” “Hey I don’t even know where he is —moved to a new safe house. No, I’m dropping you off someplace else you can lay low for a while. But you’re going to hear from Pearce. Oh yeah, you can count on that. ‘Cause you owe him, now, man. You owe Aiden Pearce bigtime, Wolfe.”