按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
Zach held his hands up in front of his face and stared at the palms。 The lines in them were dark pink； healthy…looking enough though slightly damp with sweat。 He had always heard that if you were really sick； the lines in your palms turned gray。
But he felt fine。 Was the place trying to scare him with its rotting mirror images and its wank…house zombies？ Or was it trying to warn him of something？
If he ever got out of here； Zach decided； he was going straight to the nearest health clinic and getting a blood test。 He didn't want one； but he thought maybe it was time to start considering things other than what he wanted。
Soon he was far from the theater。 The deserted streets felt half…familiar。 This place wasn't New Orleans； but Zach thought New Orleans had been used to flavor it like a spice。 He could see it in the gas lamps on the corners； the high curbs； even a cast…iron balcony or a gate leading into a shadowy courtyard here and there。 The night air was cool on his face； though it smelled nothing like the alcoholic haze of the French Quarter。 The odor here was more like Toxic Alley； the poisonous stretch of the Mississippi River between New Orleans and Baton Rouge； a faint ghost of chemicals and burning oil。
He saw a fountain bubbling fitfully in a tiny concrete park and stopped to rest。 The fountain struck him as odd； and after a moment Zach realized why： there were no coins on the bottom； not even pennies。 He had never seen a public fountain without pennies on the bottom。 Instead there seemed to be a few small faceted jewels； so translucent in the clear water that Zach could hardly be sure they were there at all。
Well； you're in a hallucination now； he thought。 And it isn't even your own。 Better get used to seeing some weird shit。
He stared at his feet and suddenly registered that they were clad in shoes he'd never seen before； two…toned wingtip loafers polished within an inch of their lives。 For the first time he thought to check out the rest of his outfit。
Some kind of suit； he'd thought in the theater。 But what a suit！ It was woven from nubbly…textured cloth of the palest shell pink； cut loose and baggy； with vast lapels。 Underneath he had on a cream…colored shirt and an extravagant red silk tie with a tiny paisley figure。 Zach felt something on his head； reached up to investigate。 A beret。 Wouldn't you just know it。 Even the lenses of his glasses seemed to have taken on a smoky hipster tint。
Birdland might try to fuck with you at every turn； Zach thought； but at least you got to dress cool。
He heard a ripple of music nearby。 The clear voice of a saxophone； leisurely rising； then descending。 The sound was getting closer。 By this time Zach would not have been surprised to see Charlie Parker （or his zombie） e swaying round the corner； eyes shut tight and forehead wrinkled； blowing the horn as he walked。 Bird used to e onstage like that； Trevor had told him； after the rest of the band had already been playing for an hour or so。 He would start somewhere way off in the bowels of the club； and the other musicians would gradually fall in with him as they heard his approach； until by the time he walked onstage Bird was leading the band。
But what rounded the corner instead was； in the most literal sense of the term； a solo instrument。 Walking on four multi…jointed； chitinous…looking legs； depressing its own keys with two equally insectile three…fingered hands； brass gleaming through a web of scuffs and scratches； came an unacpanied alto saxophone。
〃Oh now；〃 Zach muttered； 〃this is just silly。〃
The music stopped； and a low fluting voice spoke out of the instrument's bell。 〃Hey； cat…you in a cartoon； dig？ Cartoons is s'posed to be silly。 Here； have a stick of tea and you be gettin' silly too。〃
Zach could see no speaking apparatus anywhere on the thing； nothing that vaguely resembled lips or vocal cords； yet the voice did not sound synthesized。 The alto reached one of those spiny claws deep into the curve of its bell and pulled out a fat twisted cigarette。 This it tossed to Zach； who caught it eagerly。
〃Pick up on that tea；〃 the sax advised him。 〃Don't be lettin' zombies bring you down。 They ain't cool or viperish neither。 Not like us。〃
〃Hey； thanks。〃
〃De nada；〃 said the instrument suavely。 〃Any descendant of Hieronymus is a friend o' mine。〃 It began to noodle off down the street； playing a few bars of 〃Ornithology…〃
〃Wait！〃 Zach stuck the joint in his pocket and hurried after it。 〃Do you know where any of the McGees are？ Trevor？ Bobby？〃
The alto switched to 〃Lullaby of Birdland〃 but did not otherwise reply。 It had a half…block start on Zach； and it always seemed to stay just a little too far ahead of him； dropping to all fours and scuttling like a roach on those barbed legs； still playing itself with its spiky little hands； the gay tune spiraling behind。 Zach's fancy new shoes pinched his feet when he tried to hurry。 He could not catch up。 Eventually the thing disappeared down an alley and lost him altogether。
Now Zach was in a narrow street lined on both sides with dark buildings that seemed to lean forward over the sidewalk； swaying slightly。 Many of the buildings had old…fashioned stoops and stairs leading up to recessed entryways that might have once been elegant； but all were in a state of advanced decay。 He saw fanlights with the stained glass broken out； only a few shards remaining like jagged multicolored teeth in the frames。 Overhead he could barely make out a purple slice of sky。 The place was deserted。 Zach reached into his jacket； knowing somehow that there would be a streamlined silver lighter tucked in a pocket。 There was。
He leaned against a stoop； stuck the joint in his mouth； and lit up。 An acrid； bitter taste filled his mouth； nothing remotely like marijuana。 He burst out coughing。 〃A stick of tea；〃 the alto had said； and Zach assumed it was talking beatnik slang。 Now he remembered a panel from Birdland of cat…headed smugglers at a river dock； unloading bales of Darjeeling and Earl Grey under cover of darkest night。 It really was tea。
Well； fuck it。 Caffeine had started him on this journey； maybe it would preserve him。 Zach took another hit off the stick of tea and found himself getting a delicious dizzy high； as good as that from the sticky green bud Dougal used to sell in the French Market。 He felt a sudden wave of homesickness； wondered if he would ever see New Orleans again。
But if he didn't get his ass moving and find Trevor； he might never even see Missing Mile again。 Zach took a couple more tokes； bent over to snuff the joint on the sidewalk。 And then all at once a premonition hit him； stronger than any he'd ever had before： Get the fuck out of here。 Now。
Zach began to straighten up； heard a door slam and heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs behind him。 He dropped the joint； but before he could turn； a hard shove sent him sprawling across the sidewalk。 He managed to get his hands under him and his chin up fast enough not to break any teeth； but he felt the healing cut on his lip burst open； saw fresh blood spatter the cement。 His palms screamed agony。 He felt sidewalk grit working its way