Chapter 27 26

This hard-working New York Police Department officer, perhaps heard a strange sound, perhaps saw someone's door unlocked, so he walked into an alley in the West Side.Fifteen seconds later, another man stepped out of the alley, wearing a tan lightweight sweater, skinny jeans, and a baseball cap. Moorlake ended playing Larry.Patrolman Barker, walking down Broadway with another purpose.If you had seen his face at this moment, you would have noticed the levity on his face as he looked around.You'd guess that this is another lonely man wandering around, bent on visiting West End bars to reinvigorate his lost ego and reproductive capacity in middle age.

He stopped for a moment outside the door of a basement bar and looked in.He found it a good place to hide for a while.He can nest here for a while, and then return to Lincoln after the time is over.Take a look around where Rhyme lives and see how much damage the fire can do. He found one of the corner stools at the bar, sat down close to the kitchen, and ordered a Sprite and a turkey sandwich.He looked around. The bar was dark and smoky, filled with the sound of video games and music from a dusty jukebox.He smelled sweat, perfume, and sanitizer, and heard bouts of alcohol-induced laughter and buzz of rambling conversation.The sight took him back to the past, to his youth, to the city built on the desert.

Las Vegas is a mirror surrounded by ostentatious lights; even if you stare into this mirror for hours, you will always see yourself, your face with pimples, wrinkles, vanity and uncertain future.It's a dusty, harsh place to live, despite the ecstatic An illusion of prosperity, but within a block or two of the neon lights, the splendor fades quickly and cannot spread to the rest of the city: trailer trucks, dilapidated cabins, sandbar strip malls selling engagement rings, suit jackets, A pawn shop for artificial hands and anything that can be exchanged for money. Moreover, endless gray-brown desert covered with sand and dust can be seen everywhere.

This is the world in which Morek was born. His father was a dealer in a black suit, and his mother was a waiter in a casino restaurant (until she got fat, she was transferred to the currency exchange office as a cashier).They are part of an army of Las Vegas waiters who are considered ants by casino managers and vacation guests, and despite having spent their lives with the tide of money, they are all constantly aware that these can smell ink, fragrance, etc. The sweaty banknotes only stay in their hands for a very short time, and they will eventually return to one place like a river. Like many Las Vegas kids, they learned to live independently as their parents worked long hours and irregular shifts.And, like children of unfortunate families everywhere, they tend to gravitate to somewhere and find some solace there.

For him, this place is the Strip. □□□ Now, audience members, I'm going to explain something about misdirection, how we use illusions to distract you, using motion, color, light, surprise, and sound to distract you.Having said that, misdirection is not just a trick of magic, it is, in fact, a facet of life.We are all inevitably drawn to the flash and the show, away from boredom, from the same, from bickering families, from the hot and suffocating hours on the edge of the desert, from the bullies who chase you down because they see you are small and cowardly, Those delinquent boys who beat you with fists as hard as scorpion shells

□□□ The Strip is his sanctuary. Especially the magic shop there.There are quite a few such magic shops in Las Vegas, because it is the capital of the magic world for magic performers from all over the world.The boy discovered that these stores are not just for selling props and goods, but also where magicians who are officially performing on stage or studying are meeting and chatting, and they will chat and share each other's stories and experiences here. It was in one of these stores that the boy got an important piece of information about himself. Yes, he may be small and wimpy, and he runs slowly, but his fingers are dexterous.People who work in these places (the clerks in magic shops are often people who want to be magicians themselves or have retired from the magic world), occasionally show him hand skills such as covering, pinching, throwing, hiding, etc., and he often always Learn it.A clerk raised his eyebrows and said to the thirteen-year-old child: You are a born prestidigitator.

The boy frowned, wondering what the word meant. This is a word created by a French magician in the eighteenth century. The clerk explained that presti, like presto, means fast; digit means fingers. prestidigitation, which means fast fingers, we call it sleight of hand.So maybe he's not just a freak in the family, maybe not just a wretch at school who gets bullied. So, after leaving school at 3:10 every afternoon, he went directly to his favorite shop, wandered there and secretly learned tricks, and practiced repeatedly after returning home.Later, the manager of that store began to hire him, asking him to give demonstrations and short tricks to customers in the magic cave at the back of the store.

Until now, he still clearly remembers the scene when he stepped on the low steps to the stage for the first time.From the day he was able to speak and perform on stage, Houdini Jr. (his first stage name) firmly grasped every opportunity to appear on stage.What a joy it is to dazzle the audience, entertain them, introduce them to tricks and fool them.And, of course, scare them.He especially likes to scare the audience in the audience. However, one day he finally encountered a little resistance from his mother.After she found out that her son was rarely at home, she broke into his room and searched to find out why he kept running out.I found the money, and one evening when he slipped in through the back door, his mother left her half-eaten dinner and got up and rushed into the kitchen to block him.how do you explain

It is from Abakataba. What it is? It's the name of the magic shop, on Tropical Street.I was trying to tell you about You went to the Strip? Mom, I just go to that store, it's the magic store. What are you doing there?drink wine?let me smell your mouth. don't want!He refused the fat woman with the spaghetti sauce on her mouth because her own smell was scary enough. If they catch you at the casino, I'll lose my job.Your dad will also lose his job. I just go to the magic shop and do magic tricks there.The people over there give me a little tip every once in a while. tip?Isn't this too much money?I've never tipped so much before as a waiter.

Because I am great.said the boy. Me too. Acting?What kind of show? magic.He is angry.He had just told her about it last week.You are optimistic.Immediately he performed a card trick in front of his mother. You are indeed very powerful, she nodded and said: But because you lied to me, I must confiscate the money. I'm not lying! You didn't tell me what you were doing, that's like lying. mom!That's my money. If you lied, you must pay the price. It took a little effort for her to slip the money into the pocket of her jeans, which were stretched tight by her belly.She hesitated, then said: Well, if you tell the truth, I'll pay you ten dollars back.

What are you talking about? Tell me, did you see your dad and Tiffany?Ron together? I don't know who is she? You know it, don't pretend you don't.She is a waiter at the Sands Hotel, and she and her husband came to our house for dinner two months ago.remember?She was wearing a yellow top that day. I did you see themDid they drive into the desert together yesterday? I did not see it. She carefully looked at the expression on his face and judged that he was not lying.If you see it someday, be sure to let me know as soon as possible.After speaking, she left him and went back to the living room to continue eating her plate of pasta whose sauce had cooled and solidified. Mom, my money! Shut up and talk about it when you see them. One day, when the boy was doing a little magic show in Abakataba, he suddenly saw a thin man with no smile on his face enter the shop.He walked straight to the magic cave, and all the magicians and shop assistants in the shop fell silent.This person is a very famous illusionist, who has always been famous for his bad temper and good at black horror illusion, and has worked with magic masters such as Blake Stone, Creskin and Randy.To everyone's surprise, this legendary figure will also appear on Tropicana Street in Las Vegas. After the show, the illusionist beckoned the boy over, nodding to a handwritten poster on stage.what do you call yourselfLittle Houdini? Yes. Do you think you deserve the name? I don't know I just like the name. Show your hand again.He nodded towards a velvet table. The boy complied, though he seemed a little nervous under the gaze of the legendary figure. The man nodded, as if to signify approval.A fourteen-year-old boy should be praised by the master, which made all the magicians in the shop speechless in amazement. Do you want to learn some kung fu? The boy nodded, and couldn't help trembling all over. You give me the copper plate. The boy opened his palm and passed the copper plate over.The illusionist looked down, but frowned and said, "Where's the copper plate?" There was nothing in his hands.The boy panicked, but the illusionist laughed.Just now he Xiaolu had stolen the copper plates silently, and these copper plates were already in his own palm.This astonished the boy, for he had no feeling at all.Now I'm going to lift this copper plate up The boy raised his head, but his instinct suddenly told him: Quickly hold your hands!He tried to push the copper plate back.Capture his hand movements and he can make a fool of himself in front of a room full of magicians. However, although the illusionist did not lower his head, he stopped his movements.He whispered: Are you sure you want to do this? The boy blinked and said in surprise: I You think again.He glanced at the boy's palm.Little Houdini looked down at his palm, nervously trying to grab the great illusionist's hand.To his surprise, he found that the man had already put something on his palm, and if Houdini clenched his fist as originally planned, he might have to go to the doctor immediately and get a dozen stitches . let me see your hands.Removing the blades from his palm instantly made them disappear, he said. Little Houdini held up his hand for the man to hold and stroke with two thumbs.He felt as if an electric current was flowing through his hand.You have great hands, he whispered, only the boy could hear.You have it, and I know you're determined, but you don't have a vision, not yet.Saying that, another blade appeared in the illusionist's hand.He cut a piece of paper with the blade, and the paper immediately dripped with blood.He crumpled up the paper and spread it out.The paper was as good as new again, with no knife marks or blood on it.He handed the paper to the boy, who immediately noticed that it had an address on it, written in red ink. come to me.He leaned forward, put his lips almost to Little Woody's ear, and whispered: You still have a lot to learn, and I have a lot to teach you. The boy left the illusionist's address, but never had the courage to find him.Then, at his fifteenth birthday party, his mother did something that changed his life forever. She gave a rambling speech and then threw a whole plate of spaghetti on her husband. The reason is that she has recently obtained some information related to the notorious Mrs. Long. The boy decided he had had enough.The next day, the boy went to visit the illusionist, and he was willing to accept the apprentice.The timing was perfect, as he was due to embark on a national tour in two days and needed an assistant urgently.Therefore, Little Woody closed his secret bank account, ran away from home just like the master Houdini, and officially became a magician from then on.However, there was one big difference between the two of them, Harry.Houdini left home to earn money to support his family, and was soon reunited with his family; Moorlake Jr. never saw his family again. Hi, how are you? A woman's hoarse voice brought him back from his distant memory to this Upper West Side bar.She should be a regular here, he thought.She is fifty years old, and because no matter how hard she tries, she can't bring back ten years of youth, so she has no choice but to choose this dimly lit place as her hunting base.She had already sat down on the high stool beside him, leaned forward, showing her cleavage intentionally or unintentionally. What? Just to ask how you are.I don't think I've seen you here, have I? I've only been in New York for a day or two. Ah, she said drunkenly: I said, help light a fire?The words sent a message that displeased him, as if lighting her cigarettes was a favored privilege. Oh, no problem. He picked up the lighter and lit it, raising his hand.She wraps her bony fingers around his hand, and guides the flame towards her lips, which flickers and trembles violently. thanks.She turned her head upwards and exhaled a long, narrow puff of smoke.But when she turned her head, she saw that Morelake had put the money for the drink on the edge of the plate, and was about to leave the bar. She frowned. I have to go, he smiled at her and said: By the way, you can keep this thing. He handed her a small metal lighter.She took it over and took a look, and was taken aback immediately, her brows frowned even more.This is her own lighter. When her body was close to him just now, he took the lighter from her purse. Moorlake said grimly: I thought you didn't need this at all. He left her alone on the bar, ignoring the tears of her humiliation mixed with mascara flowing down her cheeks.He thought of all the brutal illusions he had performed or planned to perform. Blood, dismemberment, fire, but this time, it might be the one that gave him the most satisfaction. When she was two blocks away from Rhyme's house, she heard the screeching siren of a police car. When hearing the electronic horns of these emergency vehicles, Emilia.Sachs couldn't help thinking that the sound came directly from Rhyme's house. Of course not, she told herself. Nothing so coincidental. However, the cars with the red and blue lights shooting out from the tops did all converge on Central Park West, where Rhyme's house was located. Take it easy, ma'am, she said to herself again, it's just your fantasy, disturbed by the banner of the grotesque clown in the circus of fantasy in the park, committed by masked performers and sorcerers The impact of serial killings.It was the combination of these things that made her paranoid and suspicious. gloomy Don't think too much about it. She kept changing hands with the big shopping bag full of garlic-flavored Cuban food, and she and Carla continued to walk down the busy sidewalk. The two women talked about their parents, their careers, and the fantasy circus.Of course, we also talked about men. bang bang Young Carla walked around drinking double-strength Cuban coffee, which she said fell in love with as soon as she took a sip, half the price but twice the strength of Starbucks.I'm not very good at math, but I feel like this is four times better.Kara said: I said, I really like this kind of discovery, this kind of little surprise should appear in life from time to time, what do you think?But Sachs was in no mood to listen to what she had to say.Another ambulance sped past.She prayed silently in her heart: Let this ambulance drive past Rhyme's house. But this car doesn't.The ambulance stopped with a screech on the corner of Rhyme's house. no she murmured. What's wrong?Carla wondered.Is something wrong? Sachs' heart skipped a beat.She dropped the food bag and ran towards the building. oh lincoln Carla followed, and the hot coffee splashed and wet her hands, so she simply threw the cup of coffee away.She struggled to catch up with Sachs.What happened? Turning the corner, Sachs saw six fire trucks and an ambulance. Just now she had guessed that Lyme might have another abnormal autonomic reflex, but the situation in front of her seemed to be a fire alarm.She looked up to the second floor and opened her mouth wide in surprise.Thick smoke was billowing from Rhyme's bedroom. God, no! Sachs ducked through the police cordon and ran toward the group of firefighters at the door.She hopped up the steps in front of the building, feeling no pain from her arthritis in her knees.She rushed through the gate, nearly falling on the marble floor.The entrance and living room of Rhyme's residence appeared to be safe, but white smoke filled the stairwell. Two firefighters came down from upstairs, and judging from the expressions on their faces, they seemed to have given up on something. Lincoln!She screamed loudly. Then rush to the stairs. No, Emilia!Ron.Sellitto's gruff voice came from the corridor.She turned away, flustered, thinking he was trying to prevent her from going upstairs to see Rhyme's charred body.If the sorcerer killed Rhyme, then he was dead.No one or anything in the world can stop her. Ron! He gestured her to get off the stairs, and put his arms around her.He's not up there, Emilia. he already No, no, it's all right, he's fine.Thomas took him downstairs to the back guest room.He's on this floor. Thank goodness.Carla said.She looked around and was surprised to see several more firefighters coming down the stairs.These men were male and female, and all of them were of great size, especially when they were in uniform and equipment. Thomas came grimly from the back room.He's fine, Emilia.No burns, just some smoke inhalation.His blood pressure is on the high side, but he has taken his medicine and he will be fine. What's wrong here?she asked Sellitto. The sorcerer, Sellitto muttered, unable to hold back a sigh.He killed Larry.Buck, take away his uniform, so there is a way to get in here.He slipped into Rhyme's room and set a fire by his bed, and we didn't even know it downstairs.It was someone on the street who saw the smoke wafting out and called 911 to report the crime.The operator at the switchboard notified me right away, and Thomas and Mel, I, and I rushed upstairs and saved Rhyme before the fire trucks arrived. She asked Sellitto again: I guess he still didn't catch him this time, did he? There was a wry smile.What about you?He just disappeared, without a trace. After the accident that left him paralyzed, it took a while for Rhyme to get over the grief that he could no longer walk on his legs.He gave up this impossible goal, and directed what was left of his will and strength to something more possible. Breathe under your own power. For a paralyzed person like Lyme who has injured a fourth cervical vertebra, they are on the verge of needing a ventilator for life, depending on damage to the nerves that lead from the brain to the diaphragm.In Rhyme's case, at first his lungs really couldn't work on their own, so he relied on a respirator with a tube inserted directly into his chest.Rhyme hated the machine terribly, hated its mechanical pumping, hated the strange feeling of not needing to breathe, even though he knew he couldn't feel it.The machine also has a nasty habit of breaking down occasionally. However, his lungs resumed functioning on their own later, allowing him to be released from the artificial respirator.Doctors said his improvement was the result of the body's natural stabilization after trauma.But Rhyme knew very well in his heart that the real answer was achieved by his own strength, by his own willpower.Getting air into his lungs (yes, it was a small amount at first, but at least it was his own breath) was the greatest thing he had ever done in his life.Therefore, he worked harder to exercise, hoping to increase the sensation of his body and even allow his limbs to move again; however, the subsequent progress was not enough for him to feel the pain when the doctor first removed the respirator on Chi's body. that sense of joy. Tonight, as he lay in the small guest room, he thought of the smoke rising from the burning cloth, paper and plastic and filling his bedroom.In the panic, he didn't think much about the feeling of being burned to death, but only thought that the terrible smoke would stab into his lungs like an iron fork, depriving him of the only fruit of victory in the fight against the disease.It was as if the sorcerer had already noticed his personal weakest point. When Thomas, Sellitto and Cobb rushed into the bedroom, his first thought was not on the fire extinguisher brought by the two policemen, but on the green oxygen tank in Thomas' hand.He only thought in his heart: save my lungs first! Thomas put the oxygen mask over his face before the fire was extinguished, and he immediately took a deep breath of the sweet gas.After they escorted him downstairs, he was carefully examined by the emergency medical team and by Rhyme's personal doctor, who cleaned and bandaged his minor burns and scoured his body for razor cuts. (Turns out they found nothing, nor did Rhyme have any blades in his pajamas).The chiropractor said Lyme's lungs were not damaged, but Thomas should have swooped in for him more often than usual to keep them clean. It wasn't until then that Rhyme gradually regained his composure, but he still felt a little anxious.What the killer did was more cruel than physically hurting him.The attack reminded Rhyme how precious his life was, but also made him feel how uncertain his future was. He hated the feeling, the horrible feeling of being helpless and involuntary. Lincoln!Sachs ran into the room, sat down on the old Clinton hospital bed, threw himself on his chest, and hugged him tightly.He lowered his head, resting his face on her hair.Sachs began to cry.In Rhyme's impression, since they met now, he probably only saw her shed tears twice. Don't call me by my name, he said softly: remember?This will bring bad luck, and our luck today is already enough. Are you OK? I'm fine.He spoke in a low voice, and felt an irrational fear in his heart, deeply afraid that as long as he spoke loudly, the remaining smoke molecules would pierce through and collapse his alveoli. What about the two birds?He asked, hoping that nothing would happen to the two peregrine falcons on the windowsill.He didn't mind if they moved to another house to nest, but if they were injured or died as a result of the fire, he would be devastated to death. Thomas said they were all good and now flew to another ledge. She held him tight for a while, until Thomas appeared at the door.It's time to turn over for you. Sachs gave him another hug before standing back and letting Thomas go over to the bed and do some body work for Rhyme. You go search the scene, Rhyme said to her: He definitely left something behind.At that time he put a handkerchief around my neck and took out some razor blades. Sachs said she would do it, and left the room, leaving Thomas alone, doing some expert lung-cleaning exercises for him. Twenty minutes later, Sachs came back.She took off the Tyvek suit, folded it carefully, and put it back in the forensics box at the crime scene.Not much was found, she reported back, only the handkerchief and a few footprints, he was wearing another new pair of ECCO shoes.Other than that, even if he left the other things, they would all have been vaporized.Oh, by the way, I also found an empty whiskey bottle, but I guess it's yours. That's right, it's mine.Rhyme murmured.Usually he would make a joke at this time, saying that using an eighteen-year-old single malt whiskey as a fuse is really the harshest punishment.But at this time of day, he has no sense of humor. He knew that there would not be many evidence left at the scene.The clues found at the general fire scene can only explain the location and cause of the fire, and they already know these two points.Still, Rhyme felt there must be something else at the scene. What about duct tape?Thomas tore it up and threw it away. I couldn't find it, so it must have been burned. You should look behind the head of the bed, the sorcerer was standing there, he might I have read it. Well, just watch it again.You missed something, you must have missed it. I don't.She just said it simply. What? Forget the crime scene.All I can say is it's all burnt. We must move this case forward. Now it's time to move on, Rhyme, and I'm going to interrogate witnesses. Are there any witnesses?He muttered: "No one told me there were witnesses. She went to the door and called Ron to the living room.Sellitto came over to join them.He walked slowly into the room, sniffing his jacket first, then wrinkled his nose.This jacket costs two hundred and forty yuan. Damn it, it's reimbursed now.What's the matter with you?policeman? I want to interrogate witnesses, officer, do you have a tape recorder? certainly.He took out the tape recorder and handed it to her.Where are the witnesses? Rhyme said: Never mind the witnesses, Sachs, you know they are unbelievable.Just concentrate on researching the evidence. No, it's going to get some good leads this time, I promise. Rhyme glanced at the door.Uh, who the hell is the witness? It's you.Sachs said, pulling a chair closer to the bed and sitting down.