璇玑之心刃·冷血悍将-第174章

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ife　from　the　normality　of　his　hangout　bar　to　its　end　only　forty　feet　away　in　front　of　a　windowless　brick　wall；　and　he　had　to　have　an　answer。　Somehow　it　was　more　important　than　the　escape；　whose　attempt　he　knew　to　be　futile。
Kelly　thought　about　that　for　a　second　or　two。　He　could　have　said　many　things；　but　it　was　only　fair；　he　decided；　to　tell　the　man　the　truth　as　the　gun　came　up　quickly　and　finally。
‘Practice。‘
C14
　　　　CHAPTER　14
Lessons　Learned
The　early　flight　back　from　New　Orleans　to　Washington　National　was　too　short　for　a　movie；　and　Kelly　had　already　eaten　breakfast。　He　settled　on　a　glass　of　juice　at　his　window　seat　and　was　thankful　that　the　flight　was　only　about　a　third　full　as；　after　every　bat　action　of　his　life；　he　went　over　every　detail。　It　was　a　habit　that　had　begun　in　the　SEALs。　Following　every　training　exercise　there　had　been　an　event　called　various　things　by　his　various　manders。　‘Performance　Critique‘　seemed　most　appropriate　at　the　moment。
His　first　mistake　had　been　the　product　of　something　desired　and　something　forgotten。　In　wanting　to　see　Lamarck　die　in　the　darkness；　he‘d　stood　too　close；　simultaneously　forgetting　that　head　wounds　often　bleed　explosively。　He‘d　jumped　out　of　the　way　of　the　spouting　blood　like　a　child　avoiding　a　wasp　in　his　backyard；　but　had　still　not　escaped　it　entirely。　The　good　news　was　that　he‘d　made　only　that　one　mistake；　and　his　selection　of　dark　clothing　had　mitigated　the　danger　there。　Lamarck‘s　wounds　had　been　immediately　and　definitively　fatal。　The　pimp　had　fallen　to　the　ground　as　limp　as　a　rag　doll。　The　two　screws　that　Kelly　had　drilled　in　the　top　of　his　pistol　held　a　small　cloth　bag　he‘d　sewn　himself；　and　the　bag　had　caught　the　two　ejected　cartridge　cases；　leaving　the　police　who‘d　investigate　the　scene　without　that　valuable　bit　of　evidence。　His　stalk　had　been　effectively　carried　out；　just　one　more　anonymous　face　in　a　large　and　anonymous　bar。
His　hastily　selected　site　for　the　elimination　had　also　worked　well　enough。　He　remembered　walking　down　the　alley　and　blending　back　into　the　sidewalk　traffic；　walking　the　distance　to　his　car　and　driving　back　to　the　motel。　There；　he‘d　changed　clothes；　bundling　the　blood…splattered　slacks；　shirt；　and；　just　to　be　sure；　the　underwear　as　well；　into　a　plastic　cleaner　bag；　which　he‘d　walked　across　the　street　and　deposited　in　a　supermarket　Dumpster。　If　the　clothing　was　discovered；　it　might　well　be　taken　as　something　soiled　by　a　sloppy　meatcutter。　He　hadn‘t　met　with　Lamarck　in　the　open。　The　only　lighted　place　to　which　they‘d　spoken　was　the　bar‘s　men‘s　room；　and　there　fortune　…　and　planning　…　had　smiled　on　him。　The　sidewalk　they‘d　walked　on　was　too　dark　and　too　anonymous。　Perhaps　a　casual　observer　who　might　have　known　Lamarck　could　give　an　investigator　a　rough　idea　of　Kelly‘s　size；　but　little　else；　and　that　was　a　reasonable　gamble　to　have　taken；　Kelly　judged；　looking　down　at　the　wooded　hills　of　northern　Alabama。　It　had　been　an　apparent　robbery；　the　pimp‘s　one　thousand；　four　hundred　seventy　dollars　of　flash　money　tucked　away　in　his　bag。　Cash　was　cash；　after　all；　and　not　to　have　taken　it　would　have　shown　the　police　that　there　had　been　a　real　motive　in　the　elimination　aside　from　something　easily　understandable　and　agreeably　random。　The　physical　side　of　the　event　…　he　could　not　think　of　it　as　a　crime　…　was；　he　thought；　as　clean　as　he　could　have　done　it。
Psychological？　Kelly　asked　himself。　More　than　anything　else　Kelly　had　tested　his　nerve；　the　elimination　of　Pierre　Lamarck　having　been　a　kind　of　field　experiment；　and　in　that　he‘d　surprised　himself。　It　had　been　some　years　since　Kelly　had　entered　bat；　and　he‘d　halfway　expected　a　case　of　the　shakes　after　the　event。　Such　things　had　happened　to　him　more　than　once　before；　but　though　his　stride　away　from　Lamarck‘s　body　had　been　slightly　uneasy；　he‘d　handled　the　escape　with　the　sort　of　tense　aplomb　that　had　marked　many　of　his　operations　in　Vietnam。　So　much　had　e　back　to　him。　He　could　catalog　the　familiar　sensations　that　had　returned　as　though　he‘d　been　watching　a　training　film　of　his　own　production：　the　increased　sensory　awareness；　as　though　his　skin　had　been　sandblasted；　exposing　every　nerve；　hearing；　sight；　smell　all　amplified。　I　was　so　fucking　alive　at　that　moment；　he　thought。　It　was　vaguely　sad　that　such　a　thing　had　happened　due　to　the　ending　of　a　human　life；　but　Lamarck　had　long　since　forfeited　his　right　to　life。　In　any　just　universe；　a　person　…　Kelly　simply　could　not　think　of　him　as　a　man　…　who　exploited　helpless　girls　simply　did　not　deserve　the　privilege　of　breathing　the　same　air　used　by　other　human　beings。　Perhaps　he‘d　taken　the　wrong　turn；　been　unloved　by　his　mother　or　beaten　by　his　father。　Perhaps　he‘d　been　socially　deprived；　raised　in　poverty；　or　exposed　to　inadequate　schooling。　But　those　were　matters　for　psychiatrists　or　social　workers。　Lamarck　had　acted　normally　enough　to　function　as　a　person　in　his　munity；　and　the　only　question　that　mattered　to　Kelly　was　whether　or　not　he　had　lived　his　life　in　accordance　with　his　own　free　will。　That　had　clearly　been　the　case；　and　those　who　took　improper　actions；　he　had　long　since　decided；　ought　to　have　considered　the　possible　consequences　of　those　actions。　Every　girl　they　exploited　might　have　had　a　father　or　mother　or　sister　or　brother　or　lover　to　be　outraged　at　her　victimization。　In　knowing　that　and　in　taking　the　risk；　Lamarck　had　knowingly　gambled　his　life　to　some　greater　or　lesser　degree。　And　gambling　means　that　sometimes　you　lose；　Kelly　told　himself。　If　he　hadn‘t　weighed　the　hazards　accurately　enough；　that　was　not　Kelly‘s　problem；　was　it？
No；　he　told　the　ground；　thirty…seven　thousand　feet　below。
And　what　did　Kelly　feel　about　it？　He　pondered　that　question　for　a　while；　leaning　back　and　closing　his　eyes　as　though　napping。　A　quiet　voice；　perhaps　conscience；　told　him　that　he　ought　to　feel　something；　and　he　searched　for　a　genuine　emotion。　After　several　minutes　of　consideration；　he　could　find　none。　There　was　no　loss；　no　grief；　no　remorse。　Lamarck　had　meant　nothing　to　him　and　probably　would　be　no　loss　to　anyone　else。　Perhaps　his　girls　…　Kelly　had　counted　five　of　them　in　the　bar　…　would　be　without　a　pimp；　but　then　maybe　one　of　them　would　seize　the　opportunity　to　correct　her　life。　Unlikely；　perhaps；　but　possible。　It　was　realism　that　told　Kelly　he　couldn‘t　fix　all　the　problems　of　the　world；　it　was　idealism　that　told　him　his　inability　to　do　so　did　not　preclude　him　from　addressing　individual　imperfections。　But　all　that　took　him　away　from　the　initial　question：　What　did　he　feel　about　the　elimination　of　Pierre　Lamarck？　The　only　answer　he　could　find　was；　Nothing。　The　professional　elation　of　having　done　something　difficult　was　different　from　satisfaction；　from　the　nature　of　the　task。　In　ending　the　life　of　Pierre　Lamarck　he　had　removed　something　harmful　from　the　surface　of　the　pla。　It　had　enriched　him　not　at　all　…　taking　the　money　had　been　a　tactic；　a　camouflage　measure；　certainly　not　an　objective。　It　had　not　avenged　Pam‘s　life。　It　had　not　changed　very　much。　It　had　been　like　stepping　on　an　offensive　insect　…　you　did　it　and　moved　on。　He　would　not　try　to　tell　himself　different；　but　neither　would　his　conscience　trouble　him；　and　that　was　sufficient　to　the　moment。　His　little　experiment　had　been　a　success。　After　all　the　mental　and　physical　preparation；　he　had　proven　himself　worthy　of　the　task　before　him。　Kelly‘s　mind　focused　behind　closed　eyes　on　the　mission　before　him。　Having　killed　many　men　better　than　Pierre　Lamarck；　he　could　now　think　with　confidence　about　killing　men　worse　than　the　New　Orleans　pimp。
This　time　they　visited　him；　Greer　saw　with　satisfaction。　On　the　whole；　ClA‘s　hospitality　was　better。　James　Greer　had　arranged　parking　in　the　VIP　Visitors‘　area　…　the　equivalent　at　the　Pentagon　was　always　haphazard　and　difficult　to　use　…　and　a　secure　conference　room。　Cas　Podulski　thoughtfully　selected　a　seat　at　the　far　end；　close　to　the　air…conditioning　vent；　where　his　smoking　wouldn‘t　bother　anyone。
‘Dutch；　you　were　right　about　this　kid；‘　Greer　said；　handing　out　typed　copies　of　the　handwritten　notes　which　had　arrived　two　days　earlier。
‘Somebody　ought　to　have　put　a　gun　to　his　head　and　walked　him　into　OCS。　He　would　have　been　the　kind　of　junior　officer　we　used