第一节：梅罗德港口的爆炸
Section 1: The Explosion at Melrod Port
那天晚上，梅罗德的天空像是被谁泼了一桶橙红色的油漆，港口方向的爆炸声震得我家窗户嗡嗡作响。我站在阳台上，手里端着杯已经凉透了的咖啡，盯着远处那团火光，心里嘀咕：这破城市，又出什么幺蛾子了？从自己的职业角度来讲，爆炸不算稀奇，梅罗德这地方，港口那边每几年总有那么几次"意外"，要么是哪个倒霉蛋的货轮没看好火药，要么是帮派火拼殃及池鱼。可这次不一样，空气里弥漫着一股烧焦橡胶和金属的味道，连海风都吹不散。我眯着眼，从窗外看去，隐约能看见消防车的红灯在远处闪烁，像一群慌了神的萤火虫。
That night, the sky over Melrod looked as if someone had splashed a bucket of orange-red paint across it. The explosion from the direction of the port made the windows of my home vibrate. Standing on the balcony with a cup of coffee that had already gone cold in my hand, I stared at the distant flames, wondering: what mess has this broken city gotten into now? From a professional perspective, explosions weren't unusual. In this place called Melrod, there were always a few "accidents" at the port every few years - either some unfortunate soul's cargo ship had failed to keep an eye on gunpowder, or a gang fight had affected innocent bystanders. But this time was different. A smell of burnt rubber and metal hung in the air, which even the sea breeze couldn't disperse. Squinting my eyes to look out the window, I could vaguely see the red lights of fire trucks flashing in the distance, like a group of panicked fireflies.
我叫卢卡斯·维尔纳，三十六岁，单身，职业是——怎么说呢，勉强算个"记者"，但其实不是，我还有别的身份——警察。这城市对我来说，像个老朋友，脾气臭得要命，但你总能从它的角落里挖出点故事。爆炸发生的六个小时前，我刚从市政厅"挖料"附近回来，那儿一群穿西装的家伙正忙着互相甩锅——城市管理委员会的头儿们最近在为海关法和关税法的修订忙的一团糟糕，个个脸色跟丢了魂似的，政商界的大人物们都纷纷登门拜访市长，企图说服法律委员会给他们的产业一些甜头。尤其是那个委员会的女检察官，四十出头，顶着一头烫得像方便面的卷发，平时脸上无光，最近却神采飞扬，饱受滋润。她站在记者堆里，灿烂地露个笑脸，说什么"法律正在有条不紊地制定，情况可控，请市民保持冷静"。可她那抖得跟筛子似的手，早就把她卖了。
My name is Lucas Werner, thirty-six years old, single, and my profession is—how should I put it—grudgingly something of a "journalist," but not really. I have another identity—a police officer. This city is like an old friend to me, with a terrible temper, but you can always dig up some stories from its corners. Six hours before the explosion, I had just returned from "digging materials" near the City Hall, where a group of guys in suits were busy passing the buck to each other. The heads of the City Management Committee had recently been in a mess over the revision of customs and tariff laws, all looking as if they had lost their souls. Big shots from the political and business circles had been visiting the mayor one after another, trying to persuade the legal committee to give their industries some benefits. Especially that female prosecutor from the committee, in her early forties, sporting a perm that looked like instant noodles. Usually expressionless, she had recently been radiant and well-nourished. Standing among a crowd of reporters, she flashed a bright smile, saying something like "the law is being formulated in an orderly manner, the situation is under control, please remain calm, citizens." But her hands, which were shaking like a sieve, had already given her away.
我点了一根烟，靠在阳台栏杆上，脑子里开始盘算。这爆炸肯定不是意外，梅罗德这地方，水深得能淹死鲸鱼。港口是命脉，货运、走私、黑帮交易，全都绕着它转，现在改革法律不就是在重新制定港口的规则吗？听说前几天有个大单子出了岔子，一船不明货物在海关被扣，第二天负责检查的官员就"失踪"了。现在炸了港口，怕是有人急着毁证据。可惜我还没来得及多想，手机就响了——是个陌生号码。
I lit a cigarette, leaned against the balcony railing, and began to calculate in my mind. This explosion definitely wasn't an accident. In Melrod, the waters were deep enough to drown a whale. The port was a lifeline, with cargo transportation, smuggling, and gang deals all revolving around it. Wasn't reforming the law just redefining the rules of the port? I heard that a few days ago, a big deal had gone wrong, with a ship of unidentified goods detained at customs, and the next day, the official responsible for the inspection had "disappeared." Now that the port had exploded, it seemed someone was in a hurry to destroy evidence. Unfortunately, before I could think much more, my phone rang—it was an unknown number.
"卢卡斯？"电话那头是个男声，低沉得像从地窖里传出来的，"你是记者？"
"Lucas?" The voice on the other end was male, deep as if coming from a cellar. "You're a journalist?"
我皱眉，叼着烟问："你谁啊？卖保险的？"
I frowned, the cigarette between my lips, and asked, "Who are you? Insurance salesman?"
对方没笑，沉默了两秒，说："港口爆炸了，我想……"
The person didn't laugh, was silent for two seconds, and then said, "The port exploded, I think..."
还没说完就挂了。我盯着黑屏的手机，愣了半晌，指不定这是哪个搞恶作剧的无聊鬼。但是他说，港口爆炸了！
Before finishing, he hung up. I stared at the blank screen of my phone, dazed for a while, figuring it might be some bored prankster. But he said the port had exploded!
远处又传来一声闷响，是爆炸，估计是殉爆。我掐了烟，骂了句脏话，转身回屋锁门。梅罗德这城市，像个发了疯的老头子，平时絮絮叨叨，发起脾气来能要你的命。今晚，我估计睡不了觉了。
Another muffled sound came from the distance—another explosion, probably a sympathetic detonation. I stubbed out my cigarette, cursed, and turned back to lock the door. This city of Melrod was like a mad old man, usually rambling, but when angry, it could take your life. Tonight, I probably wouldn't be getting any sleep.