ch.doublewhammy-第15部分

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　〃You　listening？〃　Skink　said。
　〃The　armadillo。〃
　〃Yeah；　your　little　pal　from　the　newspaper。〃
　〃Ott？〃
　〃Officially　he's　only　missing。　Unofficially　he's　dead。　You　better　get　up　here。　It's　time　to　go　to　work。〃
　Decker　sat　down　at　the　kitchen　counter。　〃Start　at　the　beginning；〃　he　said。　Gruffly　Skink　summarized　the　facts　of　the　disappearance；　closing　with　a　neutral　explanation　of　Ott　Pickney's　alter　ego；　Davey　Dillo。
　〃They　say　he　was　very　convincing；〃　Skink　said；　by　way　of　condolence。
　Decker　had　a　hell　of　a　hard　time　imagining　Ott　in　an　armadillo　costume　on　a　skateboard。　He　had　a　harder　time　imagining　Ott　dead。
　〃Maybe　they　just　took　him　somewhere　to　put　a　scare　in　him；〃　he　speculated。
　〃No　way；〃　Skink　said。　〃I'll　see　you　soon。　Oh　yeah…when　you　get　to　Harney；　don't　check　in　at　the　motel。　It's　not　safe。　You'd　better　stay　out　here　with　me。〃
　〃I'd　rather　not；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Aw；　it'll　be　loads　of　fun；〃　Skink　said　with　a　grunt。　〃We　can　roast　weenies　and　marshmallows。〃
　
　Decker　drove　all　night。　He　shot　straight　up　Interstate　95　and　got　off　at　Route　222；　just　west　of　Wabasso。　Another　ninety　minutes　and　he　was　in　Harney　County。　By　the　time　he　got　to　Skink's　place　on　the　lake；　it　was　four…thirty　in　the　morning。　Already　one　or　two　bass　boats　were　out　on　the　water；　Decker　could　hear　the　big　engines　chewing　up　the　darkness。
　At　the　sound　of　Decker's　car　Skink　clumped　onto　the　porch。　He　was　fully　dressed…boots；　sunglasses；　the　orange　weathersuit。　Decker　wondered　if　he　slept　in　uniform。
　〃That's　some　driving；〃　Skink　said。　〃Get　your　gear　and　e　on　inside。〃
　Decker　carried　his　duffel　into　the　shack。　It　was　the　first　time　he　had　ventured　beyond　the　porch；　and　he　wasn't　sure　what　to　expect。　Pelts；　maybe。　Wallpaper　made　from　rabbit　pelts。
　As　he　pushed　past　the　screen　door；　Decker　was　amazed　by　what　he　saw：　books。　Every　wall　had　raw　pine　shelves　to　the　ceiling；　and　every　shelf　was　lined　with　books。　The　east　wall　was　for　classic　fiction：　Poe；　Hemingway；　Dostoyevsky；　Mark　Twain；　Jack　London；　Faulkner；　Fitzgerald；　even　Boris　Pasternak。　The　west　wall　was　for　political　biographies：　Churchill；　Sandburg's　Lincoln；　Hitler；　Huey　Long；　Ei…senhower；　Joseph　McCarthy；　John　F。　Kennedy；　even　Robert　Caro's　Lyndon　Johnson；　though　it　looked　like　a　book…club　edition。　The　south　wall　was　exclusively　for　reference　books：　the　Britannica；　Current　Biography；　the　Florida　Statutes；　even　the　Reader's　Guide　to　Periodic　Literature。　This　was　the　wall　of　the　shack　that　leaned　so　precipitously；　and　now　Decker　knew　why：　it　held　the　heaviest　books。
　The　shelves　of　the　north　wall　were　divided　into　two　sections。　The　top　was　philosophy　and　the　humanities。　The　bottom　half　was　for　children's　books。　The　Hardy　Boys；　Tom　Swift；　Dr。　Seuss。　Charlotte's　Web　and　the　Brothers　Grimm。
　〃What're　you　staring　at？〃　Skink　demanded。
　〃These　are　great　books；〃　Decker　said。
　〃No　shit。〃
　In　the　middle　of　the　floor　there　was　a　bare　mattress　and　army　blanket；　but　no　pillow。　The　Remington　was　propped　in　a　corner。　The　Coleman　lantern　hung　from　a　slat　in　the　ceiling；　it　offered　only　a　fuzzy　white　light　that　would　flare　or　dim　as　the　mantle　burned　down。　Decker　thought　Skink　must　do　his　reading　in　the　daytime；　or　else　he'd　go　blind。
　Another　car　pulled　up　outside　the　shack。　Decker　glanced　at　Skink。　He　looked　as　if　he　were　expecting　somebody。　He　pushed　open　the　screen　door　and　a　cop　walked　in；　a　state　trooper。　Stiff　cowboy…style　hat；　pressed　gray　uniform　（long　sleeves　of　course）。　On　one　shoulder　was　a　patch　shaped　like　a　Florida　orange。　The　cop　was　almost　as　big　as　Skink。　He　was　younger；　though…a　wedge　of　muscle　from　the　waist　up。
　Decker　noticed　that　this　state　trooper　was　different　from　most。
　Most　were　big；　young；　lean；　and　white。　This　trooper　was　black。　Decker　could　not　imagine　a　more　miserable　place　than　Harney　County　to　be　a　black　cop。
　〃This　is　Jim　Tile；〃　Skink　said。　〃Jim；　this　is　the　guy　I　told　you　about。〃
　〃Miami；〃　Tile　said；　and　shook　Decker's　hand。　Skink　dragged　a　rocker　and　a　folding　chair　in　from　the　porch。　Tile　took　off　his　hat　and　sat　down　in　the　rocker；　Decker　took　the　chair　and　Skink　sat　on　the　bare　pine　floor。
　Decker　said；　〃What　happened　to　Ott？〃
　〃He's　dead；〃　Skink　said。
　〃But　what　the　hell　happened？〃
　Skink　sighed　and　motioned　to　Jim　Tile。　〃Yesterday　morning；〃　the　trooper　said；　in　a　voice　so　deep　it　seemed　to　shake　the　lantern；　〃I　was　on　road　patrol　about　dawn。　Out　on　the　Gilchrist　Highway　where　it　crosses　Morgan　Slough。〃
　〃Some　of　the　guys　fish　the　slough　when　the　water's　up；〃　Skink　cut　in。　〃You　need　a　johnboat；　and　no　outboard。　Ten　minutes　from　the　highway　and　you're　into　heavy　bass　cover。〃
　Jim　Tile　said；　〃So　I　see　a　pair　of　headlights　back　in　the　scrub。　I　can　tell　it's　a　truck。　I　pull　off　and　park。　Ten　minutes　go　by　and　the　truck　hasn't　moved；　though　the　lights　are　still　on。　If　it's　two　kids　screwing　they　wouldn't　be　leaving　the　headlights　on；　so　I　go　to　check　it　out。〃
　〃You're　alone？〃　Decker　asked。
　Tile　laughed。　〃Nearest　backup　is　in　frigging　Orlando。　Yeah；　I'm　alone；　you　could　say　that。　So　I　take　my　pumpgun　and　my　Kevlar　light　and　start　slipping　toward　the　truck　through　the　scrub；　moving　close　as　I　can　to　the　big　cypresses　so　whoever's　back　there　won't　see　me。　All　of　a　sudden　I　hear　a　door　slam　and　the　truck　es　tearing　out　of　the　bush。　I　go　down　in　a　crouch　and　jack　a　round　into　the　shotgun；　but　they　never　slow　down；　just　hit　the　highway　and　take　off。〃
　〃Three　guys；〃　Skink　said。
　〃In　a　dark　green　pickup；〃　Tile　said。　〃I'm　pretty　sure　it　was　a　Ford；　but　it　wasn't　local。　I　didn't　catch　the　tag。〃
　〃Did　the　men　see　you？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃The　one　on　the　passenger　side；　no　doubt　about　it。〃
　〃Did　you　recognize　him？〃
　〃Let　him　finish；　Miami；〃　Skink　said。
　〃So　I　go　down　to　where　the　truck　was　parked；〃　Tile　said；　〃right　on　the　edge　of　the　slough。　I　mean；　from　the　tire　tracks　you　could　see　they'd　backed　right　up　to　the　water。　I　figure　they're　poaching　gators　or　maybe　jacklighting　a　deer　that　came　down　to　drink。　Makes　sense；　except　the　ground　is　pletely　dry　and　clean。　No　blood；　no　skin；　no　shells；　no　nothing。〃
　〃Except　this；〃　Skink　said。　He　reached　into　his　rainsuit　and　took　out　a　notebook。　He　handed　it　to　R。　J。　Decker。　It　was　a　news　reporter's　notebook；　the　standard　pocket…size　spiral。　On　the　front；　written　in　blue　ink；　were　the　words：　〃PICKNEY/CLINCH　OBIT。〃　Decker　could　tell　from　the　thinness　of　the　notebook　that　some　of　the　pages　had　been　torn　out。　Those　that　remained　were　blank。
　〃It　was　under　some　palmetto；〃　Jim　Tile　said；　〃maybe　thirty　feet　from　where　the　truck　was　parked。〃
　〃You　didn't　find　anything　else？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃No；　sir。〃
　〃Did　you　report　this？〃
　〃Report　what？〃　Tile　said。　〃A　truck　parked　in　the　bushes？　Show　me　the　law　against　that。〃
　〃But　you　found　this　notebook　and　it　belongs　to　a　missing　person。〃
　Skink　shook　his　head。　'The　basketball　team　says　he's　missing　but　nobody's　filed　a　report　yet。　The　sheriff　may　or　may　not　get　around　to　it。〃
　〃What　are　you　saying？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃The　sheriffs　name　is　Barley　Lockhart；〃　Skink　said；　〃as　in　Dickie。　As　in　uncle。　And；　for　what　it's　worth；　he　has　a　twelve…pound　bass　hanging　behind　his　desk。　Jim；　tell　Mr。　Decker　about　your　outstanding　relationship　with　the　Harney　County　sheriffs　department。〃
　〃No　relationship；〃　Jim　Tile　said。　'Tar　as　they're　concerned；　I　don't　exist。　Wrong　color。　Wrong　uniform。〃
　Skink　said；　〃Jim　and　I　go　way　back。　We　depend　on　each　other；　especially　when　there's　trouble。　That's　why　Jim　brought　me　the　Armadillo's　notebook。〃
　〃But　how　do　you　know　he's　dead？〃　Decker　said。
　Skink　stood　up　and　turned　off　the　Coleman。　Out　on　the　porch　he　picked　up　one　of　his　spinning　rods。　〃You　wanna　drive？〃　he　said　to　Jim　Tile。
　〃Sure；〃　said　the　trooper；　〃give　Mr。　Decker　a　ride　in　a　real　po…leece　car。〃
　〃I've　had　the　privilege；〃　Decker　said。
　
　〃Who　was　the　guy　in　the　truck；　the　one　who　recognized　you？〃　Decker　asked。
　He　was　sitting　in　the　back　of　the　patrol　car；　behind　the　steel　grate。　Jim　Tile　was　at　the　wheel；　he　glanced　over　at　Skink；　a　crinkled　orange　mass　on　the　passenger's　side；　and　Skink　nodded　that　it　was　all　right。
　〃Man　named　Ozzie　Rundell；〃　Jim　Tile　said。
　〃Halfwit；〃　Skink　grumbled。
　〃Has　he　got　a　brother？〃　R。　J。　Decker　had　heard　of　Culver　Rundell。　Ott　had　mentioned　him　at　Bobby　Clinch's　funeral。　He'd　said　he　was　surprised　not　to　see　Culver　at　the　service。
　〃Yeah；　Culver；〃　Jim　Tile　said。　〃He　runs　a　bait　shop　on　Lake　Jesup。〃
　Decker　thought　it　was　probably　the　same　one　he'd　stopped　at　a　few　days　earlier。　Culver　could　have　been　the　man　behind　the　counter。
　〃He's　smarter　than　Ozzie；〃　Skink　remarked；　〃but　mildew　is　smarter　than　Ozzie。〃
　They　were　on　a　two…lane　blacktop；　no　center　line；　no　road　signs。　Decker　didn't　recognize　the　highway。　Jim　Tile　was　driving　fast；　one　hand　on　the　wheel。　Through　the　grate　Decker　could　see　the　speedometer　prick　ninety。　He　was　glad　there　was　no　fog。
　〃How'd　you　meet　the　captain？〃　he　asked　Jim　Tile。
　〃Used　to　work　for　him；〃　the　trooper　said。
　〃In　Tallahassee；〃　Skink　added。　〃Long　time　ago。〃
　〃What　kind　of　work？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃Scut　work；〃　Skink　said。
　Decker　was　too　tired　to　pursue　it。　He　stretched　out　in　the　back　seat　and　started　to　doze。　He　kept　thinking　about　Ott　Pickney　and　wondering　what　he　was　about　to　see。　Skink　and　Jim　Tile　were　silent　up　front。　After　about　fifteen　minutes　Decker　felt　the　patrol　car　brake　and　pull　off　the　pavement。　Now　it　bounced　along　with　the　sound　of　sticks　and　leaves　scratching　at　the　undercarriage。
　Decker　opened　his　eyes　and　sat　up。　They　were　at　Morgan　Slough。
　Jim　Tile　got　out　first　and　checked　around。　The　cool　darkness　was　ebbing　from　the　swamp；　another　half…hour　and　it　would　be　dawn。　Skink　took　his　fishing　rod　from　the　car　and　went　to　the　edge　of　the　water；　which　was　the　burned　color　of　black　tea。　The　slough　was　a　tangle　of　lilies　and　hydrilla；　dead　branches　and　live　cypress　knees。　In　the　tall　boughs　hung　tangled　tresses　of　Spanish　moss。　The　place　looked　prehistoric。
　Jim　Tile　stood　with　his　hands　on　his　hips。　Skink　started　to　cast；　reel　in；　cast　again。
　〃What's　going　on？〃　Decker　said；　shaking　off　his　drowsiness。　The　crisp　winter　air　had　a　faint　smoky　smell。
　〃The　plug　I'm　using　is　called　a　Bayou　Boogie；〃　Skink　said。　〃Medium…fast　sinker；　t