ch.doublewhammy-第16部分

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　〃The　plug　I'm　using　is　called　a　Bayou　Boogie；〃　Skink　said。　〃Medium…fast　sinker；　two　sets　of　treble　hooks。　I　sharpened　'em　earlier；　before　you　got　here。　You　probably　noticed　I　put　new　line　on　the　reel　since　you　and　I　went　out。〃
　〃I　didn't　notice；〃　Decker　muttered。　All　this　way　for　a　goddamn　fishing　lesson。　Didn't　these　people　ever　just　e　out　and　say　something？
　〃Fifteen…pound　test　Trilene；〃　Skink　went　on。　〃You　know　how　much　weight　this　stuff'll　lift？〃
　〃No　idea；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Well…there　we　go！〃　Skink's　fishing　rod　bent　double。　Instead　of　setting　the　hook；　he　pumped　slowly；　putting　his　considerable　muscle　into　it。　Whatever　it　was　on　the　end　of　the　line　barely　moved。
　〃You're　snagged　on　a　stump；〃　Decker　said　to　Skink。
　〃Don't　think　so。〃
　Slowly　it　was　ing　up；　somehow　Skink　was　pulling　the　thing　in。　He　pumped　so　hard　that　Decker　was　sure　the　rod　would　snap；　then　Skink　would　slack　up；　reel　fast；　and　pump　again。　The　line　was　stretched　so　tautly　that　it　hummed。
　〃You're　almost　there；〃　Jim　Tile　said。
　〃Get　ready！〃　Skink's　voice　strained　under　the　effort。
　He　gave　a　mighty　pull　and　something　broke　water。　It　was　an　iron　chain。　Skink's　fishing　lure　had　snagged　in　one　of　the　links。　Jim　Tile　knelt　down　and　grabbed　it　before　it　could　sink　back　into　the　slough。　He　unhooked　the　fishing　lure；　and　Skink　reeled　in。
　By　now　Decker　knew　what　was　ing。
　Hand　over　hand；　Jim　Tile　hauled　on　the　chain。　The　wrong　end　came　up　first；　it　was　an　anchor。　A　new　anchor；　too；　made　of　cast　iron。　A　clump　of　hydrilla　weed　hung　like　a　soggy　green　wig　from　the　anchor's　fork。
　Jim　Tile　heaved　it　on　shore。　Wordlessly　he　started　working　toward　the　other　end；　the　submerged　end　of　the　chain。
　Instinctively；　R。　J。　Decker　thought　of　his　cameras。　They　were　locked　in　his　car；　back　at　Skink's　shack。　He　felt　naked　without　them；　like　the　old　days。　Certain　things　were　easier　to　take　if　you　were　looking　through　a　camera；　sometimes　it　was　the　only　protection　you　had；　the　lens　putting　an　essential　distance　between　the　eye　and　the　horror。　The　horror　of　seeing　a　dead　friend　in　the　trunk　of　a　Seville；　for　example。　The　distance　existed　only　in　the　mind；　of　course；　but　sometimes　the　inside　of　a　lens　was　a　good　place　to　hide。　Decker　hadn't　felt　like　hiding　there　for　a　long　time；　but　now　he　did。　He　wanted　his　cameras；　longed　for　the　familiar　weight　around　his　neck。　Without　the　cameras　he　wasn't　sure　if　he　could　look；　but　he　knew　he　must。　After　all；　that　was　the　point　of　getting　out　of　the　business。　To　be　able　to　look　again；　and　to　feel　something。
　Jim　Tile　struggled　with　the　chain。　Skink　knelt　beside　him　and　loaned　his　weight　to　the　tug。
　〃There　now；〃　Skink　said；　breathing　hard。　The　other　end　of　the　chain　came　out　of　the　water　in　his　right　hand。
　〃Get　it　done；〃　said　Jim　Tile。
　Tied　to　the　end　of　the　chain　was　a　thin　nylon　rope。　Skink's　massive　hands　followed　the　rope　down　until　the　water　was　up　to　his　elbows。　His　fingers　foraged　blindly　below　the　surface；　he　looked　like　a　giant　raccoon　hunting　a　crawfish。
　〃Ah！〃　he　exclaimed。
　Jim　Tile　stood　up；　wiped　his　hands　on　his　uniform；　and　backed　away。　With　a　primordial　grunt　Skink　lifted　his　morbid　catch　from　the　bottom　of　Morgan　Slough。
　〃Oh　God；〃　groaned　R。　J。　Decker。
　Ott　Pickney　floated　up　dead　on　the　end　of　a　fish　stringer。　Like　a　lunker　bass；　he　had　been　securely　fastened　through　both　lips。
　
　They　were　driving　back　toward　Harney　on　the　Gilchrist　Highway。
　〃We　can't　just　leave　him　there；〃　R。　J。　Decker　said。
　〃No　choice；〃　Skink　said　from　the　back　seat　of　the　patrol　car。
　〃What　do　you　mean？　We've　got　a　murder　here。　Last　time　I　checked；　that's　still　against　the　law；　even　in　a　shitbucket　town　like　this。〃
　Jim　Tile　said；　〃You　don't　understand。〃
　Skink　leaned　forward　and　mushed　his　face　against　the　grating。　〃How　do　we　explain　being　out　in　the　slough？　A　spade　cop　and　a　certifiable　lunatic　like　me。〃　And　an　ex…con；　Decker　thought。　From　under　the　flowered　shower　cap　Skink　winked　at　him。　〃It's　Jim　I'm　really　worried　about；　Miami。　They'd　love　a　shot　at　State　Trooper　Jim　Tile；　am　I　right？〃
　Decker　said；　〃Screw　the　locals；　then。　Go　to　the　state　attorney　general　and　get　a　grand　jury。　We've　got　two　dead　men；　first　Clinch　and　now　Ott　Pickney。　We　can't　let　it　lie。〃
　〃We　won't；〃　said　Jim　Tile。
　Terrific；　Decker　thought；　the　three　musketeers。
　〃What　are　you　so　afraid　of？〃　he　asked　the　trooper。　〃You　think　they'd　really　try　to　frame　us？〃
　〃Worse；〃　said　Jim　Tile。　〃They'll　ignore　us。　Clinch　was　already　ruled　an　accident。〃
　〃But　Ott's　floating　out　there　on　a　fish　stringer；〃　Decker　said。　〃I　think　somebody　might　legitimately　raise　the　question　of　foul　play。〃
　Jim　Tile　pulled　the　car　off　the　pavement　and　stopped。　They　were　a　mile　and　a　half　outside　the　town　limits。　A　pair　of　headlights　approached　from　the　other　direction。
　〃Duck　down；〃　Jim　Tile　said。
　Skink　and　Decker　stayed　low　until　the　other　car　had　passed。　Then　Skink　climbed　out　with　his　fishing　rod。　〃e　on；〃　he　said　to　Decker；　〃we'll　hoof　it　from　here。　It's　best　that　nobody　sees　Jim　with　the　two　of　us。〃
　Decker　got　out　of　the　car。　The　sky　in　the　east　was　turning　a　metallic　pink。
　〃Explain　it　to　him；〃　Jim　Tile　said　to　Skink；　and　drove　away。
　Decker　started　trudging　down　the　highway。　He　felt　a　hundred　years　old。　He　wished　he　were　back　in　Miami；　that's　how　rotten　he　felt。　He　was　trying　to　remember　if　Ott　Pickney　had　any　kids；　or　an　ex…wife　somewhere。　It　was　entirely　possible　there　was　nobody；　just　the　orchids。
　〃I'm　sorry　about　your　friend；〃　Skink　said；　〃but　you've　got　to　understand。〃
　〃I'm　listening。〃
　〃The　body　will　be　gone　by　noon；　if　it's　not　already。　They'll　be　back　for　it。　They　saw　Jim　Tile　out　by　the　slough；　and　that　was　that。〃
　Decker　said；　〃We　should've　stayed　there。　Jim　could　have　called　for　help　on　the　radio。〃
　Skink　marched　ahead　of　Decker　and　turned　around；　walking　backward　so　he　could　face　him　directly。　〃The　sheriffs　office　scans　all　police　frequencies。　They　would've　picked　up　the　call　and　sent　a　couple　marked　cars。　Next　thing　you　know；　the　locals　grab　jurisdiction　and　they're　questioning　you　and　me；　and　they're　calling　Tallahassee　about　poor　Jim　Tile…how　there's　all　these　irregularities　in　his　report；　how　uppity　and　uncooperative　he　is。　Whatever　bullshit　they　can　make　up；　they　will。　You　know　how　many　black　troopers　there　are　in　this　whole　state？　Not　enough　for　a　goddamn　basketball　team。　Jim's　a　good　man　and　I'm　not　gonna　let　him　get　hung　by　a　bunch　of　hicks。　Not　over　a　fish；　for　Christ's　sake。〃
　Decker　had　never　heard　Skink　say　so　much　in　one　breath。　He　asked；　〃So　what's　the　plan？〃
　Skink　stopped　backward…walking。　〃Right　now　the　plan　is　to　get　off　the　road。〃
　Decker　spun　around　and　saw　a　pickup　truck　ing　slowly　down　the　highway。　Rays　from　the　new　sun　reflected　off　the　windshield；　making　it　impossible　to　see　who　was　driving；　or　how　many　there　were　up　front。
　Skink　tugged　Decker's　arm　and　said；　〃Let's　stroll　through　the　woods；　shall　we？〃
　They　left　the　pavement　and　walked　briskly　into　a　stand　of　tall　pine。　They　heard　the　truck　speed　up。　When　it　was　even　with　them；　it　stopped。　A　door　slammed；　then　another。
　Skink　and　Decker　were　twenty…five　yards　from　the　highway　when　the　first　shots　rang　out。　Decker　hit　the　ground　and　pulled　Skink　with　him。　A　bullet　peeled　the　bark　off　a　tree　near　their　feet。
　Decker　said；　〃I'm　sure　glad　you're　wearing　that　orange　raincoat；　captain。　Bet　they　can　only　see　us　a　mile　or　two　away。〃
　〃Semiautomatic？〃　Skink　asked　through　clenched　teeth。
　Decker　nodded。　〃Sounds　like　a　Ruger　Mini…14。〃　Very　popular　with　the　Porsche…and…powder　set　in　Miami；　but　not　the　sort　of　bang…bang　you　expected　upstate。
　The　rifle　went　off　again；　so　rapidly　that　it　was　impossible　to　tell　the　fresh　rounds　from　the　echoes。　The　slugs　slapped　at　the　leaves　in　a　lethal　hailstorm。　From　where　they　huddled　Decker　and　Skink　couldn't　see　the　truck　on　the　highway；　but　they　could　hear　men's　voices　between　the　volleys。
　〃Will　they　e　for　us？〃　Decker　whispered。
　〃I　expect。〃　Skink's　cheek　was　pressed　against　a　carpet　of　pine　needles。　A　fire　ant　struggled　in　the　tangle　of　his　mustache；　Skink　made　no　move　to　brush　it　away。　He　was　listening　to　the　ground。
　〃There's　only　two　of　them；〃　he　announced。
　〃Only？〃　One　with　a　Ruger　was　plenty。
　Skink's　right　hand　fished　under　his　rainsuit　and　came　out　with　the　pistol。
　Decker　heard　twigs　crackle　at　the　edge　of　the　pine。
　〃Let's　run　for　it；〃　he　said。　They　wouldn't　have　a　prayer　in　a　shoot…out。
　〃You　run；〃　Skink　said。
　And　draw　fire；　Decker　thought。　What　a　grand　idea。　At　least　in　Beirut　you　had　a　chance　because　of　the　doorways；　doorways　made　excellent　cover。　You　simply　ran　a　zigzag　from　one　to　another。　Right　now　there　wasn't　a　doorway　in　sight。　Even　the　trees　were　too　skinny　to　offer　protection。
　Decker　heard　footsteps　breaking　the　scrub　a　few　yards　behind　him。　Skink　motioned　for　him　to　go。
　He　bunched　up　on　his　knees；　dug　his　toes　into　the　moist　dirt；　and　pushed　off　like　a　sprinter。　He　ran　erratically；　weaving　through　the　pine　trunks　and　hurdling　small　palmetto　bushes。　A　man　shouted　and　then　the　gunfire　started　again。　Decker　flinched　as　bullets　whined　off　the　tree　trunks…low；　high；　always　a　few　feet　behind　him。　Whoever　was　shooting　was　running　too；　and　his　aim　was　lousy。
　Decker　didn't　know　the　terrain　so　he　picked　his　openings　as　they　appeared。　He　spotted　promising　cover　across　a　bald　clearing　and　he　pumped　for　it；　holding　his　head　low。　He　almost　made　it；　too；　when　something　struck　him　in　the　eyes　and　he　crumpled　in　pain。
　A　rifle　slug　had　caught　a　pine　branch　and　whipped　it　flush　across　Decker's　face。　He　lay　panting　on　the　ground；　his　fists　pressed　to　his　eyes。　Maybe　they　would　think　he'd　been　hit。　Maybe　they　would　go　looking　for　Skink。
　Abruptly　the　shooting　was　over。
　Decker　heard　honking。　Somebody　was　leaning　on　the　horn　of　the　truck；　long　urgent　blasts。　From　the　highway　a　man　shouted　somebody's　name。　Decker　couldn't　make　out　the　words。　He　took　his　hands　from　his　face　and　was　relieved　to　discover　that　he　wasn't　blind。　His　cheeks　were　wet　from　his　eyes；　and　his　eyes　certainly　stung；　but　they　seemed　to　be　working。
　It　was　not　until　he　heard　the　pickup　roar　away　that　Decker　dared　to　move；　and　then　he　wasn't　sure　which　way　to　go。　The　direction　that　made　the