ch.doublewhammy-第23部分

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at　would　sink　under　the　weight。　He　decided　there　was　no　point　in　bringing　the　cameras　at　night；　a　strobe　would　be　useless　at　long　distance。　If　his　theory　was　correct；　Dickie　Lockhart　wouldn't　be　anywhere　near　the　lake　anyway。
　They　made　sure　they　were　alone　at　the　dock　before　loading　the　boat　and　shoving　off。　It　was　a　chilly　night；　and　a　northern　breeze　stung　Decker's　cheeks　and　nose。　At　the　throttle；　Skink　seemed　perfectly　warm　and　serene　behind　his　sunglasses。　He　seemed　to　know　where　he　was　going。　He　followed　the　concrete　ribbon　of　1…55；　which　was　sunk　into　the　marshlands　on　enormous　concrete　pilings。　The　highway　pilings　were　round　and　smooth；　as　big　as　sequoias　but　out　of　place；　the　cars　that　raced　overhead　intruded　harshly　on　the　foggy　peace　of　the　bayous。　After　twenty　minutes　Skink　cut　off　the　motor。
　〃I　prefer　oars；〃　Skink　said；　but　there　were　none　in　the　boat。　〃You　can　hear　more　with　oars；〃　he　remarked。
　R。　J。　Decker　noticed　what　he　was　talking　about。　Across　the　water；　bouncing　off　the　pilings；　came　the　sound　of　men's　voices；　pieces　of　conversation；　deep　bursts　of　laughter；　carried　by　the　wind。
　〃Let's　drift　for　a　while；〃　Skink　suggested。　He　picked　up　one　of　the　fishing　poles　and　made　a　few　idle　casts。　Darkness　had　settled　in　and　the　lake　was　gray。　Skink　cocked　his　head；　listening　for　clues　from　the　other　boat。
　〃I　think　I　see　them；〃　Decker　said。　A　fuzzy　pinprick　of　white　light；　rocking。
　〃They've　got　a　Coleman　lit；〃　Skink　said。　〃Two　hundred　yards　away；　at　least。〃
　〃They　sound　a　helluva　lot　closer；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Just　a　trick　of　the　night。〃
　After　a　few　minutes　the　light　went　out。　Skink　and　Decker　heard　the　ignition　sounds　of　a　big　engine。　It　was　probably　a　bass　boat。　Swiftly　Skink　hand…cranked　the　outboard　and　aimed　the　johnboat　toward　the　other　craft。　Legs　wide；　he　stood　up　as　he　steered；　though　Decker　couldn't　imagine　how　he　could　safely　navigate　around　the　highway　pilings；　not　to　mention　the　submerged　stumps　and　brush…piles　that　mined　the　lakeshore。　Every　so　often　Skink　would　cut　the　outboard　and　listen　to　make　sure　the　other　boat　was　still　moving；　as　long　as　their　engine　was　running；　they'd　never　know　they　were　being　followed。　Sitting　on　two　hundred　horses；　you　can't　hear　yourself　think。
　After　a　few　minutes　the　other　boat　stopped　and　the　Coleman　lantern　flickered　on　again。　The　men's　voices　were　faint　and　more　distant　than　before。
　〃We'll　never　get　close；〃　Skink　muttered；　〃unless　we　walk　it。〃
　Fortuitously　the　wind　pushed　the　johnboat　into　a　stand　of　lily　pads。　Hand　over　hand；　Skink　used　the　roots　to　pull　them　to　shore；　where　Decker　tied　the　boat　to　a　sturdy　limb。　He　grabbed　a　flashlight　and　hopped　out　after　Skink。　They　followed　a　ragged　course　along　the　shoreline　for　probably　four　hundred　yards；　taking　tentative　spongy　steps　and　using　the　flashlight　sparingly。　They　passed　through　a　trailer　park　with　particular　stealth；　not　wishing　to　be　mistaken　for　bears　and　blasted　to　oblivion。　Far　removed　from　his　native　territory；　Skink's　nocturnal　instincts　remained　sound；　his　path　brought　them　out　of　the　bogs　within　thirty　yards　of　where　the　bass　boat　floated。
　The　lantern　illuminated　two　men；　not　the　Rundell　brothers。　〃Local　boys；〃　Skink　whispered。　〃Makes　sense。　Need　someone　who　knows　the　water。〃　The　anglers　were　not　casting　their　fishing　lines；　rather；　they　seemed　to　be　studying　the　water。　The　deck　of　the　boat　bristled　with　rods；　each　with　a　line　out。　In　the　penumbra　a　half…dozen　red　floats　were　visible　bobbing　around　the　sides　of　the　boat。　〃Live…baiters；〃　Skink　explained。　〃My　guess　is　worms。〃
　R。　J。　Decker　said；　〃It　could　be　anybody　out　for　a　night　on　the　lake。〃
　〃No；〃　Skink　said；　〃these　boys　are　out　to　load　the　boat。〃
　And　they　were。　Every　so　often　one　of　the　poles　would　bend　and　flutter；　and　a　bass　would　splash　out　in　the　pads。　Quickly　one　of　the　men　would　snatch　the　rig　and　reel　in　the　fish　as　fast　as　he　could。　The　bass　were　quickly　unhooked　and　put　in　a　livewell　under　a　hatch　in　the　stern。
　This　methodical　fish…collecting　went　on　for　two　hours；　during　which　Skink　said　little　and　scarcely　moved　a　muscle。　Decker's　legs　were　cramping　from　sitting　on　his　haunches；　but　it　was　impossible　to　stand　up　and　stretch　without　being　seen。　Mercifully；　as　the　wind　stiffened　and　the　temperature　dropped；　the　two　poachers　finally　called　it　quits。　They　reeled　in　the　worms；　stored　the　rods；　cranked　the　big　engine；　and　motored　slowly…confoundingly　so…up　the　southeastern　shore　of　the　lake。　The　boat　stayed　unusually　close　to　the　elevated　highway；　maneuvering　in　and　out　of　the　pilings；　occasionally　the　lantern　light　flickered　across　the　faces　of　the　two　men　as　they　leaned　over　the　gunwales；　peering　at　something　which　neither　Decker　nor　Skink　could　see。
　Of　course　it　was　Skink　who　led　the　way　back　to　the　johnboat。　By　the　time　they　got　there；　the　marsh　was　empty　and　silent；　the　other　men　had　finished　their　business　and　roared　away。
　Skink　stripped　down　to　his　underwear　and　began　fitting　his　considerable　bulk　into　a　wetsuit。
　〃I　was　afraid　of　this；〃　Decker　said。　Pitch　black；　fifty　degrees；　and　this　madman　was　going　in。　Decker　couldn't　wait　to　see　the　look　on　the　game　warden's　face。
　〃Can　you　drive　the　boat？〃　Skink　asked。
　〃I　think　I　can　handle　it。〃
　〃Take　me　along　the　pilings；　the　same　way　our　buddies　went。〃
　Decker　said；　〃I　wouldn't　dive　in　this　soup。〃
　〃Who's　asking　you　to？　e　on；　let's　move。〃
　They　motored　down　the　lake　to　the　poachers'　bass　hole。　Skink　strapped　on　a　yellow　scuba　tank；　adjusted　his　headlamp；　and　slipped　over　the　side。　He　fitted　a　nylon　rope　around　his　waist　and　tied　it　to　the　transom　of　the　boat。　One　sharp　tug　was　a　signal　to　stop；　two　meant　reverse；　and　three　tugs　meant　trouble。　〃In　that　case　do　your　best　to　haul　me　in；〃　Skink　advised。　〃If　you　can't　manage；　then　get　the　hell　out　of　here；　I'm　gator　chow。〃
　Decker　steered　the　boat　anxiously；　monitoring　Skink's　progress　by　the　bubbles　surfacing　in　the　foamy　wake。　He　wondered　what　the　fish　and　turtles　must　think；　confronted　in　their　inky　element　by　such　a　hoary　gurgling　beast。　The　engine's　throttle　was　set　as　low　as　it　would　go；　so　the　johnboat　moved　at　a　crawl；　Skink　was　a　heavy　load　to　tow。
　When　he　found　what　he　was　searching　for；　Skink　tugged　so　hard　that　the　rope　nearly　pulled　the　stern　under。　Immediately　Decker　shifted　to　neutral　so　the　propeller　wouldn't　be　spinning　perilously　when　Skink　came　up。
　He　burst　to　the　surface　like　a　happy　porpoise。　He　held　a　wire　cage；　three　feet　by　three。　Inside　the　trap　were　four　healthy　largemouth　bass；　which　flapped　helplessly　against　the　mesh　as　Skink　hoisted　their　manmade　cell　into　the　bow。　He　turned　off　the　regulator；　spit　out　the　mouthpiece；　and　tore　off　his　mask。
　〃Jackpot！〃　he　said　breathlessly。　〃Lookit　here。〃
　Hanging　from　the　fish　cage　was　an　eight…foot　length　of　heavy　monofilament　line；　transparent　from　more　than　a　few　feet　away。　Skink　had　cut　one　end　with　his　dive　knife。　'They　tied　it　to　a　willow　branch…you'd　never　see　it　unless　you　knew　where　to　look；〃　he　said。　〃Get　the　wirecutters；　Miami。〃
　Decker　clipped　the　hinges　off　the　fish　cage。　Skink　reached　in　and　took　out　the　bass　one　by　one；　gently　releasing　each　fish　back　into　the　lake。　It　was　an　oddly　tender　moment；　Skink's　grin　was　as　warm　as　the　glow　from　the　lantern。　After　the　bass　were　freed；　he　returned　the　empty　cage　to　the　water　and　tied　it　to　the　same　dry　bough。
　Decker　had　to　admit　that　it　was　an　ingenious　cheat。　Salt　the　lake　with　pre…caught　fish　and　scoop　them　out　on　tournament　day。　Dennis　Gault　was　right：　these　boys　would　do　anything　to　win。　The　more　he　thought　about　it；　the　more　disgusted　Decker　got。　The　poachers　had　corrupted　this　beautiful　place；　polluted　its　smoky　mystery。　He　couldn't　wait　to　see　their　faces　when　they　discovered　what　had　happened；　couldn't　wait　to　take　their　pictures。
　Probing　the　waters　around　the　highway　pilings；　Decker　and　Skink　located　three　more　submerged　cages；　each　stocked　with　the　freshly　caught　bass。　They　counted　eleven　fish　in　all；　four　in　the　final　trap；　lifting　the　largest　by　its　lower　lip；　Skink　estimated　its　weight　at　nine　and　a　half　pounds。　〃This　bruiser　would　have　bought　dirty　Dickie　first　place；〃　he　gloated。　〃Adifa；　old　girl。〃　And　he　let　the　fish　go。
　That　left　two　smaller　bass　flopping　in　the　mesh；　their　underslung　jaws　snapping　in　mute　protest　while　starved　burgundy　gills　flared　in　agitation。
　〃Sorry；　fellas；〃　Skink　said。　〃You're　the　bait。〃　With　a　pair　of　blunt…nosed　pliers　he　carefully　clipped　the　first　two　spines　of　the　dorsal　fin　on　each　bass。
　〃What're　you　doing？〃　R。　J。　Decker　asked。
　〃Marking　them；〃　Skink　replied；　〃that's　all。〃
　With　the　fish　still　trapped；　he　securely　rewired　the　door　of　the　cage　and　eased　it　below　the　surface。　He　made　sure　it　was　tied　securely　to　the　concrete　beam　where　Dickie　Lockhart　would　be　looking　for　it。　By　that　time；　of　course；　the　bass　champion　would　be　in　a　state　of　desperate　panic；　wondering　not　only　who　was　sabotaging　his　secret　fish　cages　but　also　how　in　the　world　he　would　ever　win　the　tournament　now。
　
　The　day　the　Cajun　Invitational　Bass　Classic　was　to　begin；　Dennis　Gault　was　hundreds　of　miles　away　in　Miami。　Though　it　nettled　him　to　miss　the　petition；　strategy　dictated　that　he　sit　out　the　tournament。　He　wanted　Dickie　Lockhart　to　feel　safe　and　secure；　knowing　his　archenemy　wasn't　around　to　spy　on　him。　He　wanted　Dickie　and　his　gang　to　let　their　guard　down。
　Gault　spent　most　of　the　morning　in　a　surly　mood；　barking　at　secretaries　and　hanging　up　on　modity　brokers　who　wanted　the　scoop　on　the　new　cane　crop。　In　the　morning　paper　he　checked　the　weather　in　New　Orleans　and　was　elated　to　see　that　it　was　windy　and　cold；　this　meant　rugged　fishing。　R。　J。　Decker　called　briefly　to　say　things　were　going　well；　but　offered　no　details。　The　other　thing　he　didn't　offer　was　an　apology　for　smashing　Dennis　Gault's　nose。　Gault　was　miffed　at　Decker's　icy　attitude　but　thrilled　by　the　idea　that　the　drama　finally　had　begun。　Gault's　hatred　for　Dickie　Lockhart　consumed　him；　and　he　would　not　rest　until　the　man　was　not　just　broken　but　scandalized。
　The　cheating　was　only　part　of　it；　Gault　would　have　rigged　some　bass　tournaments　himself；　had　he　found　trustworthy　conspirators。　The　more　virulent　seed　of　Dennis　Gault's　resentment　was　knowing　that　a　dumb　hick　like　D