ch.doublewhammy-第25部分

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de　of　lightning…fast　bass　rigs；　the　puny　fifteen…horse　outboard　seemed　slow　and　anemic　to　Decker。　By　the　time　they　got　to　the　secret　spot；　the　sun　had　been　up　an　hour。
　Skink　guided　the　johnboat　deep　into　the　bulrushes。　The　engine　stalled　when　the　prop　snarled　in　the　thick　grass。　Skink　used　his　bare　hands　to　pull　them　out　of　sight；　away　from　the　pass。　Soon　they　seemed　walled　in　by　cattails；　sawgrass；　and　hyacinth。　Directly　overhead　was　the　elevated　ramp　of　Interstate　55；　Decker　and　Skink　were　hidden　in　its　cool　shadow。　Wordlessly　Skink　shed　the　orange　rainsuit　and　put　on　a　full　camouflage　hunting　outfit；　the　type　deer　hunters　use。　He　threw　one　to　R。　J。　Decker　and　told　him　to　do　the　same。　The　mottled　hunting　suit　was　brand…new；　still　crinkled　from　the　bag。
　〃Where'd　you　get　this？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃Borrowed　it；〃　Skink　said。　〃Put　the　tripod　up　front。〃　By　swinging　the　plastic　paddle　he　cleared　a　field　of　view　through　the　bullrushes。　He　pointed　and　said；　〃That's　where　we　pulled　the　last　trap。〃
　Decker　set　the　tripod　in　the　bow；　carefully　tightening　the　legs。　He　attached　a　Nikon　camera　body　with　a　six…hundred…millimeter　lens；　it　looked　like　a　snub…nosed　bazooka。　He　had　decided　on　black…and…white　film；　as　evidence　it　was　much　more　dramatic　than　a　tiny　Kodachrome　slide。　Color　was　for　vacation　snapshots；　black…and…white　was　for　the　grit　of　reality。　With　a　long　lens　the　print　would　have　that　grainy　texture　that　seemed　to　convey　guilt；　seemed　proof　that　somebody　was　getting　caught　in　the　act　of　something。
　Decker　closed　one　eye　and　expertly　focused　on　the　strand　of　mono…filament　tied　to　the　concrete　piling。
　〃How　long　do　we　wait？〃　he　asked。
　Skink　grunted。　〃Long　as　it　takes。　They'll　be　here　soon。〃
　〃How　can　you　be　sure？〃
　〃The　fish；〃　Skink　said。　He　meant　the　two　bass　he　had　left　in　the　fish　trap；　the　ones　he　had　marked　with　the　pliers。　〃The　longer　you　leave　'em；　the　worse　they　look。　Bang　their　heads　against　the　wire；　get　all　fucked　up。　They'd　stand　out　bad　at　the　weigh…in。　The　trick　is　to　get　'em　fresh。〃
　〃Makes　sense；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Well；　these　boys　aren't　stupid。〃
　On　this　point　Decker　and　Skink　disagreed。
　
　After　fifteen　minutes　they　heard　the　sound　of　another　boat。　Skink　slid　to　his　knees　and　Decker　took　his　position　at　the　tripod　camera。　A　boat　with　a　glittering　green　metal…flake　hull　drifted　into　the　Nikon's　frame；　the　man　up　front　held　a　fishing　rod　and　used　a　foot　pedal　to　control　a　small　electric　motor。　The　motor　made　a　purring　sound；　it　was　designed　to　maneuver　the　boat　silently；　so　as　not　to　frighten　the　bass。　The　angler　seated　in　the　stern　was　casting　a　purple　rubber　worm　and　working　the　lure　as　a　snake；　the　way　Skink　had　showed　Decker　that　night　on　Lake　Jesup。
　Unfortunately；　neither　of　the　men　in　the　green　boat　happened　to　be　Dickie　Lockhart　searching　for　his　traps；　they　were　just　ordinary　fishermen。　After　a　while　they　glided　away；　still　working　the　shoreline　intently；　seldom　speaking　to　one　another。　Decker　didn't　know　if　the　men　were　contestants　in　the　big　tournament；　but　thought　they　probably　must　be；　judging　by　the　grim　set　to　their　jawlines。
　An　hour　passed　and　no　other　boats　went　by。　Skink　leaned　back；　propping　his　shoulders　against　the　plastic　cowling　of　the　outboard　motor。　He　looked　thoroughly　relaxed；　much　happier　than　he　had　seemed　in　the　motel　room。　A　blue　heron　joined　them　in　the　shade　of　the　highway。　Head　cocked；　it　waded　the　shallows　in　slow　motion；　finally　spearing　a　small　bluegill。　Skink　laughed　out　loud　and　clapped　his　hands　appreciatively。　〃Now；　that's　fishing！〃　he　exclaimed；　but　the　noise　startled　the　gangly　bird；　which　squawked　and　flapped　away；　dropping　the　bluegill。　No　bigger　than　a　silver　dollar；　the　wounded　fish　swam　in　addled　circles；　flashing　in　the　brown　water。　Skink　leaned　over　and　snatched　it　with　one　sure　swipe。
　〃Please；〃　Decker　protested。
　Skink　shrugged。　〃Gonna　die　anyway；〃
　〃I　promise；　we'll　get　a　big　lunch　at　Middendorf's…〃
　But　it　was　too　late。　Skink　gulped　the　fish　raw。
　〃Christ。〃　Decker　looked　away。　He　hoped　like　hell　they　wouldn't　see　any　snakes。
　〃Protein；〃　Skink　said；　muffling　a　burp。
　〃I'll　stick　to　Raisin　Bran。〃
　Stiffly　Decker　stood　up　to　stretch　his　legs。　He　was　beginning　to　think　Dickie　Lockhart　wouldn't　show　up。　What　if　he'd　gotten　spooked　by　finding　the　other　traps　empty？　What　if　he'd　decided　to　play　it　safe　and　fish　honestly？　Skink　had　assured　him　that　no　such　change　of　plans　was　possible；　too　much　was　at　stake。　Not　just　first…place　prize　money　but　crucial　points　in　the　national　bass　standings…and　don't　forget　the　prestige。　Damn　egos；　Skink　had　said；　these　boys　make　Reggie　Jackson　seem　humble　by　parison。
　〃Any　sign　of　the　Rundell　brothers　this　morning？〃　Skink　asked。
　〃Not　that　I　saw；〃　Decker　said。
　〃You　can　bet　your　ass　they'll　show　up　at　the　weigh…in。　We'll　have　to　be　careful。　You　look　worried；　Miami。〃
　〃Just　restless。〃
　Skink　sat　forward。　〃You　been　thinking　about　the　dead　guy　back　in　Harney；　am　I　right？〃
　〃Dead　guys；　plural。〃
　〃See　why　Bobby　Clinch　got　killed　in　the　Coon　Bog；〃　Skink　said。　〃He　was　looking　for　fish　cages；　same　as　we　were　last　night。　Only　Bobby　wasn't　too　careful。　The　Bog　is　probably　where　Dickie　hides　some　big　mother　hawgs。〃
　Decker　said；　〃It's　not　just　Clinch　that　bothers　me；　it's　the　other　two。〃
　Skink　propped　his　chin　in　his　hands。　He　was　doing　his　best　to　appear　sympathetic。　〃Look　at　it　like　this：　the　creep　I　killed　probably　killed　your　pal　the　Armadillo。〃
　〃Is　that　how　you　look　at　it？〃
　〃I　don't　look　at　it；〃　Skink　said；　〃period。〃
　〃He　shot　at　us　first；〃　Decker　said；　almost　talking　to　himself。
　〃Right。〃
　〃But　we　should　have　gone　to　the　cops。〃
　〃Don't　be　a　jackass。　You　want　your　fucking　name　in　the　papers？　Not　me；〃　Skink　said。　〃I　got　no　appetite　for　fame。〃
　Decker　had　been　dying　to　ask。　〃What　exactly　did　you　do；〃　he　said　to　Skink；　〃before　this？〃
　〃Before　this？〃　Skink　plucked　off　his　shades。　〃I　made　mistakes。〃
　〃Something　about　you　does　look　familiar；〃　Decker　said。　〃Something　about　the　mouth。〃
　〃Used　to　leave　it　open　a　lot；〃　Skink　said。
　〃I　think　it's　the　teeth；〃　Decker　was　saying。
　Skink's　forest…green　eyes　sparkled。　〃Ah；　the　teeth。〃　He　grinned；　quite　naturally。
　But　R。　J。　Decker　couldn't　make　the　connection。　The　brief　governorship　of　Clinton　Tyree　had　occurred　before　Decker's　newspaper　days　and　before　he　paid　much　attention　to　statewide　politics。　Besides；　the　face　now　smiling　at　him　from　beneath　the　flowered　bathcap　was　so　snarled　and　seamed　that　the　governor's　closest　friends　might　have　had　trouble　recognizing　him。
　〃What's　the　story？〃　Decker　asked　earnestly。　〃Are　you　wanted　somewhere？〃
　〃Not　wanted；〃　Skink　said。　〃Lost。〃
　But　before　Decker　could　press　for　more；　Skink　raised　a　fishy　brown　finger　to　his　lips。　Another　boat　was　ing。
　ing　fast；　and　from　the　opposite　direction。　Skink　motioned　to　Decker　and　they　shrank　to　the　deck　of　the　narrow　johnboat。　The　sound　of　the　other　outboard　stopped　abruptly；　and　Decker　heard　men's　voices　behind　them。　The　voices　seemed　very　close；　but　he　was　afraid　to　get　up　and　look。
　〃You　have　a　talk　with　that　fuckin'　guy　tonight！〃　said　one　man。
　〃I　said　I　would；　didn't　I？〃　Another　voice。
　〃Find　out　if　he　was　followed　or　what。〃
　〃He　woulda　said　somethin'。〃
　〃Mebbe。　Mebbe　he's　just　bean　a　smardass。　Ever　thoughta　that？〃
　〃I'll　talk　to　him。　Christ；　was　it　the　third　piling　or　the　fourth？〃
　〃The　fourth；〃　said　the　first　voice。　〃See；　there's　the　line。〃
　The　fishermen　had　spotted　the　submerged　trap。　Decker　carefully　lifted　himself　from　the　bottom　of　the　johnboat　and　inched　toward　the　camera　in　the　bow。　Skink　nodded　and　motioned　that　it　was　safe　to　move。　The　poachers'　voices　bounced　back　and　forth　off　the　concrete　under　1…55。
　〃　'Least　the　fuckers　didn't　find　this　one。〃
　〃Pull　it　up　quick。〃
　Decker　studied　the　two　men　through　the　camera。　They　had　their　backs　toward　him。　Under　the　caps　one　looked　blondish　and　one　had　thick　black　hair；　like　Dickie　Lockhart's。　Both　seemed　like　large　men；　though　it　was　difficult　to　tell　how　much　of　the　bulk　was　winter　clothing。　The　bass　boat　itself　was　silver　and　blue；　with　an　unreadable　name　in　fancy　script　along　the　side。　Decker　kept　the　camera　trained　on　the　fishermen。　His　forefinger　squeezed　the　shutter　button　while　his　thumb　levered　the　rewind。　He　had　snapped　six　frames　and　still　the　men　had　not　turned　around。
　It　was　maddening。　Decker　could　see　that　they　had　the　fish　cage　out　of　the　water。　'They　won't　turn　around；〃　he　whispered　to　Skink。　〃I　haven't　got　the　picture　yet。〃
　From　the　back　of　the　boat　Skink　acknowledged　with　a　grunt。　He　flipped　his　sunglasses　down。　〃Get　ready；〃　he　said。
　Then　he　screamed；　a　piercing　feral　cry　that　made　Decker　shiver。　The　unhuman　quavering　echo　jolted　both　fishermen　and　caused　them　to　drop　the　wire　cage　with　a　motion。　Clutching　their　precious　captive　bass；　they　wheeled　to　face　a　screeching　bobcat；　or　maybe　even　a　panther；　but　instead　saw　only　the　empty　mocking　glades。　Swiftly；　Decker　fired　away。　His　camera　captured　every　detail　of　bewilderment　in　the　two　men's　faces；　including　the　bolt　of　fear　in　their　eyes。
　Two　men　who　definitely　were　not　Dickie　Lockhart。
　
　〃So　what　now？〃
　〃Eat；〃　Skink　said　through　a　mouthful　of　fried　catfish。　They　sat　at　a　corner　table　in　Middendorf's。　No　one　seemed　to　notice　their　camouflage　suits。
　Decker　said；　〃Wait　till　Gault　hears　we　tailed　the　wrong　guys。〃
　Skink　had　momentarily　turned　his　attention　to　a　bowl　of　drippy　coleslaw。　〃Maybe　not；〃　he　said。　〃Maybe　they　work　for　Lockhart。〃
　Decker　had　considered　that　possibility。　Perhaps　Dickie　was　too　cautious　to　pull　the　fish　traps　himself。　All　he'd　have　to　do　was　recruit　some　pals　for　the　deed；　and　rendezvous　later　on　the　lake　to　pick　up　the　purloined　bass。　Some　of　those　boys　would　do　anything　Dickie　Lockhart　told　them；　as　long　as　he　promised　to　put　them　on　TV。
　The　other　possible　explanation　of　what　had　happened　that　morning　made　just　as　much　sense：　R。　J。　Decker　had　simply　photographed　the　wrong　gang　of　cheaters。
　Either　way；　the　faces　on　film　were　not　the　ones　Dennis　Gault　wanted　to　see。
　〃You　know　damn　well　Dickie's　got　the　tournament　rigged。〃
　〃Of　course；〃　Skink　said。　〃But　there's　a　billion　places　to　hide　the　bass　around　here。　Bayous　far　as　the　eye　can　see。　Shit；　he　coul