ch.doublewhammy-第29部分

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　In　an　oddly　stiff　tone　Gault　asked；　〃Do　you　have　those　pictures？〃　As　if　it　made　a　difference　now。
　Decker　didn't　answer。　Through　the　pane　in　the　phone　booth　he　was　watching　Thomas　Curl　and　the　Rundell　brothers　in　the　parking　lot　of　the　marina。　One　of　the　local　detectives　was　interviewing　the　three　men　together；　when　Ozzie　talked；　his　head　bobbed　up　and　down　like　a　dashboard　puppy。　The　cop　was　scribbling　energetically　in　his　notebook。
　〃What　number　you　at？〃　Dennis　Gault　asked　over　the　phone。
　〃Seventy；〃　Decker　replied。　〃As　in　miles　per　hour。〃
　
　The　tire　blew　on　Interstate　10；　outside　of　Kenner。　The　spare　was　one　of　those　tiny　toy　tires　now　standard　equipment　on　new　cars。　To　get　to　the　spare　Decker　had　to　empty　the　trunk　of　his　duffel　and　camera　gear；　which　he　stacked　neatly　by　the　side　of　the　highway。　He　had　gotten　the　rental　halfway　jacked　when　he　heard　another　car　pull　up　behind　him　in　the　emergency　lane；　by　the　emphysemic　sounds　of　the　engine；　Decker　knew　it　wasn't　a　cop。
　Not　even　close。　It　was　a　brown　1974　Cordoba；　its　vinyl　roof　puckered　like　a　sun　blister。　Two…for…four　on　the　hubcaps。　Three　men　got　out　of　the　rusty　old　tank；　judging　by　their　undershirts　and　tattoos；　Decker　assumed　they　were　not　from　the　Triple…A。　He　pried　the　crowbar　out　of　the　jack　handle　and　held　it　behind　him。
　〃Gentlemen；〃　he　said。
　〃Whatsamatter　here？〃　said　the　largest　of　the　trio。
　〃Flat　tire；〃　Decker　said。　〃I'm　fine。〃
　〃Yeah？〃
　〃Yeah。　Thanks　anyway。〃
　The　men　didn't　exactly　take　the　hint。　Two　of　them　ambled　over　to　where　Decker　had　laid　the　camera　bag；　tripod；　and　galvanized　lens　cases。　One　of　the　jerks　poked　at　the　cameras　with　the　toe　of　his　boot。
　〃Whatsis？〃　he　said。
　〃Beer　money；〃　said　the　other。
　Decker　couldn't　believe　it。　Broad　daylight；　cars　and　trucks　and　Winnebagos　cruising　by　on　the　interstate…and　these　pussbuckets　were　going　to　roll　him　anyway。　Damned　Nikons；　he　thought；　sometimes　they　seemed　to　be　the　root　of　all　his　troubles。
　〃I'm　a　professional　photographer；〃　Decker　said。　〃Want　me　to　take　your　picture？〃
　The　two　thinnest　men　looked　expectantly　toward　the　bigger　one。　Decker　knew　the　idea　appealed　to　them；　although　their　leader　needed　a　little　convincing。　〃A　nice　eight…by…ten；〃　Decker　said　affably；　〃just　for　fun。〃　He　knew　what　the　big　guy　was　thinking：　Well；　why　not…we're　going　to　steal　the　damn　things　anyway。
　〃Stand　in　front　of　the　car　and　I'll　get　a　shot　of　all　three　of　you　together。　Go　ahead；　now。〃
　Decker　walked　over　to　the　camera　bag　and　inconspicuously　set　the　crowbar　inside。　He　picked　up　a　bare　F…3　camera　body；　didn't　even　bother　to　screw　on　a　lens。　These　morons　wouldn't　know　the　difference。　Shrugging；　murmuring；　slicking　their　hair　with　brown　bony　hands；　the　highwaymen　struck　a　pricelessly　idiotic　pose　in　front　of　the　dented　Cordoba。　As　he　pressed　the　shutter；　Decker　almost　wished　there　were　film　in　the　camera。
　〃That's　just　great；　guys；〃　he　said。　〃Now　let's　try　one　from　the　side。〃
　The　big　man　scowled。
　〃Just　a　joke；〃　Decker　said。　The　two　thin　guys　didn't　get　it　anyway。
　〃Enough　a　this　shit；〃　the　leader　of　the　trio　said。　〃We　want　your　goddamn　car。〃
　〃What　for？〃
　〃To　go　to　Florida。〃
　Of　course；　Decker　thought；　Florida。　He　should　have　known。　Every　pillhead　fugitive　felon　in　America　winds　up　in　Florida　eventually。　The　Human　Sludge　Factor…it　all　drips　to　the　South。
　〃One　more　picture；〃　Decker　suggested。　He　had　to　hurry；　he　didn't　want　to　get　mugged；　but　he　didn't　want　to　miss　his　plane；　either。
　〃No！〃　the　big　man　said。
　〃One　more　picture　and　you　can　have　the　car；　the　cameras；　everything。〃
　Decker　kept　one　eye　on　the　interstate；　thinking：　Don't　they　have　a　highway　patrol　in　Louisiana？
　〃You　guys　got　some　cigarettes？　That　would　be　a　good　shot；　have　a　cigarette　hanging　from　your　mouth。〃
　One　of　the　thin　guys　lighted　a　Camel　and　wedged　it　into　his　lips　at　a　very　cool　angle。　〃Oh　yeah；〃　Decker　said。　〃That's　what　I　mean。　Let　me　get　the　wide…angle　lens。〃
　He　went　back　to　the　camera　bag　and　fished　out　a　regular　fifty…millimeter；　which　he　attached　to　the　Nikon。　He　picked　up　the　crowbar　and　slipped　it　down　the　front　of　his　jeans。　The　black　iron　felt　cold　against　his　left　leg。
　When　he　turned　around；　Decker　saw　that　all　three　men　now　sported　cigarettes。　'The　girls　down　in　Florida　are　gonna　love　this　picture；〃　he　said。
　One　of　the　thin　guys　grinned。　〃Good　pussy　in　Florida；　right？〃
　〃The　best；〃　Decker　said。　He　moved　up　close；　clicking　away。　The　men　stunk　like　stale　beer　and　tobacco。　Through　the　lens　Decker　saw　rawboned　ageless　faces；　they　could　have　been　twenty　years　old；　or　forty…five。　Classic　cons。　They　seemed　mesmerized　by　the　camera；　or　at　least　by　Decker's　hyperactive　choreography。　The　leader　of　the　trio　plainly　was　getting　antsy；　he　couldn't　wait　to　kick　Decker's　ass；　maybe　even　kill　him；　and　get　moving。
　〃Almost　done；〃　Decker　said　finally。　〃Move　a　little　closer　together　。。。　that's　good　。。。　now　look　to　my　right　and　blow　some　smoke　。。。　great！　。。。　keep　looking　out　at　the　water　。。。　that…is…per…fect！〃
　Staring　obediently　at　Lake　Pontchartrain；　the　three　men　never　saw　Decker　pull　out　the　crowbar。　With　both　hands　he　swung　as　hard　as　he　could；　a　batter's　arc。　The　iron　blade　pinged　off　the　top　of　their　skulls　one　by　one；　as　if　Decker　were　playing　a　human　xylophone。　The　robbers　fell　in　a　wailing　cross…eyed　heap。
　Decker　had　expected　less　noise　and　more　blood。　As　the　adrenaline　ebbed；　he　looked　down　and　wondered　if　he　had　hit　them　more　than　once。　He　didn't　think　so。
　Now　it　was　definitely　time　to　go；　the　flat　tire　was　Hertz's　problem。　Decker　quickly　loaded　his　stuff　into　the　Cordoba。　The　key　was　in　the　ignition。　A　blue　oily　pistol　lay　on　the　front　seat。　He　tossed　it　out　the　window　on　his　way　to　the　airport。
　
　The　first　person　R。　J。　Decker　called　when　he　got　back　to　Miami　was　Lou　Zicutto。　Lou　was　branch　claims　manager　of　the　mammoth　insurance　pany　where　Decker　worked　part…time　as　an　investigator。　Lou　was　a　spindly　little　twit；　maybe　a　hundred　twenty　pounds；　but　he　had　a　huge　florid　head；　which　he　shaved　every　day。　As　a　result　he　looked　very　much　like　a　Tootsie　Pop　with　lips。　Despite　his　appearance；　Lou　Zicutto　was　treated　respectfully　by　all　employees　and　coworkers；　who　steadfastly　believed　that　he　was　a　member　of　the　Mafia　who　could　have　them　snuffed　with　a　single　phone　call。　Lou　himself　did　nothing　to　discourage　this　idea；　even　though　it　wasn't　true。　Except　for　the　fancy　stationery；　Decker　himself　didn't　see　much　difference　between　the　mob　and　an　insurance　pany；　anyway。
　〃Where　ya　been？〃　Lou　Zicutto　asked。　〃I　left　a　jillion　messages。〃　Lou　had　a　raspy　cabdriver　voice；　and　he　was　always　sucking　on　menthol　cough　drops。
　〃I've　been　out　of　town　on　a　case；〃　Decker　said。　He　could　hear　Lou　slurping　away；　working　the　lozenges　around　his　teeth。
　〃We　got　Nu？ez　this　week；　remember？〃
　Nu？ez　was　a　big　fraud　trial　the　pany　was　prosecuting。　Nu？ez　was　a　stockbroker　who　stole　his　own　yacht　and　tried　to　scuttle　it　off　Bimini　for　the　insurance。　Decker　had　shot　some　pictures　and　done　surveillance；　he　was　scheduled　to　testify　for　the　pany。
　〃You're　my　star　witness；〃　Lou　said。
　〃I　can't　make　it；　Lou；　not　this　week。〃
　〃What　the　hell　you　mean？〃
　Decker　said；　〃I've　got　a　conflict。〃
　〃No　shit　you　got　a　conflict。　You　got　a　big　fucking　conflict　with　me；　you　don't　show　up。〃　The　cough　drops　were　clacking　furiously。　〃Two　million　bucks　this　creep　is　trying　to　rip　us　for。〃
　〃You　got　my　pictures；　the　tapes；　the　reports…〃　Decker　said。
　〃Your　smiling　face　is　what　the　lawyers　want；〃　Lou　Zicutto　said。　〃You　be　there；　Mr。　Cameraman。〃　Then　he　hung　up。
　The　second　person　Decker　tried　to　call　was　Catherine。　The　first　time；　the　line　was　busy。　He　tried　again　two　minutes　later　and　a　man　answered。　It　sounded　like　James；　the　chiropractor；　he　answered　the　phone　the　way　doctors　do；　not　with　a　civil　hello　but　with　a　〃Yes？〃　Like　it　was　a　pain　in　the　ass　to　have　to　speak　to　another　human　being。
　Decker　hung　up　the　phone；　opened　a　beer；　and　put　a　Bob　Seger　album　on　the　stereo。　He　wondered　what　Catherine's　new　house　looked　like；　whether　she　had　one　of　these　sunken　marble　tubs　she'd　always　wanted。　A　vision　of　Catherine　in　a　bubble　bath　suddenly　swept　over　Decker；　and　his　chest　started　to　throb。
　
　He　was　half…asleep　on　the　sofa　when　the　phone　rang。　The　machine　answered　on　the　third　ring。　Decker　sat　up　when　he　heard　Al　Garcia's　voice。
　〃Call　me　as　soon　as　you　get　in。〃
　Garcia　was　a　Metro　police　detective　and　an　old　friend。　Except　he　didn't　sound　so　friendly　on　the　machine；　he　sounded　awfully　damn　professional。　Decker　was　a　little　worried。　He　drank　two　cups　of　black　instant　coffee　before　calling　back。
　〃Hey；　Sarge；　what's　up？〃
　Garcia　said；　〃You　at　the　trailer？〃
　〃No；　I'm　in　the　penthouse　of　the　Coconut　Grove　Hotel。　They're　having　a　Morgan　Fairchild　lookalike　contest　and　I'm　the　judge　for　the　swimsuit　petition。〃
　Normally　Garcia　would　have　donated　some　appropriately　lewd　counterpunchline；　but　today　all　he　offered　was　a　polite　chuckle。
　〃We　need　to　talk；〃　the　detective　said　mildly。　〃See　you　in　about　thirty。〃
　Garcia　was　sitting　on　something；　that　much　was　certain。　Decker　shaved　and　put　on　a　fresh　shirt。　He　could　easily　guess　what　must　have　happened。　A　Louisiana　cop　probably　had　found　those　three　dirtbags　that　Decker　had　clobbered　along　the　interstate。　They　would　have　sworn　that　this　scoundrel　from　Miami　had　flagged　them　down　and　robbed　them；　of　course。　A　tracer　on　the　Hertz　car　would　have　yielded　Decker's　name　and　address；　and　from　then　on　it　was　only　a　matter　of　professional　courtesy。　Al　Garcia　was　probably　bringing　a　bench　warrant　from　St。　Charles　Parish。
　Decker　was　not　especially　eager　to　return；　or　be　returned；　to　Louisiana。　He　figured　he　could　beat　the　phony　assault　rap　from　the　highway　robbers；　but　what　if　the　Lockhart　case　broke　open　in　the　meantime？　Decker　didn't　want　to　be　around　if　Skink　got　arrested。
　Skink　was　the　big　problem。　If　Decker　hadn't　enlisted　the　mad　hermit　into　the　case；　Dickie　Lockhart　would　still　be　alive。　On　the　other　hand；　it　was　probably　Lockhart　who　had　arranged　the　murders　of　Robert　Clinch　and　then　Ott　Pickney。　Decker　didn't　know　exactly　what　to　do　next；　it　was　a　goddamn　mess。　He　had　e　to　like　Skink　and　he　hated　the　thought　of　him　going　to　the　gas　chamb