ch.doublewhammy-第4部分

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　cheap。
　At　about　noon　a　third　bass　boat　raced　up　to　the　fishing　spot；　and　Dickie　started　hollering　like　a　madman。　〃Goddammit；　stop　the　tape！　Stop　the　tape！〃　He　hopped　up　and　down　on　the　bow　and　shook　his　fist　at　the　man　in　the　other　boat。　〃Hey；　can't　you　see　we're　filming　a　goddamn　TV　show　here？　You　got　the　whole　frigging　lake　but　you　gotta　stop　here　and　wreck　the　tape！〃　Then　he　saw　that　the　other　angler　was　Ozzie　Rundell；　Culver's　brother；　so　Dickie　stopped　shouting。　He　didn't　apologize；　but　he　did　pipe　down。
　〃Didn't　mean　to　interrupt；〃　Ozzie　said。　He　was　a　mumbler。　Dickie　Lockhart　told　him　to　speak　up。
　〃Didn't　mean　to　interrupt！〃　Ozzie　said；　a　bit　louder。　In　his　entire　life　he　had　never　boated　a　bass　over　four　pounds；　and　was　in　awe　of　Dickie　Lockhart。
　〃Well？〃　Dickie　said。
　〃I　thought　you'd　want　to　know。〃
　Dickie　shook　his　head。　He　kicked　a　button　on　the　bow　and　used　the　trolling　motor　to　steer　his　boat　closer　to　Ozzie's。　When　the　two　were　side　by　side；　Dickie　said　impatiently；　〃Now　start　over。〃
　〃I　thought　you'd　want　to　know。　They　found　Bobby　Clinch。〃
　〃Where？〃
　〃Dead。〃
　Ozzie　would　get　around　to　answering　the　questions；　but　not　in　the　order　he　was　asked。　His　mind　worked　that　way。
　〃How？〃　Dickie　said。
　〃In　Lake　Harney。〃
　〃When？〃
　〃Flipped　his　boat　and　drowned；〃　Ozzie　said。
　〃Goddamn；〃　said　Dickie　Lockhart。　〃I'm　sorry。〃
　〃Yesterday；〃　Ozzie　said　in　conclusion。
　Dickie　turned　to　the　cameraman　and　said；　〃Well；　that's　it　for　the　day。〃
　Ozzie　seemed　thrilled　just　to　be　able　to　touch　the　deck　of　the　champion's　boat。　He　gazed　at　Dickie　Lockhart's　fishing　gear　the　way　a　Little　Leaguer　might　stare　at　Ted　Williams'　bat。　〃Well；　sorry　to　interrupt；〃　he　mumbled。
　〃Don't　worry　about　it；〃　Dickie　Lockhart　said。　〃They　stopped　biting　two　hours　ago。〃
　〃What　plug　you　usin'？〃　Ozzie　inquired。
　〃My　special　baby；〃　Dickie　said；　〃the　Double　Whammy。〃
　The　Double　Whammy　was　the　hottest　lure　on　the　pro　bass　circuit；　thanks　in　large　measure　to　Dickie　Lockhart。　For　the　last　eight　tournaments　he'd　won；　Dickie　had　declared　it　was　the　amazing　Double　Whammy　that　had　tricked　the　trophy　fish。　His　phenomenal　success　with　the　lure…a　skirted　spinnerbait　with　twin　silver　spoons…had　not　been　duplicated　by　any　other　professional　angler；　though　all　had　tried；　filling　their　tackleboxes　with　elaborate　variations　and　imitations。　Most　of　the　bassers　caught　big　fish　on　the　Double　Whammy；　but　none　caught　as　many；　or　at　such　opportune　times；　as　Dickie　Lockhart。
　〃It's　a　real　killer；　huh？〃　Ozzie　said。
　〃You　betcha；〃　Dickie　said。　He　took　the　fishing　line　in　his　front　teeth　and　bit　through；　freeing　the　jangling　lure。　〃You　want　it？〃　he　asked。
　Ozzie　Rundell　beamed　like　a　kid　on　Christmas　morning。　〃Shoot　yeah！〃
　Dickie　Lockhart　tossed　the　lure　toward　Ozzie's　boat。　In　his　giddiness　Ozzie　actually　tried　to　catch　the　thing　in　his　bare　hands。　He　missed；　of　course；　and　the　Double　Whammy　embedded　its　needle…sharp　hook　firmly　in　the　poor　man's　cheek。　Ozzie　didn't　seem　to　feel　a　thing；　didn't　seem　to　notice　the　blood　dripping　down　his　jawline。
　〃Thanks！〃　he　shouted　as　Dickie　Lockhart　started　up　his　boat。　〃Thanks　a　million！〃
　〃Don't　mention　it；〃　the　champion　replied；　leaning　on　the　throttle。
　
　R。　J。　Decker　had　been　born　in　Texas。　His　father　had　been　an　FBI　man；　and　the　family　had　lived　in　Dallas　until　December　of　1963。　Two　weeks　after　Kennedy　was　shot；　Decker's　father　was　transferred　to　Miami　and　assigned　to　a　crack　squad　whose　task　was　to　ensure　that　no　pals　of　Fidel　Castro　took　a　shot　at　LBJ。　It　was　a　tense　and　exciting　time；　but　it　passed。　Decker's　father　eventually　wound　up　in　a　typically　stupefying　FBI　desk　job；　got　fat；　and　died　of　clogged　arteries　at　age　forty…nine。　One　of　Decker's　older　brothers　grew　up　to　be　a　cop　in　Minneapolis。　The　other　sold　Porsches　to　cocaine　dealers　in　San　Francisco。
　A　good　athlete　and　a　fair　student　in　college；　R。　J。　Decker　surprised　all　his　classmates　by　being　a　professional　photographer。　Cameras　were　his　private　passion；　he　was　fascinated　with　the　art　of　freezing　time　in　the　eye。　He　never　told　anyone　but　it　was　the　Zapruder　film　that　had　done　it。　When　Life　magazine　had　e　out　with　those　grainy　movie　pictures　of　the　assassination；　R。　J。　Decker　was　only　eight　years　old。　Still　he　was　transfixed　by　the　frames　of　the　wounded　president　and　his　wife。　The　pink　of　her　dress；　the　black　blur　of　the　Lincoln…horrific　images；　yet　magnetic。　The　boy　never　imagined　such　a　moment　could　be　captured　and　kept　for　history。　Soon　afterward　he　got　his　first　camera。
　For　Decker；　photography　was　more　than　just　a　hobby；　it　was　a　way　of　looking　at　the　world。　He　had　been　cursed　with　a　short　temper　and　a　cynical　outlook；　so　the　darkroom　became　a　soothing　place；　and　the　ceremony　of　making　pictures　a　gentle　therapy。
　Much　to　his　frustration；　the　studio…photography　business　proved　unbearably　dull　and　profitable。　Decker　did　weddings；　bar　mitzvahs；　portraits；　and　mercial　jobs；　mostly　magazine　advertisements。　He　was　once　paid　nine　thousand　dollars　to　take　the　perfect　picture　of　a　bottle　of　Midol。　The　ad　showed　up　in　all　the　big　women's　magazines；　and　Decker　clipped　several　copies　to　send　to　his　friends；　as　a　joke　on　himself。
　And；　of　course；　there　were　the　fashion　layouts　with　professional　models。　The　first　year　Decker　fell　in　love　seventeen　times。　The　second　year　he　let　the　Hasselblad　do　the　falling　in　love。　His　pictures　were　very　good；　he　was　making　large　sums　of　money；　and　he　was　bored　out　of　his　skull。
　One　afternoon　on　Miami　Beach；　while　Decker　was　on　a　mercial　shoot　for　a　new　tequila…scented　suntan　oil；　a　young　tourist　suddenly　tore　off　her　clothes　and　jumped　into　the　Atlantic　and　tried　to　drown　herself。　The　lifeguards　reached　her　just　in　time；　and　Decker　snapped　a　couple　of　frames　as　they　carried　her　from　the　surf。　The　woman's　blond　hair　was　tangled　across　her　cheeks；　her　eyes　were　puffy　and　half…closed；　and　her　lips　were　grey。　What　really　made　the　photograph　was　the　face　of　one　of　the　lifeguards　who　had　rescued　the　young　woman。　He'd　carefully　wrapped　his　arms　around　her　bare　chest　to　shield　her　from　the　gawkers；　and　in　his　eyes　Decker's　lens　had　captured　both　panic　and　pity。
　For　the　hell　of　it　Decker　gave　the　roll　of　film　to　a　newspaper　reporter　who　had　followed　the　paramedics　to　the　scene。　The　next　day　the　Miami　Sun　published　Decker's　photograph　on　the　front　page；　and　paid　him　the　grand　sum　of　thirty　dollars。　The　day　after　that；　the　managing　editor　offered　him　a　full…time　job　and　Decker　said　yes。
　In　some　ways　it　was　the　best　move　he　ever　made。　In　some　ways　it　was　the　worst。　Decker　only　wished　he　would　have　lasted　longer。
　
　He　thought　of　this　as　he　drove　into　Harney　County；　starting　a　new　case；　working　for　a　man　he　didn't　like　at　all。
　Harney　was　Dickie　Lockhart's　hometown；　and　the　personal　headquarters　of　his　bass…fishing　empire。
　Upon　arrival　the　first　thing　Decker　did　was　to　find　Ott　Pickney；　which　was　easy。　Ott　was　not　a　man　on　the　move。
　He　wrote　obituaries　for　the　Harney　Sentinel；　which　published　two　times　a　week；　three　during　boar　season。　The　leisurely　pace　of　the　small　newspaper　suited　Ott　Pickney　perfectly　because　it　left　plenty　of　time　for　golf　and　gardening。　Before　moving　to　Central　Florida；　Pickney　had　worked　for　seventeen　years　at　the　Miami　Sun；　which　is　where　Decker　had　met　him。　At　first　Decker　had　assumed　from　Ott's　sluggish　behavior　that　here　was　a　once…solid　reporter　languishing　in　the　twilight　of　his　career；　it　soon　became　clear　that　Ott　Pickney's　career　had　begun　in　twilight　and　grown　only　dimmer。　That　he　had　lasted　so　long　in　Miami　was　the　result　of　a　dense　newsroom　bureaucracy　that　always　seemed　to　find　a　place　for　him；　no　matter　how　useless　he　was。　Ott　was　one　of　those　newspaper　characters　who　got　passed　from　one　department　to　another　until；　after　so　many　years；　he　had　bee　such　a　sad　fixture　that　no　editor　wished　to　be　remembered　as　the　one　who　fired　him。　Consequently；　Ott　didn't　get　fired。　He　retired　from　the　Sun　at　full　pension　and　moved　to　Harney　to　write　obits　and　grow　prizewinning　orchids。
　
　R。　J。　Decker　found　Pickney　in　the　Sentinel's　newsroom；　such　as　it　was。　There　were　three　typewriters；　five　desks；　and　four　telephones。　Ott　was　lounging　at　the　coffee　machine；　nothing　had　changed。
　He　grinned　when　Decker　walked　in。　〃R。J。！　God　Almighty；　what　brings　you　here？　Your　car　break　down　or　what？〃
　Decker　smiled　and　shook　Ott's　hand。　He　noticed　that　Ott　was　wearing　baggy　brown　trousers　and　a　blue　Banlon　shirt。　Probably　the　last　Banlon　shirt　in　America。　How　could　you　not　like　a　guy　who　wasn't　ashamed　to　dress　like　this？
　〃You　look　great；〃　Decker　said。
　〃And　I　feel　great；　R。J。；　I　really　do。　Hey；　I　know　it's　not　exactly　the　big　city；　but　I　had　my　fill　of　that；　didn't　I？〃　Ott　was　talking　a　little　too　loudly。　〃We　got　out　just　in　time；　R。J。；　you　and　me。　That　paper　would　have　killed　both　of　us　one　way　or　another。〃
　〃It　tried。〃
　〃Yeah；　boy；〃　Ott　said。　〃Sandy；　get　over　here！　I　want　you　to　meet　somebody。〃　A　wrenlike　man　with　thick　eyeglasses　walked　over　and　nodded　cautiously　at　Decker。　〃R。J。；　this　is　Sandy　Kilpatrick；　my　editor。　Sandy；　this　is　R。　J。　Decker。　R。J。　and　I　worked　together　down　in　the　Magic　City。　I　wrote　the　prose；　he　took　the　snapshots。　We　covered　that　big　voodoo　murder　together；　remember；　R。J。？〃
　Decker　remembered。　He　remembered　it　wasn't　exactly　a　big　voodoo　murder。　Some　redneck　mechanic　in　Hialeah　had　killed　his　wife　by　sticking　her　with　pins；　safety　pins；　hundreds　of　them。　The　mechanic　had　read　something　about　voodoo　in　Argosy　magazine　and　had　totally　confused　the　rituals。　He　loaded　his　wife　up　on　Barbancourt　rum　and　started　pricking　away　until　she　bled　to　death。　Then　he　pretended　to　e　home　from　work　and　find　her　dead。　He　blamed　the　crime　on　a　Haitian　couple　down　the　street；　claiming　they　had　put　a　hex　on　his　house　and　Oldsmobile。　The　cops　didn't　go　for　this　and　the　redneck　mechanic　wound　up　on　Death　Row。
　As　Ott　was　reinventing　this　story；　Sandy　Kilpatrick　stared　at　R。　J。　Decker　the　way　visitors　from　Miami　got　stared　at　in　this　part　of　Florida。　Like　they　were　trouble。　Kilpatrick　obviously　had　heard　Ott's　voodoo…murder　story　about　four　hundred　times　and　soon　started　to　shrink　away。
　〃Nice　meeting　you；〃　Decker　said。
　Kilpatrick　nodded　again　as　he　slipped　out　of