ch.doublewhammy-第60部分

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an　Network；　some　of　Charlie　Weeb's　colleagues　and　petitors　would　say　he　was　a　fool　not　to　pull　the　plug　on　the　Lunker　Lakes　show　the　instant　Skink　French…kissed　the　Minicam。　However；　such　a　judgment　failed　to　take　into　account　the　pressure　from　Weeb's　corporate　sponsors；　who　had　paid　extraordinary　sums　to　finance　the　bass　tournament　and　definitely　expected　to　see　it　（and　their　fishing　products）　on　national　television。　To　these　businessmen；　the　attempted　faith…healing　was　merely　a　gross　and　irritating　preamble　to　the　main　event。　The　weigh…in　itself　was　attended　by　no　less　than　the　entire　board　of　directors　of　the　Happy　Gland　fish…scent　pany；　who　had　flown　down　from　Elijay；　Georgia；　with　the　expectation　that　Eddie　Spurling；　their　new　spokesman；　would　win　the　Lockhart　Memorial　hands　down。　Charlie　Weeb　had　assured　them　of　this　in　the　most　positive　terms。
　So；　even　after　Skink's　performance；　little　thought　was　given　to　aborting　the　program。　In　fact；　there　was　no　time　between　the　church　show　and　the　tournament　for　Weeb　to　contemplate　the　scope　of　the　catastrophe；　broadcast…wise。　He　knew　it　was　bad；　very　bad。　Before　his　eyes　the　sea　of　faithful　Christian　faces　had　dissipated；　the　first　ten　rows　in　front　of　the　stage　now　were　empty；　with　some　of　the　chairs　overturned　by　hasty　departures。　A　few　people　milled　around　the　boat　docks　while　others　hovered　at　the　free　buffet。　Most　apparently　had　retreated　to　the　charter　buses；　where　they　huddled　in　their　seats　and　recited　appropriate　Bible　tracts。　They　couldn't　wait　to　get　out　of　Lunker　Lakes。
　As　soon　as　Skink　had　leapt　off　the　stage　in　pursuit　of　his　eyeball；　Charlie　Weeb　had　cut　to　a　mercial　and　gone　searching　for　Deacon　Johnson；　who　had　presciently　mandeered　the　limousine　and　struck　out　for　parts　unknown。　Weeb's　principal　inquiry…as　enunciated　in　a　gaseous　torrent　of　obscenities…concerned　the　selection　of　Mr。　Jeremiah　Skink　as　a　subject　worthy　of　healing。　It　was　Reverend　Weeb's　opinion　that　Skink　was　more　demented　than　disabled；　and　that　his　schizoid　tendency　toward　self…mutilation　should　have　been　evident　to　Deacon　Johnson　（who；　after　all；　was　being　paid　two　hundred　thou　a　year　to　prevent　such　embarrassments）。
　Failing　to　locate　Deacon　Johnson；　Charlie　Weeb　returned　to　the　stage　and　tried　to　make　the　best　of　things。　His　image　as　a　faith…healer　was　damaged；　perhaps　irreparably；　but　that　concerned　him　less　than　the　mounting　specter　of　financial　ruin。　Word　had　filtered　back　to　Weeb　that　many　of　the　pilgrims　who　had　signed　new　contracts　for　Lunker　Lakes　homesites　were　having　second　thoughts…a　half…dozen　had　even　demanded　their　deposits　back。　Weeb's　stomach　had　churned　sourly　at　the　news。
　What　he　now　needed…in　fact；　the　only　thing　that　would　save　the　project…was　a　big　warm　Southern　finish。　Specifically：　a　beaming；　tanned；　lovable；　good　ole　boy　in　the　person　of　Eddie　Spurling；　with　a　string　of　lunker　bass。　That　would　put　the　mood　right。
　So　Charlie　Weeb　seized　the　microphone　and　talked　a　blue　streak　as　the　boats　roared　in。　He　talked　about　sunshine；　balmy　climate；　calm　waters；　central　air；　adjustable　mortgages；　bike　paths；　rec　rooms；　low　maintenance　fees；　the　Olympic…size　swimming　pool；　everything　but　fish。
　Because　there　weren't　any。
　Every　boat　was　ing　back　empty。　The　OCN　sports　reporter　would　stick　a　mike　in　front　of　the　angler　and　the　angler　would　straighten　his　cap　and　spit　some　chaw　and　grumble　about　it　being　one　of　those　days；　and　then　the　sports　reporter　would　smile　lamely　and　say　better　luck　next　time。
　Those　gathered　dockside…primarily　the　sponsors　and　tackle　reps　and　devoted　relatives　of　the　contestants…could　not　recall　such　a　dismal　day　of　bass　fishing；　even　in　the　weeks　after　Hurricane　Camille　had　torn　up　the　South。
　Skink　himself　was　worried　by　what　he　saw；　but　there　was　nothing　to　do　but　wait。　Surely　somebody　had　caught　some　fish。
　As　the　pattern　became　clear　to　Charlie　Weeb；　he　found　it　increasingly　difficult　to　put　a　positive　spin　on　the　day's　events。　A　weigh…in　with　nothing　to　weigh　was　extremely　dull　television；　even　by　cable　standards。　To　fill　air　time　until　Fast　Eddie　Spurling　arrived；　Weeb　ordered　the　director　to　run　some　how…to　fishing　videos　supplied　by　the　big　tackle　panies。
　With　only　ten　minutes　until　deadline；　and　the　winter　sun　nearly　gone；　forty…seven　bass　boats　had　checked　in　at　the　ramp。　The　empty　scoreboard　mocked　Charlie　Weeb。　He　could　no　longer　summon　the　courage　to　look　at　the　Happy　Gland　entourage。
　Where　were　Eddie　Spurling　and　his　ringers？
　Backstage　the　young　hydrologist　approached　Reverend　Weeb　and　said；　〃Bad　news…the　water's　worse　today　than　ever。〃
　〃Get　out　of　my　sight；〃　Weeb　said。　He　didn't　give　a　damn　anymore　about　the　water…Eddie's　fish　would　be　fine；　since　they　were　ing　out　of　the　Everglades。
　With　a　grave　look；　the　hydrologist　said；　〃You're　about　to　have　a　major　problem。〃
　〃And　you're　about　to　get　a　size…ten　Florsheim　up　your　ass；　so　get　lost。〃
　Weeb's　earpiece　crackled　and　the　TV　director　said：　〃How　much　longer？〃
　〃We　got　three　boats　out；〃　the　preacher　said。　〃Sit　tight；　it'll　be　worth　it。〃
　It　was。
　Naturally　Skink　was　first　to　hear　them。　He　hopped　off　Decker's　car　and　ambled　down　to　the　dock。　The　other　onlookers　gave　way；　recognizing　him　instantly　as　the　deranged　Cyclops　whom　Reverend　Weeb　had　tried　to　cure。　Skink　stood　alone　until　Decker　and　Catherine　came　down；　holding　hands。
　〃Listen；〃　Skink　said。
　Decker　heard　the　boat。　Whoever　it　was；　he　was　approaching　very　slowly_a　behavior　virtually　unknown　in　professional　bass…fishing　circles。
　〃Engine　trouble？〃　Decker　said。
　Skink　shook　his　head。　A　mischievous　grin　split　his　face。
　Catherine　said；　〃This　ought　to　be　good。〃
　Suddenly　the　dock　was　washed　in　hot　light　as　the　kliegs　came　on。　An　OCN　cameraman；　a　wiry　young　man　with　curly　red　hair；　hustled　across　the　boat　ramp　with　the　Minicam　balanced　on　one　shoulder。　Without　explanation　he　handed　the　camera　and　battery　pack　to　R。　J。　Decker；　and　bounded　away。
　〃Prior　engagement；〃　Skink　explained。　Catherine　couldn't　be　sure；　but　she　thought　he　winked　his　good　eye　behind　the　sunglasses。
　Decker　got　the　Minicam　focused　while　Catherine　fitted　the　headset　over　his　ears。　In　the　earphone　he　could　hear　the　director　hollering　for　Camera　Two　to　get　steady。
　〃This　is　a　breeze；〃　Decker　said。　A　four…year…old　could　work　the　zoom。
　Skink　rubbed　his　leathery　hands　together。　〃Lights！　Camera！〃
　Decker　aimed　down　the　lake　and　waited。　Before　long　a　bass　boat　chugged　into　view。　It　was　Fast　Eddie　Spurting；　going　slow。　The　reason　was　obvious。
　He　was　towing　two　other　boats。
　〃Is　it　Spurling？〃　the　TV　director　barked　at　Camera　Two。
　〃Yep；〃　Decker　said。
　The　word　was　relayed　to　Reverend　Weeb；　who　got　on　the　PA　system　and　beckoned　all　within　earshot　to　return　at　once　to　the　dock　area。　Even　those　who　had　fled　to　the　buses　emerged　to　see　what　was　going　on。
　〃Go　tight；　Rudy；〃　the　director　instructed　Decker；　and　Decker　obliged；　as　Rudy　would　have。
　As　the　procession　of　boats　tediously　made　its　way　up　Lunker　Lake　Number　One；　a　few　people　in　the　crowd　（specifically；　those　with　binoculars）　began　to　react　alarmingly。　Curious；　Charlie　Weeb　stepped　down　from　the　stage　to　join　his　congregation　at　water's　edge。
　R。　J。　Decker　was　doing　quite　well　with　the　TV　camera。　Through　the　viewfinder　everything　was　in　perfect　focus。
　There　was　Eddie　Spurling　half…turned　in　the　driver's　seat　as　he　checked　the　crippled　boats　on　his　towline。
　The　first　was　the　wooden　skiff…there　were　Jim　Tile　and　Al　Garcia；　sitting　aft　and　stern。　They　toasted　the　TV　lights　with　cans　of　Budweiser。
　Charlie　Weeb　let　out　a　whimper。　〃Mother　of　God；　it's　the　Tile　Brothers。〃　He　had　pletely　forgotten　about　the　spic　and　the　spade。　〃Get　the　camera　offa　them！〃　the　preacher　screamed。
　Slowly　R。　J。　Decker　panned　to　the　second　boat；　and　when　he　did　his　knees　nearly　crimped。
　It　was　the　Starcraft；　and　it　wasn't　the　way　Decker　had　left　it。
　Catherine　said；　〃Oh　no；〃　and　moved　behind　Skink。　She　leaned　her　head　against　his　back；　and　closed　her　eyes。
　The　boat　was　full　of　buzzards。
　There　was　a　ragged　cluster　of　at　least　a　dozen…burly　fearless　birds；　oily　brown；　stoop…shouldered；　with　raw　pink　heads　and　sharp　ruthless　eyes。　They　belched　and　shifted　and　blinked　in　the　bright　light；　but　they　didn't　fly。　They　were　too　full。
　〃Tough　customers；〃　Skink　whispered　to　Decker。
　Numbly　Decker　let　the　TV　camera　peer　into　the　boat。　He　ignored　the　disembodied　voice　shrieking　from　his　earpiece。
　The　buzzards　stood　in　a　litter　of　human　bones。　The　bones　were　clean；　but　occasionally　one　of　the　rancid　birds　would　bend　down　and　pick　savagely；　as　a　possessive　gesture　to　the　others。　The　biggest　buzzard；　a　disheveled　male　with　a　stained　crooked　beak；　palmed　a　bare　yellow　skull　in　its　talons。
　〃Looks　like　a　dog；〃　Skink　said；　puzzled。
　〃It's　Lucas；〃　Catherine　sighed。　〃Rage；　I　want　to　go　home。〃
　As　soon　as　Eddie　Spurling　tied　off　the　boats；　Charlie　Weeb　barged　forward　and　said；　〃Why'd　you　tow　those　fuckers　in？〃
　〃Because　they　ast　me　to。〃
　〃So　where's　the　fish？〃
　〃No　fish；〃　Eddie　Spurling　reported。　〃I　got　skunked。〃
　Weeb　sucked　on　his　upper　lip。　He　had　to　be　careful　what　he　said。　There　was　a　decent…sized　crowd　now；　the　other　contestants　had　hung　around　just　to　see　how　the　famous　TV　fisherman　had　fared。
　〃What　do　you　mean；　no　fish…how　is　that　possible？〃　Weeb　spoke　in　a　low　strained　voice。　He　used　his　eyes　to　grill　Eddie　about　the　ringers…where　the　fuck　were　they！
　〃Damn　rascals　just　weren't　bitin'。〃
　〃You're　in　big　trouble；　Eddie。〃
　〃Naw；　I　don't　think　so。〃
　The　sports　reporter　from　OCN　poked　his　microphone　into　Spurling's　face　and　asked　the　star　of　Fish　Fever　what　had　happened。
　〃Just　one　of　those　days；〃　Fast　Eddie　mused；　〃when　you　feel　like　a　spit…valve　on　the　trombone　of　life。〃
　Al　Garcia　and　Jim　Tile　climbed　out　of　the　skiff　with　the　Igloo　cooler。　Skink　was　waiting　for　them。
　〃We　didn't　get　Queenie；〃　Garcia　said。
　〃I　know。〃
　Garcia　looked　at　Jim　Tile；　then　at　Skink。
　Skink　said；　〃Bet　you　boys　had　some　engine　trouble。〃
　〃I　don't　believe　this；〃　Garcia　said。　He　realized　what　had　happened；　but　he　didn't　know　why。
　〃What's　going　on；　jungle　man？〃
　〃Change　of　plans；〃　Skink　said。　〃Late…breaking　brainstorm。〃
　Jim　Tile　was　thinking　about　it。　〃The　Starcraf