chiaasen.stormyweather-第15部分

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　〃Caller　reports　suspicious　subject　running　along　10700　block　of　Quail　Roost　Drive；　carrying　another　subject　over　his　shoulder。　Subject　One　is　described　as　w/m；　height　and　weight　unknown。　Subject　Two　is　w/m；　height　and　weight　unknown。
　
　〃Caller　reports　Subject　B　appeared　to　be　resisting；　and　was　possibly　nude。　Subject　A　reported　to　be　carrying　a　handgun　with　a　flashing　red　light　（？？）。　Search　of　area　by　Units　2334　and　4511　proved　negative。〃
　
　Jim　Tile　knew　of　no　pistols　with　blinking　red　lights；　but　most　hand…held　video　cameras　had　one。　From　a　distance；　a　frightened　elderly　person　might　mistake　a　Sony　for　a　Smith　&　Wesson。
　
　Maybe　the　old　woman　had　witnessed　the　abduction　of　Mr。　Max　Lamb。　Jim　Tile　hoped　not。　He　hoped　the　Quail　Roost　sighting　was　just　another　weird　Dade　County　roadside　altercation　and　not　the　act　of　his　volatile　swamp…dwelling　friend；　who　was　known　to　hold　ill…mannered　tourists　in　low　esteem。
　
　The　trooper　made　a　copy　of　Mrs。　Lamb's　report　and　slipped　it　in　his　briefcase　along　with　several　others。　When　he　had　some　free　time；　he'd　try　to　interview　her。
　
　There　was　only　twenty　minutes　left　for　lunch　with　Brenda；　before　both　of　them　had　to　start　another　shift。　Being　able　to　see　her；　even　briefly；　was　well　worth　the　ordeal　of　working　the　batty　streets　of　South　Florida。
　
　Jim　Tile　was　most　displeased；　therefore；　to　personally　witness　the　hijacking　of　a　Salvation　Army　truck　while　he　was　driving　to　the　Red　Lobster　restaurant　where　Brenda　waited。　The　trooper　was　obliged　to　give　chase；　and　by　the　time　it　was　over　he'd　missed　his　luncheon　date。
　
　As　he　disarmed　and　handcuffed　the　truck　hijacker；　Jim　Tile　wondered　aloud　why　anybody　with　half　a　brain　would　use　a　MAC…10　to　steal　a　truck　full　of　secondhand　clothes。　The　young　man　said　his　original　intention　was　to　spray…paint　a　gang　insignia　on　the　side　of　the　Salvation　Army　truck；　but　before　he　could　finish　his　tagging　the　driver　took　off。　The　young　man　explained　that　he'd　had　no　choice；　as　a　matter　of　self…respect；　but　to　pull　his　submachine　gun　and；　yo；　steal　the　motherfucking　truck。
　
　As　Trooper　Jim　Tile　assisted　the　talkative　hijacker　into　the　cage　of　his　patrol　car；　he　silently　vowed　to　redouble　his　efforts　to　persuade　Brenda　Rourke　to　transfer　out　of　this　hellhole　called　Miami；　to　a　more　civilized　hellhole　where　they　could　work　together。
　
　Snapper　was　proud　of　how　he'd　acquired　the　Jeep　Cherokee；　but　Edie　Marsh　showed　no　interest　in　his　conquest。
　
　〃What's　the　story？〃　Snapper　pointed　at　the　dachshunds。
　
　〃Donald　and　Maria；〃　Edie　said；　annoyed。　The　animals　were　pulling　her　back　and　forth　across　Tony　Torres's　front　yard　and　peeing　with　wild　abandon。　Edie　was　amazed　at　the　power　in　their　stubby　Vienna…sausage　legs。
　
　〃By　the　way；〃　she　said；　straining　against　the　leashes；　〃it　took　that　asshole　all　of　three　minutes　before　he　grabbed　my　tits。〃
　
　〃Big　deal；　so　you　win　the　bet。〃
　
　〃Take　these　damn　dogs！〃
　
　Snapper　backed　away。　Numerous　encounters　with　police　German　shepherds　had　left　him　with　permanent　scars；　physical　and　mental。　Over　the　years；　Snapper　had　bee　a　cat　person。
　
　〃Just　let　'em　go；〃　he　said　to　Edie。
　
　The　moment　she　dropped　the　leashes；　the　two　dachshunds　curled　up　at　her　feet。
　
　〃Beautiful；〃　Snapper　said　with　a　grunt。　〃Hey；　look　what　I　found。〃　He　flashed　the　chrome…plated　pistol　he'd　taken　from　the　gangsters。　Palming　the　cheap　gun；　he　noticed　the　chambers　were　empty。　〃Damn　spades；〃　he　said；　heaving　it　into　the　murky　swimming　pool。
　
　Edie　Marsh　told　Snapper　about　the　tough　guy　with　the　New　York　accent　who　came　for　Tony　Torres。　〃You　picked　a　peachy　time　to　disappear；〃　she　added。
　
　〃Shut　the　fuck　up。〃
　
　〃Well；　Tony's　gone。　Even　his　damn　beach　chair。　Figure　it　out　yourself。〃
　
　〃Shit。〃
　
　〃He　won't　be　back；〃　Edie　said　gravely。　〃Not　in　one　piece；　anyway。〃
　
　A　concrete　block　occupied　the　spot　where　Tony's　chaise　had　been。　Snapper　cursed　his　rotten　timing。　The　ten　grand　was　history。　Even　in　the　unlikely　event　that　the　salesman　returned；　he'd　never　pay。　Snapper　had　fucked　up　big…time；　he　wasn't　cut　out　to　be　a　bodyguard。
　
　He　said；　〃I　don't　guess　you　got　a　new　plan。〃
　
　A　siren　drowned　Edie's　reply；　which　she　punctuated　with　a　familiar　hand　gesture。　An　ambulance　came　speeding　down　Calusa　Drive。　Snapper　figured　it　was　carrying　Baby　Raper　to　the　hospital；　for　some　unusual　surgery。　Snapper　wouldn't　be　surprised　to　read　about　it　in　a　medical　journal　someday。
　
　He　spotted　Tony　Torres's　Remington　shotgun；　broken　into　pieces　on　the　driveway。　Snapper　thought：　It's　definitely　time　to　abort　the　mission。　Tomorrow　he'd　call　Avila　about　the　roofer's　gig。
　
　〃I'll　give　you　a　lift；〃　he　said　to　Edie　Marsh；　〃but　not　those　damn　dogs。〃
　
　〃Jesus；　I　can't　just　leave　'em　here。〃
　
　〃Suit　yourself。〃　Snapper　scooped　three　Heinekens　from　Tony's　ice　cooler；　got　in　the　souped…up　Cherokee　and　drove　off　without　so　much　as　a　wave。
　
　Edie　Marsh　tethered　Donald　and　Maria　to　a　sprinkler　in　the　backyard。　Then　she　entered　the　ruined　shell　of　the　salesman's　house；　to　check　for　items　of　value。
　
　Skink　ordered　Max　Lamb　to　disrobe　and　climb　a　tree。　Max　did　as　he　was　told。　It　was　a　leafless　willow；　Max　sat　carefully　on　a　springy　limb；　his　bare　legs　dangling。　Beneath　him　Skink　paced；　fulminating。　In　one　hand　he　displayed　the　remote…control　unit　for　the　electronic　training　collar。
　
　〃You　people　e　down　here…fucking　yupsters　with　no　knowledge；　no　appreciation；　no　interest　in　the　natural　history　of　the　place；　the　ancient　sweep　of　life。　Disney　World…Christ；　Max；　that's　not　Florida！〃　He　pointed　an　incriminating　finger　at　his　captive。　〃I　found　the　ticket　stubs　in　your　wallet；　Tourist　Boy。〃
　
　Max　was　rattled；　he'd　assumed　everybody　liked　Disney　World。　〃Please；〃　he　said　to　Skink；　〃if　you　shock　me　now；　I'll　fall。〃
　
　Skink　pulled　off　his　flowered　cap　and　knelt　by　the　dead　embers　of　the　campfire。　Max　Lamb　was　acutely　worried。　Coal…black　mosquitoes　swarmed　his　pale　plump　toes；　but　he　didn't　dare　slap　at　them。　He　was　afraid　to　move　a　muscle。
　
　All　day　the　kidnapper's　spirits　had　seemed　to　improve。　He'd　eyen　taken　Max　to　a　rest　stop　along　the　Tamiami　Trail；　so　Max　could　call　New　York　and　leave　Bonnie　another　message。　While　Max　waited　for　the　pay　phone；　Skink　had　dashed　onto　the　highway　to　collect　a　fresh　roadkill。　His　mood　was　loose；　practically　convivial。　He　sang　during　the　entire　airboat　ride　back　to　the　cypress　hammock；　later　he　merely　chided　Max　for　not　knowing　that　Neil　Young　had　played　guitar　for　Buffalo　Springfield。
　
　Max　Lamb　believed　himself　to　be　blessed　with　a　winning　personality；　a　delusion　that　led　him　to　assume　the　kidnapper　had　grown　fond　of　him。　Max　felt　it　was　only　a　matter　of　time　before　he'd　be　able　to　shmooze　his　way　to　freedom。　He　put　no　stock　in　Skink's　oral　biography；　and　regarded　the　man　as　an　unbalanced　but　moderately　intelligent　derelict；　in　short；　a　confused　soul　who　could　be　won　over　with　a　thoughtful；　low…key　approach。　And　wasn't　that　an　advertiser's　forte…winning　people　over？　Max　believed　he　was　making　progress；　too；　with　tepid　conversation；　pointless　anecdotes　and　the　occasional　self…deprecatory　joke。　Skink　certainly　acted　calmer；　if　not　serene。　Three　hours　had　passed　since　he'd　last　triggered　the　canine　shock　collar；　an　encouraging　lull；　from　Max's　point　of　view。
　
　Now；　for　reasons　unknown；　the　one…eyed　brute　was　seething　again。　To　Max　Lamb；　he　announced：　〃Pop　quiz。〃
　
　〃On　what？〃
　
　Skink　rose　slowly。　He　tucked　the　remote　control　in　a　back　pocket。　With　both　hands　he　gathered　his　wild　hair　and　knotted　it　on　one　side　of　his　head；　above　the　ear…a　misplaced　mop　of　a　ponytail。　Then　he　removed　his　glass　eye　and　polished　it　with　spit　and　a　crusty　bandanna。　Max　became　further　alarmed。
　
　〃Who　was　here　first；〃　Skink　asked；　〃the　Seminoles　or　the　Tequestas？〃
　
　〃I；　uh…I　don't　know。〃　Max　gripped　the　branch　so　hard　that　his　knuckles　turned　pink。
　
　Skink；　replacing　the　artificial　eyeball；　retrieving　the　remote　control　from　his　pocket：　〃Who　was　Napoleon　Bonaparte　Broward？〃
　
　Max　Lamb　shook　his　head；　helplessly。　Skink　shrugged。　〃How　about　Marjory　Stoneman　Douglas？〃
　
　〃Yes；　yes；　wait　a　minute。〃　The　willow　limb　quivered　under　Max's　nervous　buttocks。　〃She　wrote　The　Yearling'。〃
　
　Moments　later；　regaining　consciousness；　he　found　himself　in　a　fetal　ball　on　a　mossy　patch　of　ground。　Both　knees　were　scraped　from　the　fall。　His　throat　and　arms　still　burned　from　the　dog　collar's　jolt。　Opening　his　eyes；　Max　saw　the　toes　of　Skink's　boots。　He　heard　a　voice　as　deep　as　thunder：　〃I　should　kill　you。〃
　
　〃No；　don't…〃
　
　〃The　arrogance　of　ing　to　a　place　like　this　and　not　knowing…〃
　
　〃I'm　sorry；　captain。〃
　
　〃…not　caring　to　learn…〃
　
　〃I　told　you；　I'm　in　advertising。〃
　
　Skink　slipped　a　hand　under　Max　Lamb's　chin。　〃What　do　you　believe　in？〃
　
　〃For　God's　sake；　it's　my　honeymoon。〃　Max　was　on　the　slippery　ledge　of　panic。
　
　〃What　do　you　stand　for？　Tell　me　that；　sir。〃
　
　Max　Lamb　cringed。　〃I　can't。〃
　
　Skink　chuckled　bitterly。　〃For　future　reference；　you　got　your　Marjories　mixed　up。　Rawlings　wrote　The　Yearling；　Douglas　wrote　River　of　Grass。　I　got　a　hunch　you　won't　forget。〃
　
　He　cleaned　the　bloody　scrapes　on　Max's　legs　and　told　him　to　put　on　his　clothes。　His　confidence　fractured；　Max　dressed　in　arthritic　slow　motion。　〃Are　you　ever　going　to　let　me　go？〃
　
　Skink　seemed　not　to　have　heard　the　question。　〃Know　what　I'd　really　like；〃　he　said；　stoking　a　new　fire。　〃I'd　like　to　meet　this　bride　of　yours。〃
　
　〃That's　impossible；〃　Max　said；　hoarsely。
　
　〃Oh；　nothing's　impossible。〃
　
　Among　the　stream　of　outlaws　who　raced　south　in　the　feverish　hours　following　the　hurricane　was　a　man　named　Gil　Peck。　His　plan　was　to　pass　himself　off　as　an　experienced　mason；　steal　what　he　could　in　the　way　of　advance　deposits；　then　haul　ass　back　to　Alabama。　The　scam　had　worked　flawlessly　against　victims　of　Hurricane　Hugo　in　South　Carolina；　and　Gil　Peck　was　confident　it　would　work　in　Miami；　too。
　
　He　arrived　in　a　four…ton　flatbed　carrying　a　small　but　authentic…looking　load　of　red　bricks；　which　he'd　ripped　off　from　an　unguarded　construction　site　in　Mobile…a　new　cancer　wing　for　a　pediatric　hospital。　Gil