chiaasen.stormyweather-第34部分

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cane。　As　the　bank　officer　questioned　her　more　closely；　the　woman　became　distraught。　Soon　her　little　dogs　began　to　bark　plangently；　one　of　them　squirted　from　her　arms　and　dashed　in　circles　around　the　lobby；　nipping　at　other　customers。　To　quiet　the　scene；　the　banker　agreed　to　accept　the　woman's　auto　registration　as　identification。　His　own　aunt　had　lost　all　her　immigration　papers　in　the　storm；　so　Mrs。　Torres's　excuse　seemed　plausible。　To　open　the　account　she　gave　him　one　hundred　dollars　cash；　and　said　she'd　be　back　in　a　few　days　to　deposit　a　large　insurance　check。
　
　〃You're　lucky　they　settled　so　fast；〃　the　banker　remarked。　〃My　aunt's　having　a　terrible　time　with　her　pany。〃
　
　The　woman　said　her　homeowner　policy　was　with　Midwest　Casualty。　〃I've　got　a　great　insurance　man；〃　she　added。
　
　Later；　when　Edie　Marsh　told　the　story　to　Fred　Dove；　he　reacted　with　the　weakest　twitch　of　an　ironic　smile。　Under　the　woeful　circumstances；　it　was　as　good　as　a　cartwheel。
　
　Edie；　Snapper　and　the　two　noisy　wiener　dogs　had　moved　into　his　room　at　the　Ramada。　No　other　acmodations　were　available　for　a　radius　of　sixty　miles；　because　the　hotels　were　jammed　full　of　displaced　families；　relief　volunteers；　journalists；　construction　workers　and　insurance　adjusters。　Fred　Dove　felt　trapped。　His　fear　of　getting　arrested　for　fraud　was　now　pounded　by　a　fear　that　his　wife　would　call　the　motel　room；　then　Edie　Marsh　or　Snapper　would　answer　the　phone　and　the　wiener　dogs　would　start　howling；　leaving　Fred　Dove　to　invent　an　explanation　that　no　sensible　woman　in　Omaha；　Nebraska；　would　ever　accept。
　
　〃Cheer　up；〃　Edie　told　him。　〃We're　all　set　at　the　bank。〃
　
　〃Good；〃　he　said　in　a　brittle　tone。
　
　The　long　tense　weekend　had　abraded　the　insurance　man's　nerves…Snapper；　gimping　irritably　around　the　small　motel　room；　slugging　down　vodka；　threatening　to　blast　the　yappy　dachshunds　with　a　massive　black　handgun　he　claimed　to　have　stolen　from　a　police　officer。
　
　No　wonder　I'm　edgy；　thought　Fred　Dove。
　
　To　deepen　the　gloom；　sharing　the　cramped　room　with　Snapper　and　the　dogs　left　the　insurance　man　no　opportunity　for　intimacy　with　Edie　Marsh。　Not　that　he　could　have　availed　himself　of　a　sexual　invitation；　the　withering　effect　of　Snapper's　previous　coital　interruption　endured；　as　Snapper　continued　to　tease　Fred　Dove　about　the　red　condom。
　
　Also　looming　large　was　the　question　of　Edie's　aptitude　for　violence…a　disconcerting　vision　of　the　crowbar　episode　was　scorched　into　Fred　Dove's　memory。　He　worried　that　she　or　Snapper　might　endeavor　to　murder　each　other　at　any　moment。
　
　Edie　stretched　out　next　to　him　on　the　bed。　〃You're　miserable；〃　she　observed。
　
　〃Yes　indeed；〃　said　the　insurance　man。
　
　With　his　bum　leg　elevated；　Snapper　was　stationed　in　an　armchair　three　and　one　half　feet　from　the　television　screen。　Every　so　often　he　would　take　a　futile　swipe　at　Donald　or　Maria；　and　tell　them　to　shut　the　holy　fuck　up。
　
　〃Sally　Jessy；〃　Edie　whispered。　Fred　Dove　sighed。
　
　On　the　TV；　a　woman　in　a　dreadful　yellow　wig　was　accusing　her　gap…toothed　white…trash　husband　of　screwing　her　younger　sister。　Instead　of　denying　it；　the　husband　said　damn　right；　and　it　was　the　best　nooky　I　ever　had。　Instantly　the　sister；　also　wearing　a　dreadful　wig　and　lacking　in　teeth；　piped　up　to　say　she　couldn't　get　enough。　Sally　Jessy　exhaled　in　weary　dismay；　the　studio　audience　hooted；　and　Snapper　let　out　a　war　whoop　that　set　off　the　dogs　once　again。
　
　〃If　the　phone　rings；〃　Fred　Dove　said；　〃please　don't　answer。〃
　
　Edie　Marsh　didn't　need　to　ask　why。
　
　〃You　got　any　kids？〃　she　asked。
　
　The　insurance　man　said　he　had　two；　a　boy　and　a　girl。　He　thought　Edie　might　follow　up　and　ask　about　their　ages；　what　grades　they　were　in；　and　so　on。　But　she　showed　no　interest。
　
　She　said；　〃Cheer　up；　OK？　Think　about　your　cruise　to　Bimini。〃
　
　〃Look；　I　was　wondering…〃
　
　Snapper；　growling　over　one　shoulder：　〃You　two　mind？　I'm　tryin'　to　watch　the　fuckin'　show。〃
　
　Edie　signaled　for　Fred　Dove　to　follow　her　to　the　bathroom。　He　perked　up；　anticipating　a　discreet　blow　job　or　something　along　those　lines。
　
　But　Edie　only　wanted　a　quiet　place　to　chat。　They　perched　their　butts　on　the　edge　of　the　bathtub。　She　stroked　his　hand　and　said；　〃Tell　me；　sugar。　What's　on　your　mind？〃
　
　〃OK；　the　pany　sends　me　the　check…〃
　
　〃Right。〃
　
　〃I　give　it　to　you；〃　said　Fred　Dove；　〃and　you　deposit　it　in　the　bank。〃
　
　〃Right。〃
　
　〃And　then？〃
　
　Edie　Marsh　answered　with　exaggerated　clarity；　like　a　schoolteacher　coaxing　an　exceptionally　dull…witted　pupil。　〃Then；　Fred；　I　go　back　to　the　bank　in　a　couple　days　and　cut　three　separate　cashier's　checks　for　forty…seven　thousand　each。　Just　like　we　agreed。〃
　
　Undeterred　by　the　condescension；　he　said：　〃Don't　forget　the　hundred　dollars　I　gave　you　to　open　the　account。〃
　
　Edie　let　go　of　his　hand　and　brushed　it；　like　a　cockroach；　off　her　lap。　Lord；　what　an　anal　dweeb！　〃Yes；　Freddie；　I'll　make　absolutely　sure　your　check　says　forty…seven　thousand　one　hundred。　OK？　Feel　better？〃
　
　The　insurance　man　grunted　unhappily。　〃I　won't　feel　better　till　it's　over。〃
　
　Edie　Marsh　didn't　inform　Fred　Dove　about　the　phone　call　from　the　real　Neria　Torres。　She　didn't　want　to　spook　him　out　of　the　scam。
　
　〃The　best　part　about　this　deal；〃　she　said；　〃is　that　nobody's　in　a　position　to　screw　anyone　else。　You've　got　shit　on　me；　I've　got　shit　on　you；　and　we've　both　got　plenty　of　shit　on　Snapper。　That's　why　it's　going　down　so　clean。〃
　
　Fred　Dove　said；　〃That　gun　of　his　scares　me　to　death。〃
　
　〃Not　much　we　can　do。　The　asshole　digs　guns。〃
　
　Outside；　Donald　and　Maria　began　scratching　at　the　bathroom　door　in　the　frenetic　manner　of　deranged　badgers。
　
　〃Let's　get　out　there；〃　Edie　Marsh　said；　〃before　Snapper　loses　it。〃
　
　〃This　is　nuts！〃
　
　Edie　mechanically　guided　Fred　Dove's　head　to　her　bosom。　〃Don't　you　worry；〃　she　said；　and　he　was　momentarily　transported　to　a　warm；　fragrant　valley；　where　no　harm　could　ever　e。
　
　Then；　on　the　other　side　of　the　door；　a　gun　went　off；　the　dachshunds　bayed　and　Snapper　bellowed　profanely。
　
　〃Jesus！〃　Edie　exclaimed。
　
　The　insurance　man　burrowed　in　her　cleavage。　〃What're　we　going　to　do？〃　he　asked；　desolately。
　
　Avila　thought：　I'm　either　dead　or　dreaming。
　
　Because　it　should　hurt　worse　than　this；　being　nailed　to　a　cross。　Even　if　it's　only　one　hand；　it　should　hurt　like　a　mother。　I　ought　to　be　screaming　at　the　top　of　my　lungs；　instead　of　just　hanging　here　with　a　dull　ache。　Hanging　like　a　wet　flag　and　staring　at。。。
　
　It　must　be　a　dream。
　
　Because　they　don't　have　lions　in　Florida。　And　that's　what　that　monster　is；　a　full…grown　African　lion。　King　of　the　motherfucking　jungle。　So　real　you　can　see　the　red…brown　stains　on　its　mouth。　So　real　you　can　smell　its　piss。　So　real　you　can　hear　the　dead　man's　spine　dear　God　Almighty　being　crunched　in　its　fangs。
　
　The　lion　was　eating　the　doughnut　man。
　
　Avila　was　frozen　in　the　pose　of　a　scarecrow。　He　was　afraid　to　blink。　Between　bites；　the　big　cat　would　glance　up；　yawn；　lick　its　paws；　shake　the　gnats　off　its　mane。　Avila　noticed　a　blue　tag　fastened　to　one　of　its　ears；　but　that　wasn't　important。
　
　The　important　thing　was：　He　definitely　wasn't　dreaming。　The　lion　was　real。　Clearly　it　was　sent　to　save　his　life。
　
　And　not　by　the　Catholic　God…Catholics　had　no　expertise　in　the　summoning　of　demonic　jungle　beasts。　No；　it　was　a　funkier；　more　mystical　deity　who　had　answered　Avila's　plea　from　the　cross。
　
　Gracias；　Change！　Muchas　gracias。
　
　When　I　get　home；　Avila　promised　his　santeria　guardian；　I　shall　make　an　offering　worthy　of　royalty。　Chickens；　rabbits。　Perhaps　I'll　even　spring　for　a　goat。
　
　In　the　meantime；　Avila　implored；　please　make　the　lion　go　away　so　I　can　get　this　fucking　nail　out　of　my　hand！
　
　The　big　cat　dined　leisurely；　no　more　than　fifteen　yards　from　the　pine　tree。　Ira　Jackson's　hammer　lay　where　he'd　dropped　it；　at　Avila's　feet。　From　marks　on　the　ground；　it　appeared　that　the　doughnut　man　had　been　jumped　from　behind；　swiftly　done　in；　and　dragged　to　the　dry　weedy　patch　where　the　lion　now　sat；　possessively　attending　the　disemboweled；　disarticulated　corpse。　Ira　Jackson's　gold　chain　dangled　like　spaghetti　from　the　cat's　whiskered　maw。　It　disappeared　with　a　flick　of　the　tongue。
　
　Avila's　knowledge　of　lion　eating　habits　was　sketchy；　but　he　couldn't　believe　the　animal　could　still　be　hungry　after　devouring　the　substantial　Mr。　Jackson。　Despite　the　worsening　pain　in　his　hand；　Avila　remained　rock　steady　against　the　cross　until　the　lion　quit　munching　and　nodded　off。
　
　Slowly　Avila　turned　his　head　to　examine　the　nasty　puncture。　His　palm　was　striped　with　congealed　blood。　The　nail　had　penetrated　the　tough　fleshy　web　between　the　second　and　third　fingers；　which　wiggled　feebly　at　Avila's　silent　bidding。　A　moral　victory；　of　sorts…Ira　Jackson　had　failed　to　break　any　major　bones。
　
　Keeping　a　close　watch　on　the　snoozing　lion；　and　moving　with　glacial　deliberation；　Avila　tugged　his　good　hand　free　of　the　duct　tape。　Slowly　he　reached　across　and　began　to　work　the　nail　loose　from　the　punctured　palm。　The　undertaking　caused　less　agony　than　he'd　anticipated；　perhaps　Chango　had　anesthetized　him　as　well。
　
　Luckily；　the　wood　of　the　makeshift　crucifix　was　soft。　In　less　than　a　minute　the　nail　pulled　out；　and　Avila's　hand　fell　free；　with　only　a　modest　geyser　of　blood。　He　inserted　the　hand　forcefully　between　his　shaking　knees；　and　bit　his　lower　lip　to　stifle　a　cry。　The　lion　did　not　stir。　The　exhaust　of　its　snore　fluttered　the　bright　remains　of　Ira　Jackson's　sports　shirt；　which　clung　like　a　lobster　bib　to　the　big　cat's　throat。
　
　While　the　beast　slept；　Avila　unwrapped　the　sticky　tape　from　his　ankles。　As　he　furtively　inched　clear　of　the　pine　tree；　his　eyes　fell　on　a　partially　masticated　chunk　of　bone　a　wee　remnant　of　the　doughnut　man；　but　a　potent　talisman　for　future　santeria　rites。
　
　Avila　pocketed　the　moist　prize　and　stole　away。
　
　Skink　chose　to　spend　the　night　in　the　back　of　the　pickup　truck。　Shortly　after　ten；　Augustine　emerged　from　the　house　with　a　hot　Cuban　sandwich　and　two　bottles　of　beer。　Skink　winked　appreciatively　and　sat　up。　He　finished　the　sandwich　in　four　huge　bites；　guzzled　the　beer　and　sai