chiaasen.stormyweather-第41部分

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　Donald　and　Maria　began　yipping　in　the　backyard。
　
　〃Are　those　your　puppies？〃　Bridget　sprang　from　Snapper's　lap　and　hurried　to　what　once　had　been　French　doors。　〃They　sound　adorable…what　kind？〃　She　peered　expectantly　into　the　night。
　
　Snapper　gimped　to　her　side。　〃Fertilizer　hounds；〃　he　said。
　
　〃Fertilizer　hounds？〃
　
　〃When　I　get　done　with　'em；　yeah。　That's　the　only　goddamn　thing　they'll　be　good　for。〃　He　raised　the　pistol　and　fired　twice　at　the　infernal　yowling。　Bridget　let　out　a　cry　and　covered　her　ears。　Edie　Marsh　came　up　from　behind　and　kicked　Snapper　in　the　crook　of　his　bum　right　leg。　He　went　down　with　a　surprised　grunt。
　
　Outside；　the　volume　of　doggy　racket　increased　by　many　decibels。　Donald　and　Maria　were　hysterical　with　fear。　Edie　Marsh　hurried　outside　to　untangle　the　leashes　before　they　garroted　each　other。　Bridget　knelt　at　Snapper's　side　and　scolded　him　for　being　such　a　meanie。
　
　The　way　Levon　Stichler　figured　it；　he　had　nothing　to　lose。　Tfhe　hurricane　had　taken　everything；　including　the　urn　containing　the　ashes　of　his　recently　departed　wife。　The　life　in　which　he　had　invested　most　of　his　military　pension　had　been　reduced　to　broken　glass　and　razor　tinsel。　Hours　of　painstaking　salvage　had　yielded　not　enough　dry　belongings　to　fill　a　tackle　box。　Levon　Stichler's　neighbors　at　the　trailer　court　were　in　the　same　abject　fix。　Within　twenty…four　hours；　his　shock　and　despair　had　distilled　into　high…octane　anger。　Someone　must　pay！　Levon　Stichler　thundered。　And　logically　that　someone　should　be　the　smirking　sonofabitch　who'd　sold　them　those　mobile　homes；　the　glib　fat　thief　who'd　promised　them　that　the　structures　were　government　certified　and　hurricane…proof。
　
　Levon　Stichler　had　spotted　Tony　Torres　at　the　trailer　court　on　the　morning　after　the　hurricane；　but　the　mangy　prick　had　fled　like　a　coyote。　Levon　Stichler　had　fumed　for　a　few　days；　gathering　what　valuables　he　could　find　among　the　trailer's　debris　until　county　workers　showed　up　to　bulldoze　the　remains。　The　old　man　considered　returning　to　Saint　Paul；　where　his　only　daughter　lived；　but　the　thought　of　long　frigid　winters…and　sharing　space　with　six　hyperactive　grandchildren…was　more　than　he　could　face。
　
　There　would　be　no　northward　migration。　Levon　Stichler　considered　his　life　to　be　officially　ruined；　and　considered　one　man　to　be　morally　responsible　for　the　tragedy。　He　would　know　no　peace　until　Tony　Torres　was　dead。　Killing　the　salesman　might　even　make　Levon　Stichler　a　hero；　at　least　in　the　eyes　of　his　trailer…court　neighbors…that's　what　the　old　man　convinced　himself；　He　envisioned　public　sympathy　and　national　headlines；　possibly　a　visit　from　Connie　Chung。　And　prison　wouldn't　be　such　an　awful　place；　a　damn　sight　safer　than　a　double…wide　trailer。　Haw！　Levon　Stichler　told　no　one　of　his　mission。　The　hurricane　hadn't　actually　driven　him　insane；　but　that's　what　he　intended　to　plead　at　the　trial。　The　Alzheimer's　defense　was　another　promising　option。　But　first　he　had　to　devise　a　convincingly　eccentric　murder。
　
　As　soon　as　he　settled　on　a　plan；　Levon　Stichler　called　PreFab　Luxury　Homes。　The　phone　rang　over　and　over；　causing　the　old　man　to　wonder　if　the　storm　had　put　the　trailer…home　pany　out　of　business。　In　fact；　PreFab　Luxury　was　enjoying　a　banner　week；　thanks　to　a　massive　requisition　from　the　Federal　Emergency　Management　Agency。　Uncle　Sam；　it　seemed；　was　generously　providing　trailers　to　homeless　storm　victims。　Many　of　the　miserably　displaced　souls　who'd　been　living　in　PreFab　Luxury　trailers　when　the　hurricane　wiped　them　out　would　be　living　in　a　PreFab　Luxury　product　once　again。　Neither　the　pany　nor　the　federal　government　thought　it　necessary　to　inform　tenants　of　the　irony。
　
　Eventually　a　receptionist　answered　the　telephone；　and　made　a　point　of　mentioning　how　busy　they　all　were。　Levon　Stichler　asked　to　speak　to　Mr。　Torres。　The　woman　said　that　Tony　apparently　was　taking　some　personal　leave　after　the　storm　and　that　nobody　knew　when　he'd　return　to　the　office。　Levon　Stichler　gathered　that　he　wasn't　the　first　dissatisfied　customer　to　make　inquiries。
　
　The　receptionist　politely　declined　to　divulge　the　salesman's　home　number。
　
　From　his　sodden　telephone　directory；　Levon　Stichler　carefully　removed　the　page　listing　the　names　and　addresses　of　all　the　Antonio　Torreses　in　Greater　Miami。　Then　he　got　in　the　car；　filled　up　the　tank　and　began　the　hunt。
　
　On　the　first　day；　Levon　Stichler　eliminated　from　the　list　three　auto　mechanics；　a　scuba　instructor；　a　thoracic　surgeon；　a　palmist；　two　lawyers　and　a　university　professor。　All　were　named　Antonio　Torres；　but　none　was　the　scoundrel　whom　Levon　Stichler　sought。　He　was　exhausted；　but　resolute。
　
　On　the　second　day；　Levon　Stichler　continued　to　winnow　the　roster　of　candidates：　a　stockbroker；　a　nurseryman；　a　shrimper；　a　police　officer；　two　electricians；　an　optometrist　and　a　greenskeeper。　Another　Tony　Torres；　unkempt　and　clearly　impaired；　tried　to　sell　him　a　bag　of　bootleg　Dilaudids；　still　another　threatened　to　decapitate　him　with　a　hoe。
　
　The　third　day　of　the　manhunt　brought　Levon　Stichler　to　the　Turtle　Meadow　subdivision　and　15600　Calusa　Drive。　By　then　he'd　seen　enough　hurricane　destruction　to　be　utterly　unmoved　by　the　sight　of　another　gutted；　roofless　home。　At　least　it　still　had　walls；　which　was　more　than　Levon　Stichler　could　say　for　his　own。
　
　A　pretty　Anglo　woman　met　him　at　the　open　front　doorway。　She　wore　baggy　jeans　and　a　long　lavender　T…shirt。　Levon　Stichler　noticed　she　was　barefoot　and　（unless　his　seventy…one…year…old　eyeballs　were　mistaken）　she　was　not　wearing　a　bra。　Her　toenails　were　the　shade　of　red　hibiscus。
　
　He　said；　〃Is　this　the　Torres　residence？〃
　
　The　woman　said　yes。
　
　〃Antonio　Torres？　The　salesman？〃
　
　〃That's　right。〃　The　woman　held　out　a　hand。　〃I'm　Mrs。　Torres。　e　on　in；　we've　been　expecting　you。〃
　
　Levon　Stichler　jerked　and　said；　〃What？〃
　
　He　followed　the　barefoot　braless　woman　into　the　house。　She　led　him　to　the　kitchen；　which　was　a　shambles。
　
　〃Where's　your　husband？〃
　
　〃In　the　bedroom。　Is　Mister　Dove　on　the　way？〃
　
　〃I　don't　know；〃　answered　Levon　Stichler；　thinking：　Who　the　hell　is　Mr。　Dove？
　
　〃Listen；　Mrs。　Torres…〃
　
　〃Please。　It's　Neria。〃　The　woman　excused　herself　to　tend　the　generator；　which　was　in　the　garage。　When　she　returned　to　the　kitchen；　she　turned　on　the　electric　coffeemaker　and　made　three　cups。
　
　Levon　Stichler　thanked　her；　stiffly；　and　took　a　sip。　The　wife　would　be　a　problem；　he　needed　to　have　Tony　Torres　alone。
　
　The　barefoot　woman　stirred　two　spoonfuls　of　sugar　into　her　coffee。　〃Is　this　your　first　stop　of　the　day？〃
　
　〃Sure　is；〃　said　Levon　Stichler；　hopelessly　puzzled。　Having　never　before　murdered　anybody；　he　was　full　of　the　jitters。　He　glanced　at　his　wristwatch　so　often　that　the　woman　couldn't　help　but　notice。
　
　She　said；　〃Tony's　in　the　shower。　He'll　be　out　very　soon。〃
　
　〃That's　OK。〃
　
　〃Is　the　coffee　all　right？　Sorry　there's　no　cream。〃
　
　Levon　Stichler　said；　〃It's　fine。〃
　
　She　seemed　like　a　nice　enough　person。　What　was　she　doing　with　a　crooked　slob　like　Torres？
　
　He　heard　muffled　noises　from　another　room；　two　voices：　a　man's　guttural　laughter　and　a　woman's　high…pitched　giggle。　Levon　Stichler　reached　slowly　into　the　right　pocket　of　his　windbreaker。　His　hand　tightened　on　the　cool　shaft　of　the　weapon。
　
　〃Honey？〃　the　barefoot　woman　called。　〃Mister　Ree…dy's　waiting。〃
　
　Reedy？　Levon　Stichler's　bold　determination　began　to　dissolve　in　a　muddle。　Something　was　awry　with　this　particular　Tony　Torres。　Yet　Levon　had　spied　the　Salesman　of　the　Year　plaque　on　the　wall；　Prefab　Luxury　Homes；　in　raised　gold　lettering。　Had　to　be　the　same　creep。
　
　Levon　Stichler　knew　he　must　act　swiftly；　or　lose　forever　the　opportunity　to　avenge。　He　removed　the　concealed　weapon　from　his　jacket　and　raised　it；　ominously；　for　the　wife　to　see。
　
　〃You　better　leave；〃　he　advised。
　
　Calmly　she　set　her　coffee　cup　on　the　counter。　Her　brow　furrowed；　but　not　in　fear；　more　as　if　she　were　stymied　on　a　crossword　puzzle。　〃What　is　that？〃　Pointing　at　the　thing　in　Levon　Stichler's　hand。
　
　〃What's　it　look　like？〃
　
　〃A　giant　screw？〃
　
　〃It's　an　auger　spike；　Mrs。　Torres。　It　was　supposed　to　anchor　my　trailer　in　the　storm。〃
　
　Levon　Stichler　had　choreographed　the　crime　a　hundred　times　in　his　mind；　most　recently　while　sharpening　the　point　of　the　auger　on　a　whetstone　wheel。　The　fat　face　of　Tony　Torres　would　make　an　easy　target。　Either　of　those　cavernous　hairy　nostrils　could　be　forcibly　modified　to　accept　the　steel　bit；　which　would　（according　to　Levon's　calculation）　extrude　well　beyond　the　nasal　cavity　and　into　the　brainpan。
　
　The　barefoot　woman　said；　〃Excuse　me；　but　are　you　fucking　nuts？〃
　
　Before　Levon　Stickler　could　respond；　the　tall　shape　of　a　man　materialized　in　the　kitchen　doorway。　Levon　Stichler　aimed　the　spike　like　a　lance；　and　charged。　The　woman　shouted　a　sharp　warning；　and　the　man　threw　himself　backward　onto　the　wet　tile　floor。　The　auger　impaled　itself　in　the　wooden　shelf　of　a　cabinet；　with　both　hands　Levon　Stichler　could　not　pull　it　free。　Frantically　he　looked　down　at　his　intended　victim。
　
　〃Oh　shit；〃　he　said。　〃You're　not　the　one。〃　He　released　his　grip　on　the　spike。　〃You're　not　the　one　who　sold　me　the　double…wide！〃
　
　Another　woman…wild…looking　and　half　dressed…　burst　from　the　bedroom。　Together　she　and　the　barefoot　one　helped　Snapper　rise　to　his　feet。
　
　In　an　accusatory　tone；　Levon　Stichler　said；　〃You　are　not　Tony　Torres。〃
　
　〃Like　hell；〃　Snapper　said。
　
　Edie　Marsh　moved　between　the　two　men。　〃Honey；〃　she　said；　facing　Snapper；　〃Mister　Reedy　here　appears　to　be　nuts。〃
　
　〃Worse　than　nuts；〃　Bridget　asserted。
　
　〃My　name's　not　Reedy。〃
　
　Edie　wheeled　on　the　old　man。　〃Wait　a　second…you　aren't　from　Midwest　Casualty？〃
　
　Levon　Stichler；　who　by　now　had　gotten　a　close…up　look　at　Snapper's　feral　eyes　and　disfigured　mug；　felt　his　brittle　old　bones　turn　to　powder。　〃Where's　Mister　Torres？〃　he　asked；　with　noticeably　less　spunk。
　
　Edie　sighed　in　annoyance。　〃Incredible；〃　she　said　to　Snapper。　〃He's　not　Reedy。　Can　you　believe　this　shit？〃
　
　Snapper　wanted　to　be　sure　for　himself。　He　leaned　forward　until　he　was　two　inches　from　the　old　man's　nose。