chiaasen.stormyweather-第43部分

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　Neria　fumed。　She　thought　of　Dr　Gabler　and　young　Celeste；　together　in　the　back　of　the　Volkswagen　van。　She　wondered　if　the　professor　was　demonstrating　his　〃human　Ouija　board〃　exercise；　the　one　he'd　worked　so　charmingly　on　Neria　herself。
　
　Around　Neria's　neck　hung　a　polished　stalk　of　rose　quartz；　which　Dr　Gabler　had　given　her　to　help　channel　untapped　torrents　of　〃unconditional　love。〃　Dickhead！　thought　Neria。　At　that　very　moment　he　was　probably　tuning　young　Celeste's　inner　chakras。　Until　she'd　met　the　professor；　Neria　Torres　hadn't　known　what　a　chakra　was。　Celeste　undoubtedly　did。　She　and　Dr　Gabler　seemed　to　operate　on　the　same　wavelength。
　
　The　drizzle　turned　to　a　hard　rain。　Under　Neria's　feet；　the　red　Georgia　clay　turned　to　slop。　A　man　with　a　newspaper　over　his　head　came　up　behind　her　and　stood　unfortably　close。　He　employed　noisy；　urgent　breathing　to　emphasize　his　need　for　the　telephone。　Neria　cursed　aloud　and　slammed　down　the　receiver。
　
　On　the　other　end；　at　Metro　police　headquarters　in　Miami；　the　desk　officer　had　been　diligently　crosschecking　the　missing　husband　against　a　list　of　unclaimed　bodies　in　the　morgue。　He　was　surprised　to　get　a　possible　hit：　One　dead　man　had　the　same　name；　same　date　of　birth；　same　extravagant　brand　of　wristwatch。
　
　The　offider　immediately　had　transferred　Mrs。　Torres's　phone　call　to　the　Homicide　division。　By　the　time　a　detective　picked　up；　nobody　was　on　the　line。
　
　Max　Lamb　flew　from　New　York　to　San　Diego　to　Guadalajara；　where　he　slept　for　eleven　hours。　He　woke　up　and　called　the　airport　hotel　in　Miami。　Bonnie　hadn't　checked　in。　Max　lit　a　Bronco　cigaret　and　fell　back　on　the　pillow。
　
　He　chewed　over　a　scenario　in　which　his　new　wife　might　be　cheating　on　him　with　one　of　two　certifiable　lunatics；　or　both。　He　couldn't　conceive　of　it。　The　Bonnie　Brooks　he　knew　wasn't　a　free　spirit…that　was　one　of　the　things　he　loved　about　her。　Steady　and　predictable；　that　was　Bonnie。　To　Max's　knowledge；　the　most　impulsive　thing　she'd　ever　done　was　to　hurl　a　stale　pizza；　Frisbee　style；　out　the　apartment　window　in　Manhattan。　When　it　came　to　sex；　she　was　practically　old…fashioned。　She　hadn't　slept　with　him　until　their　seventh　date。
　
　So　it　took　only　minutes　for　Max　Lamb　to　dismiss　his　worries　about　Bonnie's　fidelity。　The　ability　to　delude　oneself　on　such　matters　was　a　benefit　of　owning　a　grossly　inflated　ego。　Bottom　line：　Max　couldn't　imagine　that　Bonnie　would　desire　another　man。　Especially　those　types　of　men：　outlaws　and　psychos。　Impossible！　He　snickered；　blowing　smoke　at　the　notion。　She　was　punishing　him；　that　was　all；　obviously　she　was　still　ticked　off　about　the　hurricane　excursion。
　
　Scrubbing　in　the　shower；　Max　Lamb　refocused　on　the　task　at　hand：　the　obstreperous　Clyde　Nottage　Jr；　ailing　chairman　of　Durham　Gas　Meat　8c　Tobacco。　Max's　orders　were　to　talk　some　sense　into　the　old　fart；　make　him　understand　the　grievous　consequences　of　withdrawing　all　those　expensive　advertisements　from　print。　Before　Max　Lamb　had　left　New　York；　four　Rodale　&　Burns　executive　vice　presidents　had　individually　briefed　him　on　the　importance　of　the　Guadalajara　mission。　Success；　Max　knew；　would　guarantee　a　long　and　lucrative　career　at　the　agency。　A　home　run；　is　how　one　of　the　honchos　had　put　it。　Turning　the　old　man　around　would　be　a　grand…slam　homer　in　the　bottom　of　the　ninth。　Clyde　Nottage　was　one　crusty　old　prick。
　
　A　cab　took　Max　Lamb　to　the　Aragon　Clinic；　a　two…story　stucco　building；　freshly　painted　and　lushly　landscaped；　in　a　residential　sub…division　of　the　city。　The　lobby　of　the　clinic　showed　evidence　of　recent　remodeling；　which　unfortunately　had　not　included　central　air。　Max　loosened　his　necktie　and　took　a　seat。　On　a　glass　table　was　a　stack　of　informational　pamphlets　printed　in　Spanish。　Curious；　Max　picked　one　up。　On　the　first　page　was　a　drawing　of　a　male　sheep　with　an　arrow　pointing　between　its　hind　legs。
　
　Max　returned　the　pamphlet　to　the　table。　He　wanted　a　smoke；　but　a　sign　on　the　wall　said　〃No　Fumar。〃　A　drop　of　sweat　rolled　down　his　jawline。　Max　dabbed　it　away　with　a　handkerchief。
　
　A　man　wearing　a　white　medical　coat　came　out；　a　pale…eyed　American　in　his　mid…sixties。　He　introduced　himself　as　Dr　Caulk；　Mr。　Nottage's　physician。
　
　〃When　may　I　see　him？〃　Max　Lamb　asked。
　
　〃In　a　few　minutes。　He's　finishing　his　treatment。〃
　
　〃How's　he　doing？〃
　
　〃Better；　by　and　large；〃　said　Dr　Caulk；　enigmatically。
　
　The　chat　turned　to　the　clinic；　and　cancer。　The　doctor　asked　Max　Lamb　if　he　was　a　smoker。
　
　〃Just　started。〃
　
　〃Started？〃　The　doctor　looked　incredulous。
　
　〃Long　story；〃　Max　said。
　
　〃Mister　Nottage　smokes　four　packs　a　day。〃
　
　〃I'd　heard　six。〃
　
　〃Oh；　we've　got　him　down　to　four；〃　said　the　doctor。　He　gave　the　impression　it　was　a　contest　of　wills。
　
　Max　Lamb　inquired　about　the　unusual　nature　of　the　tumor　treatments。　Dr　Caulk　took　full　credit。
　
　〃We're　really　onto　something；〃　he　told　Max。　〃So　far；　the　results　have　been　quite　astounding。〃
　
　〃What　made　you　think　to　try　。。。　you　know…〃
　
　〃Sheep　semen？〃　Dr　Caulk　gave　a　wise　smile。　〃Actually　it's　quite　an　interesting　story。〃
　
　As　Max　Lamb　listened；　he　wondered　if　the　deepening　consternation　showed　on　his　face。　The　Caulk　therapy　was　based　entirely　upon　the　casual　observation　that　male　sheep　have　a　low　incidence　of　lung　cancer。
　
　〃paredto。。。　？〃
　
　The　doctor　slyly　wagged　a　finger　at　Max。　〃Now　you　sound　just　like　the　PDA。〃　He　folded　his　hands　and　leaned　forward。　〃I　suppose　you're　curious　about　how　we　collect　the　semen。〃
　
　〃Not　in　the　slightest；〃　said　Max；　forcefully。
　
　A　mountainous　nurse　appeared　at　the　doctor's　shoulder。　She　said　Mr。　Nottage's　afternoon　treatment　was　pleted。　Dr　Caulk　took　Max　to　the　old　man's　room。
　
　Outside　the　door；　the　doctor　dropped　his　voice。　〃I'll　leave　you　two　alone。　Lately　he's　been　a　bit　cranky　with　me。〃
　
　Max　Lamb　had　met　Clyde　Nottage　Jr　only　once　before；　on　a　golf　course　in　Raleiglj。　The　robust；　fiery；　blue…eyed　curmudgeon　that　he　remembered　bore　no　resemblance　to　the　gaunt；　gray…skinned　invalid　in　the　hospital　bed。
　
　Until　Clyde　Nottage　opened　his　mouth：　〃The　hell　you　staring　at；　boy？〃
　
　Max　pulled　a　chair　to　the　side　of　the　bed。　He　sat　down　and　positioned　the　briefcase　on　his　lap。
　
　〃Gimme　cigaret；〃　Nottage　muttered。
　
　As　Max　inserted　a　Bronco　in　the　old　man's　bloodless　lips；　he　said；　〃Sir；　did　the　doctor　tell　you　I　was　ing？　How　are　you　feeling？〃
　
　Nottage　ignored　him。　He　plucked　the　cigaret　from　his　mouth　and　eyed　it　ruefully。　〃What　they　say　is　true；　all　true。　About　these　goddamn　things　causing　cancer。　I　know　it's　a　fact。　So　do　you。　So　does　the　goddamn　guv'ment。〃
　
　Max　Lamb　was　uneasy。　〃It's　a　choice　people　make；〃　he　said。
　
　Nottage　laughed；　a　tubercular　snuffle。　With　a　shaky　hand　he　returned　the　cigaret　to　his　mouth。　Max　lit　it　for　him。
　
　The　old　man　said；　〃They　got　you　trained　good。　Look　at　me；　boy…you　heard　about　the　sheep　jizz？〃
　
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　
　〃I　got　a　tumor　the　size　of　a　Cuban　mango　in　my　chest；　and　I'm　down　to　sheep　jizz。　My　last　earthly　hope。〃
　
　〃The　doctor　said…〃
　
　〃Oh；　fuck　him。〃　Nottage　paused　to　suck　defiantly　on　the　Bronco。　〃You're　here　about　the　ads；　right？　Rodale　sent　you　to　change　my　mind。〃
　
　〃Sir；　the　NIH　report　was　news…bad　news；　to　be　sure。　But　they　were　only　doing　their　jobs；　the　newspapers　and　magazines。　They　had　to　print　the　story；　it　was　all　over　television…〃
　
　Clyde　Nottage　laughed　until　his　nose　ran。　He　wiped　it　with　a　hairless　withered　forearm。　〃Christ；　you　missed　the　point。　They　all　did。〃
　
　The　old　man's　jocular　tone　gave　Max　a　false　burst　of　hope。
　
　〃I　yanked　those　damn　ads；〃　Nottage　went　on；　〃because　I　was　pissed。　That　much　is　true。　But　I　wasn't　mad　they　published　the　cancer　report。〃
　
　〃Then　why？〃
　
　An　inch　of　dead　ash　fell　from　the　old　man's　cigaret　onto　the　sheets。　He　tried　to　blow　it　away；　but　the　exertion　of　laughing　had　sapped　him；　his　lungs　moaned　under　the　strain。　After　regaining　his　breath；　he　said：　〃The　real　reason　I　was　pissed；　they're　fuckin'　hypocrites。　They　tell　the　whole　world　we　peddle　poison；　put　it　on　the　front　page。　Yet　they're　delighted　to　take　our　money　and　advertise　that　very　saame　poison。　Greedy　cocksuckin　hypocrites；　and　you　may　quote　me　to　the　boys　in　New　York。〃
　
　Max　Lamb　realized　the　conversation　had　taken　a　perilous　turn。　He　said；　〃It's　just　business；　sir。〃
　
　〃Well；　it's　a　business　I'm　gettin'　out　of。　Right　now。　Before　I　leave　this　sorry　world。〃
　
　Max　waited　for　a　punch　line　that　didn't　e。　He　felt　a　quaking　in　his　bowels。
　
　Clyde　Nottage　deposited　the　smoldering　Bronco　butt　in　a　plastic　cup　of　orange　juice。　〃As　of　this　morning；　Durham　Gas　Meat　&　Tobacco　is　Durham　Gas　Meat。〃
　
　〃Please；〃　Max　Lamb　blurted。　〃Wait　on　this；　please。　You're　not　feeling　well　enough　to　make　such　an　important　decision。〃
　
　〃I'm　dying；　yoir　fucking　idiot。　Three　times　a　day　some　nurse　looks　like　Pancho　Villa　shoots　sheep　cum　into　my　belly。　Damn　right　I　don't　feel　well。　Gimme　Kleenex。〃
　
　Max　handed　him　a　box　of　tissues　from　the　bed　tray。　Nottage　snatched　one　and　hacked　fiercely　into　it。
　
　〃Mister　Nottage；　I　urge　you　not　to　do　anything　right　now。〃
　
　〃Hell；　it's　already　done。　Made　the　call　this　morning。〃　Nottage　spit　again。　He　opened　the　tissue　and　examined　the　contents　with　a　clinical　eye。　〃Last　time　I　checked；　I　still　had　fifty…one　percent　of　the　pany　stock。　You　wasted　a　perfectly　good　airplane　ticket；　boy。　The　decision's　made。〃
　
　Max　Lamb；　queasy　with　despair；　began　to　protest。　Nottage　hunched　forward；　cupped　his　palms　to　his　face　and　broke　into　a　volcanic　spasm　of　coughing。
　
　Max　jumped　away　from　the　bed。　〃Shall　I　get　Dr　Caulk？〃
　
　The　old　man　gazed　into　his　hands　and　said；　〃Oh　shit。〃
　
　Max　edged　closer。　〃Are　you　all　right？〃
　
　〃Considering　I'm　holding　a　piece　of　my　own　goddamn　lung。〃
　
　〃God！〃　Max　turned　away。
　
　〃Who　knows；〃　the　old　man　mused；　〃it　might　be　worth　something　someday。　Put　it　in　the　Smithsonian；　like　Dillinger's　dick。〃
　
　He　drew　back　his　frail　right　arm　and　lobbed　the　rancid　chunk　of　tissue　at　the　wall；　where　it　hung　like　a　gob　of　salsa。
　
　Max　Lamb　bolted　from　the　room。　Moments　later；　Clyde　Nottage　Jr　put　his　head　on　the　pillow　a