chiaasen.stormyweather-第51部分

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　CHAPTER　TWENTY…FOUR
　
　
　〃What　do　you　mean；　no　roosters？〃
　
　The　owner　of　the　botdnica　apologized。　It　had　been　a　busy　week　for　fowl。　He　offered　Avila　a　sacrificial　billy　goat　instead。
　
　Avila　said；　〃No　way；　Jose。〃　The　sutures　from　his　goring　itched　constantly。　〃I　never　heard　anyone　running　outta　roosters。　What　else　you　got？〃
　
　〃Turtles。〃
　
　〃I　don't　got　time　to　do　turtles；〃　Avila　said。　Removing　the　shells　was　a　messy　chore。　〃You　got　any　pigeons？〃
　
　〃Sorry；　meng。〃
　
　〃Lambs？〃
　
　〃Tomorrow　morning。〃
　
　〃How　about　cats？〃
　
　〃No；　meng；　hiss　no　legal。〃
　
　〃Yeah；　like　you　give　a　shit。〃　Avila　checked　his　wristwatch；　he　had　to　hurry；　do　this　thing　then　get　on　the　road　to　the　Keys。　〃OK；　senor；　what　do　you　got？〃
　
　The　shop　owner　led　him　to　a　small　storage　room　and　pointed　at　a　wooden　crate。　Inside；　Avila　could　make　out　a　furry　brown　animal　the　size　of　a　beagle。　It　had　shoe…button　eyes；　an　anteater　nose；　and　a　long　slender　tail　circled　with　black　rings。
　
　Avila　said；　〃What；　some　kinda　raccoon？〃
　
　〃Coatimundi。　From　South　America。〃
　
　The　animal　chittered　inquisitively　and　poked　its　velvety　nostrils　through　the　slats　of　the　crate。　It　was　one　of　the　oddest　creatures　Avila　had　ever　seen。
　
　〃Big　medicine；〃　promised　the　shop　owner。
　
　〃I　need　something　for　Chango。〃
　
　〃Oh；　Chango　would　love　heem。〃　The　shop　owner　had　astutely　pegged　Avila　for　a　rank　amateur　who　knew　next　to　nothing　about　santeria。　The　shop　owner　said；　〃Si；　es　muy　bueno　por　Chango。〃
　
　Avila　said；　〃Will　it　bite？〃
　
　〃No；　my　freng。　See？〃　The　botanica　man　tickled　the　coati's　moist　nose。　〃Like　a　puppy　dog。〃
　
　〃OK；　how　much？〃
　
　〃Seventy…five。〃
　
　〃Here's　sixty；　chico。　Help　me　carry　it　to　the　car。〃
　
　As　he　drove　up　to　the　house；　Avila　saw　the　Buick　backing　out　of　the　driveway；　his　wife　and　her　mother；　undoubtedly　off　to　Indian　bingo。　He　waved。　They　waved。
　
　Avila　gloated。　Perfect　timing。　For　once　I'll　have　the　place　to　myself。　Quickly　he　dragged　the　wooden　crate　into　the　garage　and　lowered　the　electric　door。　The　coati　huffed　in　objection。　From　a　cane…wicker　chest　Avila　hastily　removed　the　implements　of　sacrifice…tarnished　pennies；　coconut　husks；　the　bleached　ribs　of　a　cat；　polished　turtle　shells；　and　an　old　pewter　goblet。　From　a　galvanized　lockbox　Avila　took　his　newest；　and　potentially　most　powerful；　artifact…the　gnawed　chip　of　bone　belonging　to　the　evil　man　who　had　tried　to　crucify　him。　Reverently；　and　with　high　hopes；　Avila　placed　the　bone　in　the　pewter　goblet；　soon　to　be　filled　with　animal　blood。
　
　For　sustenance　Chango　was　known　to　favor　dry　wine　and　candies；　the　best　Avila　could　do；　on　short　notice；　was　a　pitcher　of　sangria　and　a　roll　of　stale　wintergreen　Life　Savers。　He　lighted　three　tall　candles　and　arranged　them　triangularly　on　the　cement　floor　of　the　garage。　Inside　the　triangle；　he　began　to　set　up　the　altar。　The　coatimundi　had　gone　silent；　Avila　felt　its　stare　from　between　the　slats。　Could　it　know？　He　whisked　the　thought　from　his　mind。
　
　The　final　item　to　be　removed　from　the　wicker　chest　was　the　most　important：　a　ten…inch　hunting　knife；　with　a　handle　carved　from　genuine　elk　antler。　The　knife　was　an　antique；　made　in　Wyoming。　Avila　had　received　it　as　a　bribe　when　he　worked　as　a　county　building　inspector…　a　Christmas　offering　from　an　unlicensed　roofer　hoping　that　Avila　might　overlook　a　seriously　defective　scissor　truss。　Somehow　Avila　had　found　it　in　his　heart　to　do　just　that。
　
　Vigorously　he　sharpened　the　hunting　knife　on　a　whetstone。　The　coati　began　to　pace　and　snort。　Avila　discreetly　concealed　the　gleaming　blade　from　the　doomed　animal。　Then　he　stepped　inside　the　triangle　of　candles　and　improvised　a　short　prayer　to　Chango；　who　（Avila　trusted）　would　understand　that　he　was　pressed　for　time。
　
　Afterwards　he　took　a　pry　bar　and　started　peeling　the　wooden　slats　off　the　crate。　The　sacramental　coati　became　highly　agitated。　Avila　attempted　to　soothe　it　with　soft　words；　but　the　beast　wasn't　fooled。　It　shot　from　the　crate　and　tore　crazed　circles　throughout　the　garage；　scattering　cat　bones　and　tipping　two　of　the　santeria　candles。　Avila　tried　to　subdue　the　coati　by　stunning　it　with　the　pry　bar；　but　it　was　too　swift　and　agile。　Like　a　monkey；　it　vertically　scampered　up　a　wall　of　metal　shelves　and　bounded　onto　the　ceiling　track　of　the　electric　door…opener。　There　it　perched；　using　its　remarkable　tail　for　balance；　squealing　and　baring　sharp　yellow　teeth。　Meanwhile　one　of　the　santeria　candles　rolled　beneath　Avila's　lawn　mower；　igniting　the　gas　tank。　Cursing　bitterly；　Avila　ran　to　the　kitchen　for　the　fire　extinguisher。　When　he　returned　to　the　garage；　he　was　confronted　with　fresh　disaster。
　
　The　electric　door　was　open。　In　the　driveway　was　his　wife's　Buick；　idling。　Why　she　had　e　back；　Avila　didn't　know。　Perhaps　she'd　decided　to　pilfer　the　buried　Tupperware　for　extra　bingo　money。　It　truly　didn't　matter。
　
　Apparently　her　mother　had　emerged　from　the　car　first。　The　scene　that　greeted　Avila　was　so　stupefying　that　he　temporarily　forgot　about　the　flaming　lawn　mower。　For　reasons　beyond　human　prehension；　the　overwrought　coatimundi　had　jumped　from　its　roost　in　the　garage；　dashed　outdoors　and　scaled　Avila's　mother…in…law。　Now　the　creature　was　nesting　in　the　woman's　coiffure；　a　brittle　edifice　of　chromium　orange。　Avila　had　always　believed　that　his　wife's　mother　wore　wigs；　but　here　was　persuasive　evidence　that　her　fantastic　mop　was　genuine。　She　shrieked　and　spun　about　the　front　yard；　flailing　spastically　at　the　demon　on　her　scalp。　The　jabbering　coati　dug　in　with　all　four　claws。　No　hairpiece；　Avila　decided；　could　withstand　such　a　test。
　
　His　wife　bilingually　shouted　that　he　should　do　something；　for　God's　sake；　don't　just　stand　there！　The　pry　bar　was　out　of　the　question；　one　misplaced　blow　and　that　would　be　the　end　of　his　mother…in…law。　So　Avila　tried　the　fire　extinguisher。　He　unloaded　at　point…blank　range；　soaping　the　stubborn　animal　with　sodium　bicarbonate。
　
　The　coati　snarled　and　snapped　but；　incredibly；　refused　to　vacate　the　old　woman's　hair。　In　the　turmoil　it　was　inevitable　that　some　of　the　cold　mist　from　the　fire　extinguisher　would　hit　Avila's　mother…in…law；　who　mashed　her　knuckles　to　her　eyes　and　began　a　blind　run。　Avila　gave　chase　for　three…quarters　of　a　block；　periodically　firing　short　bursts；　but　the　old　woman　showed　surprising　speed。
　
　Avila　gave　up　and　trotted　home　to　extinguish　the　fire　in　the　garage。　Afterwards　he　rolled　the　charred　lawn　mower　to　the　backyard　and　hosed　it　down。　His　distraught　wife　remained　sprawled　across　the　hood　of　the　Buick；　crying：　〃Mami；　mamt；　luke　what　chew　did　to　my　mamil〃
　
　Above　her　keening　rose　the　unmistakable　whine　of　sirens…someone　on　the　block　had　probably　called　the　fire　department。　Avila　thought：　Why　can't　people　mind　their　own　goddamn　business！　He　was　steaming　as　he　hurried　to　his　car。
　
　At　the　very　moment　he　fit　the　key　in　the　ignition；　the　passenger　window　exploded。　Avila　nearly　wet　himself　in　shock。　There　stood　his　wife；　beet…faced　and　seething；　holding　the　iron　pry　bar。
　
　〃Chew　fucking　bastard！〃　she　cried。
　
　Avila　jammed　his　heel　to　the　accelerator　and　sped　away。
　
　〃O　Change；　Change；〃　he　whispered；　brushing　chunks　of　glass　from　his　lap。　〃I　know　I　fucked　up　again；　but　don't　abandon　me　now。　Not　tonight。〃
　
　A　peculiar　trait　of　this　hurricane；　Jim　Tile　marveled　on　the　drive　along　North　Key　Largo；　was　the　dramatic　definition　of　its　swath。　The　eye　had　e　ashore　like　a　bullet；　devastating　a　thin　corridor　but　leaving　virtually　untouched　the　coastline　to　the　immediate　north　and　south。　August　hurricanes　are　seldom　so　courteous。　Its　bands　had　battered　the　vacation　estates　of　ritzy　Ocean　Reef　and　stripped　a　long　stretch　of　mangrove。　Yet　two　miles　down　the　shore；　the　mangroves　flourished；　leafy　and　lush；　offering　no　clue　that　a　killer　storm　had　passed　nearby。　A　ramshackle　trailer　park　stood　undamaged；　not　a　window　was　broken；　not　a　tree　was　uprooted。
　
　Phenomenal；　thought　Jim　Tile。
　
　He　goosed　the　Crown　Victoria　to　an　invigorating　ninety…five；　blue　lights；　no　siren。　At　high　speeds　the　big　Ford　whistled　like　a　bottle　rocket。
　
　Paradise　Palms　was　a　lead　but　not　a　lock。　Augustine　had　done　his　best　in　a　tough　situation；　the　trick　with　the　redial　button　was　slick。　Maybe　the　guy　who'd　beaten　up　Brenda　was　in　the　black　jeep　Cherokee。　Augustine　didn't　know　for　sure。　Maybe　they　were　headed　to　the　Keys；　maybe　not。　Maybe　they'd　stay　with　the　Jeep；　or　maybe　they'd　ditch　it　for　another　car。
　
　The　only　certainty　was　that　they　were　transporting　Skink　and　the　tourist　woman；　Augustine's　girlfriend。　The　circumstances　of　the　abduction；　and　its　purpose；　remained　a　mystery。　Augustine　had　promised　to　lie　back　and　wait　at　Paradise　Palms；　and　the　trooper　told　him　that　was　an　excellent　idea。　One…man　rescues　only　worked　in　the　movies。
　
　The　old　road　from　Ocean　Reef　rejoined　Highway　One　below　Jewfish　Creek；　where　it　split　into　four　lanes。　The　traffic　thickened；　so　Jim　Tile　slowed　to　seventy　miles　per　hour；　weaving　deftly　between　the　Winnebagos　and　rental　cars。　It　was　the　time　of　late　summer　when　the　setting　sun　could　torment　inexperienced　drivers；　but　there　was　no　glare　from　the　west　tonight。　A　bruised　wall　of　advancing　weather　shaded　the　horizon　and　cast　sooty　twilight　over　the　islands　and　the　water。　Lightning　strobed　high　in　distant　clouds　over　Florida　Bay。　Its　exquisite　sparking　was　wasted　on　Jim　Tile；　who　dourly　contemplated　the　prospect　of　hard　rain。　A　chase　was　tricky　enough　when　the　roads　were　bone　dry。
　
　On　Plantation　Key　the　highway　narrowed　again；　and　as　the　traffic　merged　to　two　lanes；　Jim　Tile　thought　he　spotted　the　black　Cherokee　not　far　ahead。　Quickly　he　turned　off　the　blue　lights。　It　had　to　be　the　same　Jeep；　the　shiny　mud　flaps　were　as　preposterous　as　Augustine　had　described　them。
　
　Four　vehicles　separated　Jim　Tile　from　the　Jeep…three　passenger　cars；　and　a　station　wagon　towing　a　fishing　boat　on　a　wobbly　trailer。　The　boat　was　tall　and　beamy　enough　to　make　it　hard　for　those　in　the　Jeep　to　see　the　marked　police　car　in　the　stacked　traffic　behind　them。　Already　the　rain　was　falling；　fat　drops　popping　sporadically　on　the　hood　of　the　Ford。　The　thickening　sky　promised　a　deluge。