chiaasen.stormyweather-第59部分

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e　Panhandle；　but　in　Miami　he　wouldn't　go　to　church　without　it。　He　was　glad　he　had　strapped　it　on　today。
　
　If　only　he　could　remember　how　to　breathe。
　
　〃Take　it　easy；　baby；〃　the　hooker　kept　saying。　〃Take　it　easy。　We　called　911。〃
　
　As　Jim　Tile　sat　upright；　he　emitted　a　sucking　sound　that　reminded　the　prostitute　of　a　broken　garbage　disposal。　When　she　smacked　him　between　the　shoulders；　a　mashed　chunk　of　lead　fell　from　a　dime…sized　hole　in　Jim　Tile's　shirt　and　plopped　into　the　puddle。　He　picked　it　up：　the　slug　from　a　。357。
　
　Jim　Tile　asked；　〃Where'd　they　go？〃　His　voice　was　a　frail　rattle。　With　difficulty　he　bolstered　his　service　revolver。
　
　〃Don't　you　move；〃　said　the　woman。
　
　〃Did　I　hit　him？〃
　
　〃Sit　still。〃
　
　〃Ma'am；　help　me　up。　Please。〃
　
　He　was　shuffling　for　his　car　when　the　fire　truck　arrived。　The　paramedics　made　him　lie　down　while　they　stripped　off　his　shirt　and　the　vest。　They　told　him　he　was　going　to　have　an　extremely　nasty　bruise。　They　told　him　he　was　a　very　lucky　man。
　
　By　the　time　the　paramedics　were　done；　the　parking　lot　of　the　Paradise　Palms　was　clogged　with　curious　locals；　wandering　tourists　and　motel　guests；　a　fleet　of　Monroe　County　deputies；　two　TV　news　vans　and　three　gleaming；　undented　Highway　Patrol　cruisers　belonging　to　Jim　Tile's　supervisors。　They　gathered　under　black　umbrellas　to　fill　out　their　reports。
　
　Meanwhile　the　shooter　was　speeding　up　Highway　One　with　the　governor　and　the　newlywed。
　
　A　lieutenant　told　Jim　Tile　not　to　worry；　they'd　never　make　it　out　of　the　Keys。
　
　〃Sir；　I'd　like　to　be　part　of　the　pursuit。　I　feel　fine。〃
　
　〃You're　not　going　anywhere。〃　The　lieutenant　softened　the　mand　with　a　fraternal　chuckle。　〃Hell；　Jimbo；　we're　just　gettin'　started。〃
　
　He　handed　the　trooper　a　stack　of　forms　and　a　pen。
　
　The　body　of　Tony　Torres　inevitably　became　a　subject　of　interest　to　a　newspaper　reporter　working　on　hurricane…related　casualties。　The　autopsy　report　did　not　use　the　term　〃crucifixion；〃　but　the　silhouette　diagram　of　puncture　wounds　told　the　whole　grisly　story。　To　avert　embarrassing　publicity；　the　police　made　a　hasty　effort　to　reignite　the　investigation；　dormant　since　the　aborted　phone　call　from　a　woman　claiming　to　be　the　dead　man's　widow。　Within　a　day；　a　veteran　homicide　detective　named　Brickhouse　was　able　to　turn　up　a　recent　address　for　the　murdered　Tony　Torres。　This　was　done　by　tracing　the　victim's　Carrier　wristwatch　to　a　Bal　Harbour　jeweler；　who　remembered　Tony　as　an　overbearing　jerk；　and　kept　detailed　receipts　of　the　transaction　in　anticipation　of　future　disputes。　The　jeweler　was　not　crestfallen　at　the　news　of　Senor　Torres's　demise；　and　graciously　gave　the　detective　the　address　he　sought。　While　the　police　department's　Public　Information　division　stalled　the　newspaper　reporter；　Brickhouse　drove　down　to　the　address　in　Turtle　Meadow。
　
　There　hefound　an　abandoned　hurricane　house　with　a　late…model　Chevrolet　and　a　clunker　Oldsmobile　parked　in　front。　The　Chevy's　license　plate　had　been　removed；　but　the　VIN　number　came　back　to　Antonio　Rodrigo　Guevara…Torres；　the　victim。　The　tag　on　the　rusty　Olds　was　registered　to　one　Lester　Maddox　Parsons。　Brick…house　radioed　for　a　criminal　history；　which　might　or　might　not　be　ready　when　he　got　back　to　the　office　in　the　morning；　the　hurricane　had　unleashed　electronic　gremlins　inside　the　puters。
　
　The　detective's　natural　impulse　was　to　enter　the　house；　which　would　have　been　fairly　easy　in　the　absence　of　doors。　The　problem　wasn't　so　much　that　Brickhouse　didn't　have　a　warrant；　it　was　the　old　man　next　door；　watching　curiously　from　the　timber　shell　of　his　front　porch。　He　would　be　the　defense　lawyer's　first　witness　at　a　suppression　hearing；　if　an　unlawful　search　of　the　victim's　residence　turned　up　evidence。
　
　So　Brickhouse　stayed　in　the　yard；　peeking　through　broken　windows　and　busted　doorways。　He　noted　a　gas…powered　generator　in　the　garage；　wine　and　flowers　in　the　dining　room；　a　woman's　purse；　half…melted　candles；　an　Igloo　cooler　positioned　next　to　a　BarcaLounger…　definitive　signs　of　post…hurricane　habitation。　Everything　else　was　standard　storm　debris。　Brickhouse　saw　no　obvious　bloodstains；　which　fit　his　original　theory　that　the　mobile…home　salesman　had　been　taken　elsewhere　to　be　crucified。
　
　The　detective　strolled　over　to　chat　with　the　snoopy　neighbor；　who　gave　his　name　as　Leonel　Varga。　He　told　a　jumbled　but　colorful　yarn　about　sinister…looking　visitors；　mysterious　leggy　women　and　insufferable　barking　dogs。　Brickhouse　took　notes　courteously。　Varga　said　Mr。　and　Mrs。　Torres　were　separated；　although　she'd　recently　phoned　to　say　she　was　ing　home。
　
　〃But　it's　a　secret；〃　he　added。
　
　〃You　bet；〃　Brickhouse　said。　Before　knocking　off　for　the　evening；　he　tacked　his　card　to　the　doorjamb　at　15600　Calusa。
　
　That's　where　Neria　Torres　found　it　at　dawn。
　
　Matthew's　pickup　truck　had　followed　her　all　the　way　from　Fort　Drum　to　the　house　at　Turtle　Meadow。　The　seven　Tennesseeans　swarmed　the　battered　building　in　orgiastic　wonderment　at　the　employment　opportunity　that　God　had　wrought。　Matthew　dramatically　announced　they　should　mence　repairs　immediately。
　
　Neria　said；　〃Not　just　yet。　You　help　me　find　my　husband；　then　I'll　let　you　do　some　work　on　the　house。〃
　
　〃I　guess；　sure。　Where's　he　at？〃
　
　〃First　I've　got　to　make　some　calls。〃
　
　〃Sure；〃　Matthew　said。　〃Meantime　we　should　get　a　jump　on　things。〃　He　asked　Neria's　permission　to　borrow　some　tools　from　the　garage。
　
　〃Just　hold　on；〃　she　told　him。
　
　But　they　were　already　ascending　the　roof　and　rafters；　like　a　troop　of　hairless　chimpanzees。　Neria　let　it　go。　The　sight　of　the　place　disturbed　her　more　than　she　had　anticipated。　She'd　seen　the　hurricane　destruction　on　CNN；　but　standing　ankle…deep　in　it　was　different；　overwhelming；　if　the　debris　once　was　your　home。　The　sight　of　her　mildewed　wedding　pictures　in　the　wreckage　brought　a　sentimental　pang；　but　it　was　quickly　deadened　by　the　discovery　of　flowers　and　a　bottle　of　wine　in　the　dining　room。　Neria　Torres　assumed　Tony　had　bought　them　for　a　bimbo。
　
　She　fingered　the　detective's　card。　She　hoped　it　meant　that　the　cops　had　tossed　her　asshole　husband　in　jail；　leaving　her　a　clear　path　toward　reclaiming　half　the　marital　property。　Or　possibly　more。
　
　She　heard　a　mechanical　roar　from　the　garage；　the　resourceful　Tennesseeans　had　found　fuel　for　the　generator。　A　bare　lightbulb　flickered　on　and　off　in　the　living　room。
　
　Leonel　Varga；　still　in　his　bathrobe；　came　over　to　say　hello。　He　assured　her　that　the　police　detective　was　a　nice　man。
　
　〃What　did　he　want？　Is　it　abput　Tony？〃
　
　〃I　think　so。　He　didn't　say。〃　Mr。　Varga　stared　up　at　the　busy　figures　of　the　men　on　the　roof　beams；　backlit　by　the　molten　sunrise。　〃You　found　some　roofers？〃
　
　Neria　Torres　said；　〃Oh；　I　seriously　doubt　it。〃
　
　She　dialed　the　private　number　that　Detective　Brick…house　had　penciled　on　the　back　of　the　business　card。　He　answered　the　phone　like　a　man　accustomed　to　being　awakened　by　strangers。　He　said；　〃I'm　glad　you　called。〃
　
　〃Is　it　about　Tony？〃
　
　〃Yeah；　I'm　afraid　it　is。〃
　
　〃Don't　tell　me　he's　in　jail；〃　said　Neria；　hoping　dearly　that　Brickhouse　would　tell　her　precisely　that。
　
　〃No；〃　the　detective　said。　〃Mrs。　Torres；　your　husband's　dead。〃
　
　〃Oh　God。　Oh　God。　Oh　God。〃　Neria's　mind　was　skipping　like　a　flat　rock　on　a　river。
　
　〃I'm　sorry…〃
　
　〃You　sure？〃　she　asked。　〃Are　you　sure　it's　Antonio？〃
　
　〃We　should　take　a　ride　up　to　the　morgue。　You're　home　now？〃
　
　〃Yes。　Yes；　I'm　back。〃
　
　Brickhouse　said；　〃I've　got　to　be　in　court　this　morning。　How　about　if　I　swing　by　around　noon？　We'll　go　together。　Give　us　some　time　to　chat。〃
　
　〃About　what？〃
　
　〃It　looks　like　Antonio　was　murdered。〃
　
　〃How？　Murdered？〃
　
　〃We'll　talk　later；　Mrs。　Torres。　Get　some　rest　now。〃
　
　Neria　didn't　know　what　she　felt；　or　what　she　ought　to　feel。　The　corpse　in　the　morgue　was　the　man　she'd　married。　A　corpulent　creep；　to　be　sure；　but　still　the　husband　she　had　once　believed　she　loved。　Shock　was　natural。　Curiosity。　A　selfish　stab　of　fear。　Maybe　even　sorrow。　Tony　had　his　piggish　side；　but　even　so　。。。
　
　Her　gaze　settled　for　the　first　time　on　the　purse。　A　woman's　purse；　opened；　on　the　kitchen　counter。　On　top　was　a　note　printed　in　block　letters　and　signed　with　the　initials　〃F。D。〃　The　note　said　the　author　was　keeping　the　dogs　at　the　motel。　The　note　began　with　〃My　Sexy　Darling〃　and　ended　with　〃Love　Always。〃
　
　Dogs？　Neria　Torres　thought。
　
　She　wondered　if　Tony　was　the　same　man　as　〃F。D。〃　and；　if　so；　what　insipid　nickname　the　initials　stood　for。　Fat　Dipshit？
　
　Curiously　she　went　through　the　contents　of　the　purse。　A　driver's　license　identified　the　owner　as　Edith　Deborah　Marsh。　Neria　noted　the　date　of　birth；　working　the　arithmetic　in　her　head。　Twenty…nine　years　old；　this　one。
　
　Tony；　you　dirty　old　pen。
　
　Neria　appraised　the　face　in　the　photograph。　A　ball…buster；　Tony　must've　had　his　fat　hands　full。　Neria　took　unaccountable　satisfaction　from　the　fact　that　young　Edith　was　a　dagger…eyed　brunette；　not　some　dippy　blonde。
　
　From　behind　her　came　the　sound　of　roupy　breathing。　Neria　wheeled；　to　find　Matthew　looming　at　her　shoulder。
　
　〃Christ！〃
　
　〃I　dint　mean　to　scare　ya。〃
　
　〃What　is　it？　What　do　you　want？〃
　
　〃It's　started　up　to　rain。〃
　
　〃I　noticed。〃
　
　〃Seemed　like　a　good　spot　for　a　break。　We　was　headed　to　a　hardware　store　for　some　roof　paper；　nails；　wood…　stuff　like　that。〃
　
　〃Lumber；〃　Neria　Torres　said　archly。　〃In　the　construction　business；　it's　called　'lumber。'　Not　wood。〃
　
　〃Sure。〃　He　was　scratching　at　his　Old　Testament　tattoos。
　
　She　said；　〃So　go　already。〃
　
　〃Yeah；　well；　we　need　some　money。　For　the　lumber。〃
　
　〃Matthew；　there's　something　I've　got　to　tell　you。〃
　
　〃Sure。〃
　
　〃My　husband's　been　murdered。　A　police　detective　is　ing　out　here　soon。〃
　
　Matthew　took　a　step　back　and　said；　〃Sweet　Jesus；　I'm　so　sorry。〃　He　began　to　improvise　a　prayer；　but　Neria　cut　him　off。
　
　〃You　and　your　crew；〃　she　said；　〃you　are　licensed　in　Dade　County；　aren't　you？　I　mean；　there　won't　be　any　problem　if　the　detective　wants　to　ask　some　questions　。。。　？〃
　
　The　Tennesseeans　were　packed　and　gone　within　fifteen　minutes。　Neria　fo