chiaasen.stormyweather-第65部分

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　〃Baloney。　Stay　right　here。〃　Bonnie　hopped　to　her　feet。
　
　〃Now　where　are　you　going？〃
　
　〃Back　to　camp　for　some　poetry。〃
　
　〃Sit　down。　I'm　not　finished。〃
　
　She　spanked　his　arm　away。　〃You　read　to　me。　Now　I…m　going　to　read　to　you。〃
　
　What　Bonnie　had　in　mind；　dashing　up　the　trail；　was　Whitman。　Somewhere　in　the　rusted　ambulance　was　a　hardbound　volume　of　〃Song　of　Myself；〃　a　poem　she'd　loved　since　high　school。　One　line　in　particular…　〃In　vain　the　mastodon　retreats　from　its　own　powder'd　bones〃　…reminded　her　of　Skink。
　
　As　she　entered　the　campsite；　she　spotted　him　motionless　on　the　ground。　Snapper　craned　over　him；　making　throaty　snarls。　He　was　ing　down　from　a　sulfurous　rage。　In　one　hand　was　a　piece　of　burnt　wood　that　Bonnie　recognized　as　the　governor's　hiking　torch。
　
　She　stood　rigid；　her　fists　balled　at　her　sides。　Snapper　wore　a　contorted　expression　made　no　less　malignant　by　the　red…and…chrome　bar　clamped　to　his　face。　He　was　unaware　of　Bonnie　watching　from　the　tree　line。　He　dropped　the　torch；　snatched　up　the　suitcase　and　began　to　run。
　
　Insanely　she　went　after　him。
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　THIRTY…ONE
　
　
　Snapper　had　been　awakened　by　a　cool　drizzle。　The　campsite　was　still。　The　one…eyed　lunatic　was　asleep；　stretched　out　in　his　grubby　army　duds　beneath　a　tree。　There　was　no　sign　of　Edie　Marsh；　or　the　sharpshooter；　or　the　weird　broad　who'd　doused　herself　with　soda　pop　in　the　Jeep。
　
　Slowly　Snapper　sat　up。　His　eyes　were　crusty　and　his　mouth　was　ash　dry。　A　clot　of　black　dirt　stuck　to　one　eyebrow：　For　the　umpteenth　time　he　tried　unsuccessfully　to　wrench　The　Club　out　of　his　gums。　The　pain　was　hideous；　as　if　the　bones　of　his　face　were　spring…loaded　to　blow　apart。　He　was　grateful　he　couldn't　see　himself；　he　must've　looked　like　a　fucking　circus　freak。　Bucket…Mouth　Man。　Dorks　lining　up　to　toss　softballs　down　his　gullet。
　
　Jesus　H。　Christ；　he　thought；　I　gotta　clear　the　cobwebs。
　
　There　on　the　ground　was　the　suitcase　full　of　cash；　yawning；　where　Skink　had　left　it。　The　smell　pungently　reminded　Snapper　that　it　hadn't　been　a　nightmare：　The　asshole　had　actually　pissed　on　ninety…four　thousand　perfectly　good　U。S。　dollars。
　
　Snapper　tested　his　legs；　left；　right；　together。　Next　he　clenched　his　hands；　flexed　his　arms。　So　far；　so　good。　The　second　tranquilizer　dart　finally　had　worn　off。
　
　He　rose　to　his　feet。　Tenuously　he　took　one　step　toward　the　cash。　Then　another。　The　iron　bar　on　his　jaws　was　so　cumbersome　that　he　almost　lost　his　balance　and　toppled　forward。　He　tried　to　hold　his　breath　while　he　latched　the　suitcase；　but　the　aroma　was　unavoidable。　Snapper　found　the　water　jug　and　emptied　it　into　his　throat。　His　spluttering　failed　to　disturb　the　dozing　lunatic。
　
　Snapper　spied　a　handy　weapon…a　length　of　gummy　wood；　one　end　charred。
　
　The　big　dork　must've　heard　him　ing；　because　he　tried　to　roll　away　when　Snapper　swung。　The　blow　caught　the　man　in　a　shoulder　instead　of　the　head；　but　Snapper　heard　bones　crack。　He　knew　it　hurt。
　
　〃Ahhheeegggnnn！〃　he　brayed；　swinging　again　and　again　until　the　fucker　quit　rolling　and　just　lay　there　making　a　faint　hiss；　like　a　tire　going　flat。
　
　Bonnie　had　always　been　scrappy　for　her　size。　In　junior　high　she　had　chased　down　a　boy　who'd　lifted　her　skirt　in　the　school　cafeteria。　The　boy's　name　was　Eric　Schultz。　He　was　almost　six　feet　tall；　foul…mouthed　and　cocky；　a　star　of　the　basketball　team。　He　outweighed　Bonnie　by　eighty　pounds。　When　he　tried　to　run　away；　she　tackled　him；　held　him　down　and　punched　him　in　the　testicles。　Eric　Schultz　missed　the　first　and　second　rounds　of　the　basketball　playoffs。　Bonnie　Brooks　was　suspended　from　class　for　three　days。　Her　father　said　it　was　worth　it；　he　was　proud。　Bonnie's　mother　said　she　overreacted；　because　the　boy　Eric　had　been　held　back　twice　for　eighth　grade。　Bonnie's　mother　said　he'd　probably　done　what　he　had　to　Bonnie　because　he　didn't　know　any　better。　He　does　now；　Bonnie　had　said。　She　agreed　with　her　father：　Stupidity　was　an　overworked　excuse。
　
　With　his　bum　knee；　Snapper　was　easy　to　catch。　His　speed　was　further　hindered　by　the　unwieldy　facial　contraption；　which　snagged　in　the　vines　and　branches。　He　went　down　in　the　same　basic　configuration　as　had　Eric　Schultz…limbs　splayed；　nose　down。　It　took　only　a　moment　for　Snapper　to　realize　it　was　a　woman　hanging　off　his　shoulders；　and　not　a　large　one。　The　casual　manner　in　which　he　shook　free　suggested　to　Bonnie　that　her　rabbit　punches　were　ineffective。　Unlike　young　Eric　Schultz；　Lester　Maddox　Parsons　had　been　to　prison；　where　he'd　learned　much　about　dirty　fighting。　He　wasn't　about　to　let　a　one…hundred…pound　girl　get　a　clear　shot　at　his　jewels。
　
　With　both　arms　he　swung　the　Frenchman's　suitcase；　knocking　Bonnie　sideways　against　the　gnarled　trunk　of　an　old　buttonwood。　She　landed　flat　on　her　back；　punching　frenetically。　The　red　steel　bar　across　Snapper's　cheeks　blocked　her　best　jabs。　He　quickly　pinned　her　wrists；　but　she　stopped　kicking　only　when　he　dug　a　knee　into　her　pubic　bone。
　
　Beneath　the　dull　deadening　weight　of　his　torso；　she　gradually　lost　sight　of　the　buzzards　and　the　gathering　clouds。　Her　next　view　was　a　glistening；　pink；　fistulous　cave…his　mouth；　stretched　in　the　shape　of　a　permanent　scream。　He　panted　from　exertion；　hot；　necrotic　gusts。　Bonnie　wanted　to　gag。　Something　wet　and　wormy　settled　on　the　cleft　of　her　chin。
　
　A　lip。
　
　She　took　it　in　her　teeth　and　bit　hard。　Snapper　yowled　and　pulled　away。　A　half　second　later；　Bonnie　was　stunned　by　a　sharp　blow　to　her　temple。　The　Club。　The　bastard　was　trying　to　beat　her　with　it；　using　frenzied；　snorting　sweeps　of　his　head。　She　had　no　way　to　protect　herself。　Snapper　wouldn't　release　her　arms　because　he　didn't　need　his　own　for　the　attack；　his　gourd　was　doing　all　the　work。　Bonnie　was　dazed　by　another　white　burst　of　pain。　She　shut　her　eyes　so　she　wouldn't　have　to　see　his　goggling　wet　hole　of　a　face。　She　made　herself　go　limp；　thinking　that　unconsciousness　would　be　fine　and　dandy。
　
　Snapper　imagined　himself　a　wild　bull　in　the　ring；　goring　at　will。　The　bitch　was　helpless　beneath　him；　hardly　twitching。　He　paused　to　catch　his　breath；　spit　blood；　and　congratulate　himself　for　so　cleverly　converting　a　handicap　to　a　martial　asset。　The　cop　on　the　TV　mercial　was　right；　The　Club　was　indestructible！　Despite　the　stinging　of　his　lip　and　the　burning　in　his　knee　and　the　electric　throbbing　in　the　joints　of　his　jaw；　Snapper　didn't　feel　so　bad。　His　pride　outweighed　the　pain。　Certainly　he'd　earned　the　rights　to　the　Frenchman's　hurricane　money。
　
　That's　when　a　hand　moved　between　his　legs；　lightly；　like　a　sparrow　on　a　branch。
　
　〃Nnnngggguuuhhh！！〃
　
　The　bitch　grabbed　him。　Snapper　bellowed。　He　thrashed　his　head；　trying　to　pummel　her　with　the　heavy　end　of　The　Club。　Then　he　realized　it　couldn't　be　the　girl　squeezing　his　balls；　because　both　her　wrists　remained　pinned　in　the　dirt。　She　wasn't　moving　a　muscle。　It　had　to　be　somebody　else。
　
　Then；　from　a　distance；　he　heard：　〃No！　Don't　do　that。〃
　
　He　tried　to　hold　still。　Tried　to　breathe　without　whimpering。　Tried　to　turn　ever　so　slightly；　to　see　who　the　fuck　had　at　least　one　（and　possibly　both）　of　his　nuts　in　their　ringers。
　
　Again　the　voice；　this　time　closer：　〃Don't　do　it！　Don't！〃
　
　The　one…eyed　freak；　calling　out。
　
　Who's　he　talking　to？　Snapper　wondered。　Don't　do　what？
　
　Then　the　gun　went　off　at　his　head；　and　he　knew。
　
　Max　Lamb　was　surprised　to　find　a　woman　sleeping　in　the　front　seat　of　his　rental　car。　He　recognized　her　as　the　one　whom　the　state　trooper　had　dropped　off　in　the　parking　lot　earlier　that　afternoon。
　
　She　sat　up；　brushing　her　long　brown　hair　from　her　eyes。　〃It　was　raining。　I　had　no　place　to　go。〃　Not　the　least　bit　bashful。
　
　〃That's　OK；〃　Max　said。　He　wormed　out　of　the　Day…Glo　poncho　and　tossed　it　in　the　back　seat。
　
　〃My　name　is　Edie。〃　She　reached　out　to　shake　his　hand。
　
　He　took　it；　stiffly。　She　had　a　strong　grip。
　
　〃I'm　Max；〃　he　said。　Then　he　heard　himself　saying：　〃You　need　a　lift　back　to　Miami？〃
　
　Edie　Marsh　nodded　gratefully。　That's　what　she'd　been　counting　on。　One　way　or　another；　all　rental　cars　ultimately　returned　to　Miami。
　
　She　said；　〃I　would've　tried　hitching　a　ride；　but　there　was　lightning。〃
　
　〃Yeah；　I　heard。〃
　
　Somehow　Max　missed　the　ramp　to　the　Turnpike；　it　wasn't　easy；　but　he　did。　Edie　didn't　plain。　A　lift　was　a　lift。　All　the　roads　went　the　same　direction　anyway。
　
　〃Where　are　you　from；　Max？〃　He　looked　perfectly　harmless；　but　still　she　wanted　to　get　him　talking。　Silent　brooding　made　her　edgy。
　
　〃New　York。　I'm　in　advertising。〃
　
　〃No　kidding。〃
　
　And　off　he　went。　During　the　next　hour；　Edie　learned　a　great　deal　about　Madison　Avenue。　Max　was　absolutely　elated　to　discover　that　she'd　been　a　glutton　for　Plum　Crunchies　cereal。　And　she　remembered　his　slogan；　word　for　word！
　
　〃What　others　have　you　done？〃　she　asked　brightly。
　
　Max　was　tempted　to　tell　her　about　Intimate　Mist　but　thought　better　of　it。　Not　everyone　felt　fortable　on　the　subject　of　douches。
　
　〃Bronco　cigarets；〃　he　said。
　
　〃Really！〃
　
　〃Speaking　of　which；　would　you　mind　if　I　smoked？〃
　
　〃Not　at　all；〃　said　Edie　Marsh。
　
　He　offered　her　a　menthol。　She　declined　politely。　As　smoke　filled　the　car；　she　rolled　down　the　window　and　tried　not　to　cough　herself　blue。　〃When　are　you　going　back　to　New　York？〃
　
　〃Tomorrow；〃　Max　said。　He　grew　quiet　again。
　
　Edie　said：　〃If　you　tell　me；　I'll　tell　you。〃
　
　Max　looked　perplexed。
　
　She　said；　〃You　know…what　we　were　doing　with　that　cop。　Me　ing；　you　going。〃
　
　〃Oh。〃　After　a　pause：　〃I'm　not　in　any　kind　of　trouble；　if　that's　what　you　mean。〃
　
　Dryly　she　said；　〃I　had　a　hunch　you're　no　Ted　Bundy。〃
　
　What　eyes！　Max　thought。　What　an　interesting　woman！　He　had　reason　to　believe　she　was　aware　of　her　impact。
　
　He　said；　〃How　about　this：　If　you　don't　tell　me；　I　won't　tell　you。　What's　over　is　over。〃
　
　〃I　like　that　approach。〃
　
　〃Let's　just　agree　we've　had　a　bad　day。〃
　
　〃And　how。〃
　
　In　South　Dade　they　hit　heavy　traffic　where　the　storm　had　blown　ashore；　taking　down　everything。　Edie　Marsh　had　seen　the　destruction　the　day　after　the　hurricane；　but　it　seemed　much　worse　to　her　now。　She　was　surprised　to　find　hersel