chiaasen.stormyweather-第12章

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st　again。
　
　Snapper　smiled　to　himself；　thinking：　It's　the　damn　pinstripes。　They　think　I'm　carrying　money。
　
　He　kept　walking。　When　the　Cherokee　came　around　a　third　time；　the　rap　music　had　been　turned　off。　Stupid；　Snapper　thought。　Why　not　take　out　a　billboard：　Watch　us　mug　this　guy！
　
　As　the　Jeep　rolled　up　behind　him；　Snapper　stepped　to　the　side　and　slowed　his　pace。　He　slipped　Tony　Torres's　garden　hose　off　his　shoulder　and　carried　it　coiled　in　front　of　him。　The　Cherokee　came　alongside。　One　of　the　kids　was　hanging　out　the　passenger　window。　He　waved　a　chrome…plated　pistol　at　Snapper。
　
　〃Hey；　mud…fuckah；〃　the　kid　said。
　
　〃Good　mornin'；〃　said　Snapper。　He　deftly　looped　a　coil　of　the　garden　hose　around　the　kid's　head　and　jerked　him　out　of　the　truck。　When　the　kid　hit　the　pavement；　hedropped　the　gun。　Snapper　picked　it　up。　He　stepped　on　the　kid's　chest　and　began　twisting　the　hose　tightly　on　the　kid's　throat。
　
　The　other　muggers　piled　out　of　the　Cherokee　with　the　intention　of　rescuing　their　friend　and　killing　the　butt…ugly　geek　in　the　shiny　suit；　but　the　plan　changed　when　they　saw　who　had　the　pistol。　Then　they　ran。
　
　Snapper　waited　until　the　kid　on　the　ground　was　almost　unconscious　before　loosening　the　hose。　〃I　need　to　borrow　some　gas；〃　said　Snapper；　〃to　watch　Sally　Jessy。〃
　
　The　kid　sat　up　slowly　and　rubbed　his　neck；　which　bled　from　the　place　where　his　three　gold　chains　had　cut　into　his　flesh。　He　wore　a　tank　top　to　show　off　the　tattoos　on　his　left　biceps…a　gang　insignia　and　the　nickname　〃BabyRaper。〃
　
　Snapper　said；　〃Baby；　you　got　a　gas　can？〃
　
　〃Fuck　no。〃　The　kid　answered　in　a　raw　whisper。
　
　〃Too　bad。　I'll　have　to　take　the　whole　truck。〃
　
　〃I　don't　care。　Ain't　mine。〃
　
　〃Yeah；　that　was　my　hunch。〃
　
　The　kid　said；　〃Man；　wus　wrong　wid　yo　face？〃
　
　〃Excuse　me？〃
　
　〃I　axed　what's　wrong　wid　yo　mud…fuckin　face。〃
　
　Snapper　went　in　the　Cherokee　and　removed　the　Snoop　Doggy　Dogg　pact　disc　from　the　stereo。　He　used　the　shiny　side　of　the　CD　like　a　small　mirror；　pretending　to　admire　himself　in　it。
　
　〃Looks　fine　to　me；〃　he　said；　after　several　moments。
　
　The　kid　smirked。　〃Sheeeiiit。〃
　
　Snapper　put　the　pistol　to　the　kid's　temple　and　ordered　him　to　get　on　his　belly。　Then　he　yanked　the　mugger's　pants　down　to　his　ankles。
　
　A　Florida　Power　and　Light　cherry　picker　came　steaming　down　the　street。　The　kid　shouted　for　help；　but　the　driver　kept　going。
　
　Twisting　to　look　over　his　shoulder；　Baby　Raper　saw　Snapper　hold　the　CD　up　to　the　sky；　like　a　chrome　munion　wafer。
　
　Snapper　said：　〃Worst　fuckin'　excuse　for　music　I　ever　heard。〃
　
　〃Man；　whatcha　gone　do　wid　dat？〃
　
　〃Guess。〃
　
　Ira　Jackson　stood　with　his　back　to　the　sun。　Tony　Torres　squinted；　shielding　his　brow　with　one　hand。
　
　The　salesman　said：　〃Do　I　remember　you？　Course　I　remember　you。〃
　
　〃My　mother　was　Beatrice　Jackson。〃
　
　〃I　said　I　remember。〃
　
　〃She's　dead。〃
　
　〃So　I　heard。　I'm　very　sorry。〃　Stretched　in　the　chaise；　Tony　Torres　felt　vulnerable。　He　raised　both　knees　to　give　himself　a　brace　for　the　shotgun。
　
　Ira　Jackson　asked　Tony　if　he　remembered　anything　else。　〃Such　as　what　you　promised　my　mother　about　the　double…wide　being　as　safe　as　a　regular　CBS　house？〃
　
　〃Whoa；　sport；　I　said　no　such　thing。〃　Tony　Torres　was　itching　to　get　to　his　feet；　but　that　was　a　major　project。　One　wrong　move；　and　the　flimsy　patio　chair　could　collapse　under　his　weight。　〃'Government　approved；'　is　what　I　told　you；　Mister　Jackson。　Those　were　my　exact　words。〃
　
　〃My　mother's　dead。　The　double…wide　went　to　pieces。〃
　
　〃Well；　it　was　one　hellacious　hurricane。　The　Storm　of　the　Century；　they　said　on　TV。〃　Tony　was　beginning　to　wonder　if　this　dumb　ape　didn't　see　the　Remington　aimed　at　his　dick。　〃We're　talking　about　a　major　natural　disaster；　sport。　Look　how　it　wrecked　these　houses。　My　house。　Hell；　it　blew　down　the　entire　goddamn　Homestead　Air　Force　Base！　There's　no　hiding　from　something　like　that。　I'm　sorry　about　your　mother；　Mister　Jackson；　but　a　trailer's　a　trailer。〃
　
　〃What　happened　to　the　tie…downs？〃
　
　Oh　Christ；　Tony　thought。　Who　knew　enough　to　look　at　the　fucking　tie…downs？　He　struggled　to　appear　indignant。　〃I've　got　no　idea　what　you're　talking　about。〃
　
　Ira　Jackson　said；　〃I　found　two　of　'em　hanging　off　a　piece　of　the　double…wide。　Straps　were　rotted。　Augers　cut　off　short。　No　anchor　disks…this　shit　I　saw　for　myself。〃
　
　〃I'm　sure　you're　mistaken。　They　passed　inspection；　Mister　Jackson。　Every　home　we　sold　passed　inspection。〃　The　confidence　was　gone　from　the　salesman's　tone。　He　was　uneasy；　arguing　with　a　faceless　silhouette。
　
　〃Admit　it；〃　Ira　Jackson　said。　〃Somebody　cut　the　damn　augers　to　save　a　few　bucks　on　installation。〃
　
　〃Keep　talkin'　that　way；〃　warned　Tony　Torres；　〃and　I'll　sue　your　ass　for　slander。〃
　
　Even　before　it　was　made　a　specified　condition　of　his　parole；　Ira　Jackson　had　never　possessed　a　firearm。　In　his　many　years　as　a　professional　goon；　it　had　been　his　experience　that　men　who　brandished　guns　invariably　got　shot　with　one。　Ira　Jackson　favored　the　more　personal　touch　afforded　by　crowbars；　aluminum　softball　bats；　nunchaku　sticks；　piano　wire；　cutlery；　or　gym　socks　filled　with　lead　fishing　sinkers。　Any　would　have　done　the　job　nicely　on　Tony　Torres；　but　Ira　Jackson　had　brought　nothing　but　his　bare　fists　to　the　salesman's　house。
　
　〃What　is　it　you　want？〃　Tony　Torres　demanded。
　
　〃An　explanation。〃
　
　〃Which　I　just　gave　you。〃　Tony's　eyes　watered　from　peering　into　the　sun's　glare；　and　he　was　growing　worried。　Edie　the　Ice　Maiden　had　disappeared　with　Ira　Jackson's　dogs…what　the　hell　was　that　all　about？　Were　they　in　on　something？　And　where　was　the　freak　in　the　bad　suit；　his　so…called　bodyguard？
　
　Tony　said　to　Ira　Jackson：　〃I　think　it's　time　for　you　to　go。〃　He　motioned　with　the　shotgun　toward　the　street。
　
　〃This　is　how　you　treat　dissatisfied　customers？〃
　
　A　jittery　laugh　burst　from　the　salesman。　〃Sport；　you　ain't　here　for　no　refund。〃
　
　〃You're　right。〃　Ira　Jackson　was　pleased　by　the　din　of　the　neighborhood…hammers；　drills；　saws；　electric　generators。　All　the　folks　preoccupied　with　putting　their　homes　back　together。　The　noise　would　make　it　easier　to　cover　the　ruckus；　if　the　mobile…home　salesman　tried　to　put　up　a　struggle。
　
　Tony　Torres　said；　〃You　think　I　don't　know　to　use　this　twelve…gauge；　you're　makin'　a　big　mistake。　Check　out　the　hole　in　that　garage　door。〃
　
　Ira　Jackson　whistled。　〃I'm　impressed；　Mister　Torres。　You　shot　a　house。〃
　
　Tony's　expression　hardened。　〃I'm　counting　to　three。〃
　
　〃My　mother　was　hit　by　a　damn　barbecue。〃
　
　〃One！〃　the　salesman　said。　〃Every　second　you　look　more　like　a　looter；　mister。〃
　
　〃You　promised　her　the　place　was　safe。　All　those　poor　people…how　the　hell　do　you　sleep　nights？〃
　
　〃Two！〃
　
　〃Relax；　you　fat　fuck。　I'm　on　my　way。〃　Ira　Jackson　turned　and　walked　slowly　toward　the　street。
　
　Tony　Torres　took　a　deep　breath；　his　tongue　felt　like　sandpaper。　He　lowered　the　Remington　until　it　rested　on　one　of　his　kneecaps。　He　watched　Beatrice　Jackson's　son　pause　in　the　driveway　and　kneel　as　if　tying　a　shoe。
　
　Craning　to　see；　Tony　shouted：　〃Move　it；　sport！〃
　
　The　cinder　block　caught　him　by　surprise…first；　the　sheer　weight　of　it；　thirty…odd　pounds　of　solid　concrete；　second；　the　fact　that　Ira　Jackson　was　able　to　throw　such　a　hefty　object；　shot…putter　style；　with　such　distressing　accuracy。
　
　When　it　struck　the　salesman's　chest；　the　cinder　block　knocked　the　shotgun　from　his　hands；　the　beer　from　his　bladder　and　the　breath　from　his　lungs。　He　made　a　sibilant　exclamation；　like　a　water　bed　rupturing。
　
　So　forceful　was　the　cinder　block's　impact　that　it　doubled　Tony　Torres　at　the　waist；　causing　the　chaise　longue　to　spring　on　him　like　an　oversized　mousetrap。　The　moans　he　let　out　as　Ira　Jackson　dragged　him　to　the　car　were　practically　inaudible　over　the　chorus　of　his　neighbors'　chain　saws。
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　SEVEN
　
　
　The　Dade　County　Medical　Examiner's　Office　was　quiet；　neat　and　modern…nothing　like　Bonnie　Lamb's　notion　of　a　big…city　morgue。　She　admired　the　architect's　thinking；　the　design　of　the　building　successfully　avoided　the　theme　of　violent　homicide。　With　its　brisk　and　clerical…looking　layout；　it　could　have　passed　for　the　regional　headquarters　of　an　insurance　pany　or　a　mortgage　firm；　except　for　the　dead　bodies　in　the　north　wing。
　
　A　friendly　secretary　brought　coffee　to　Bonnie　Lamb　while　Augustine　spoke　privately　to　an　assistant　medical　examiner。　The　young　doctor　remembered　Augustine　from　a　week　earlier；　when　he　had　e　to　claim　his　uncle's　snakebitten　remains。　The　medical　examiner　was　intrigued　to　learn　from　Augustine　that　the　tropical　viper　that　had　killed　Felix　Mojack　now　roamed　free。　He　E…mailed　a　memorandum　to　Jackson　Memorial；　alerting　the　emergency　room　to　requisition　more　antivenin；　just　in　case。　Then　he　took　a　Xeroxed　copy　of　Bonnie　Lamb's　police　report　down　the　hall。
　
　When　he　returned；　the　medical　examiner　said　the　morgue　had　two　unidentified　corpses　that　loosely　matched　the　physical　description　of　Max　Lamb。　Augustine　relayed　the　news　to　Bonnie。
　
　〃You　up　for　this？〃　he　asked。
　
　〃If　you　go　with　me。〃
　
　It　was　a　long　walk　to　the　autopsy　room；　where　the　temperature　seemed　to　drop　fifteen　degrees。　Bonnie　Lamb　took　Augustine's　hand　as　they　moved　among　the　self…draining　steel　tables；　where　a　half…dozen　bodies　were　laid　out　in　varying　stages　of　dissection。　The　room　gave　off　a　cloying　odor；　the　sickly…sweet　mingling　of　chemicals　and　dead　flesh。　Augustine　felt　Bonnie's　palm　go　cold。　He　asked　her　if　she　was　going　to　faint。
　
　〃No；〃　she　said。　〃It's　just　。。。　God；　I　thought　they'd　all　be　covered　with　sheets。〃
　
　〃Only　in　the　movies。〃
　
　The　first　John　Doe　had　lank　hair　and　sparse；　uneven　sideburns。　He　was　the　same　race　and　age；　but　otherwise　bore　no　resemblance　to　Max　Lamb。　The　dead　man's　eyes　were　greenish　blue；　Max's　were　brown。　Still；　Bonnie　stared。
　
　〃How　did　he　die？〃
　
　Augustine　asked：　〃Is　it　Max？〃
　
　She　shook　her　head　sharply。　〃But　tell　me　how　he　died。〃
　
　With　a　Bic　pen；　the　young　medical　examiner　pointed　to　a　dime…sized　hole　beneath　the　dead　man's　left　armpit。　〃Gunshot　wound；〃　he　said。
　
　Augustine　and　Bonnie　Lamb　followed　the　doctor　to　another　table。　Here　the　cause　of　death　was　no　mystery。　The　second　John　Doe　had　been　in　a　terrible　accident。　He　was　scalped　and　his　face　pulverized　beyond　recognition。　A　black　track　of　autopsy　stitches　ran　from　his　breast　to　his　pelvis。
　
　Bonnie　stammered；　〃I　don't　know；　I　can't　tell…〃
　
　〃Look　at　his　hands；〃　the　medical　examiner　said。
　
　〃No　wedding　ring；〃　Augustine　observed。
　
　〃Please。　I　want　her　to　look；〃　the　medical　examiner　said。　〃We　remove　the　jewelry　for　safekeeping。〃
　
　Bonnie　dazedly　circled　the　table。　The　bluish　pallor　of　the　dead　man's　skin　made　it　difficult　to　determine　his　natural　plexion。　He　was　built　like　Max…narrow　shoulders；　bony　chest；　with　a　veined　roll　of　baby　fat　at　the　midsection。　The　arms　and　legs　were　lean　and　finely　haired；　like　Max's。。。。
　
　〃Ma'am；　what　about　the　hands？〃
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　forced　herself　to　look；　and　was　glad　she　did。　The　hands　were　not　her　husband's；　the　fingernails　were　grubby　and　gnawed。　Max　believed　religiousl