chiaasen.stormyweather-第24章

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bular　eyes　and　jumped　toward　it。　One　by　one　they　leaped　off　the　dock　and　plopped　into　the　water。　Skink　hooted　mirthfully。　〃South；　boys！　To　Havana；　San　Juan；　wherever　the　hell　you　came　from！〃
　
　Max　watched　the　toads　disappear；　some　kicked　for　the　depths；　others　bobbed　on　the　foamy　crests　of　waves。　Max　didn't　know　what　would　happen　to　them；　nor　did　he　care。　They　were　just　ugly　toads；　and　barracudas　could　devour　them；　as　far　as　he　was　concerned。　His　only　interest　was　in　drawing　a　lesson　from　the　episode；　one　that　might　be　employed　to　handle　the　cyclopean　kidnapper。
　
　But　Skink　already　seemed　to　have　forgotten　about　the　Bufos。　Once　more　he　was　rhapsodizing　about　the　hurricane。　〃Look　at　Cape　Florida；　every　last　tree　flattened…　forest　to　moonscape　in　thirty　blessed　minutes！〃
　
　〃The　boat…〃
　
　〃You　ponder　that。〃
　
　〃It's　flashing　a　light　at　us…〃
　
　〃The　gorgeous　fury　inside　that　storm。　And　you　with　your　video　camera。〃　Skink　sighed　disappointedly。　〃'Sin　is　a　thing　that　writes　itself　across　a　man's　face。'　Oscar　Wilde。　I　don't　expect　you've　read　him。〃
　
　Max's　silence　affirmed　it。
　
　〃Well；　I've　been　waiting；〃　said　Skink；　〃to　see　it　written　across　your　face。　Sin。〃
　
　〃What　I　did　was　harmless；　OK？　Maybe　a　bit　insensitive；　but　harmless。　You've　made　your　point；　captain。　Let　me　go　now。〃
　
　The　speedboat　was　close　enough　to　see　it　was　metallic　blue　with　a　white　jagged　stripe；　like　a　lightning　bolt；　along　the　hull。　Two　figures　were　visible　at　the　console。
　
　〃There　she　is；〃　said　Max。
　
　〃And　no　cops。〃　Skink　waved　the　boat　in。
　
　One　of　the　figures　moved　to　the　bow　and　tossed　a　rope。　Skink　caught　it　and　tied　off。　As　soon　as　the　rope　came　tight；　the　twin　outboards　went　quiet。　The　current　nudged　the　stern　of　the　boat　against　the　pilings；　into　the　lantern's　penumbra。
　
　Max　Lamb　saw　that　it　was　Bonnie　on　the　bow。　When　he　called　her　name；　she　stepped　to　the　dock　and　hugged　him　in　a　nurselike　fashion；　consoling　him　as　if　he　were　a　toddler　with　a　skinned　knee。　Max　received　the　attention　with　manly　reserve；　he　was　conscious　of　being　watched　not　only　by　his　captor　but　by　Bonnie's　male　escort。
　
　Skink　smiled　at　the　reunion　scene；　and　slipped　back　into　the　shadows　of　the　stilt　house。　The　driver　of　the　boat　made　no　move　to　get　out。　He　was　young　and　broad…shouldered；　and　fortable　on　the　open　water。　He　wore　a　pale…blue　pullover；　cutoffs　and　no　shoes。　He　seemed　unaffected　by　navigating　a　pitch…black　bay　mined　with　overturned　hulls　and　floating　timbers。
　
　From　the　darkness；　Skink　asked　the　young　man　for　his　name。
　
　〃Augustine；〃　he　answered。
　
　〃You　have　the　ransom？〃
　
　〃Sure　do。〃
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　said：　〃Don't　worry；　he's　not　the　police。〃
　
　〃I　can　see　that；〃　came　Skink's　voice。
　
　The　boat　driver　stepped　to　the　gunwale。　He　handed　Bonnie　a　shopping　bag；　which　she　gave　to　her　husband；　who　handed　it　to　the　kidnapper　in　the　shadows。
　
　Max　Lamb　said：　〃Bonnie；　honey；　the　captain　wants　to　talk　to　you。　Then　he'll　let　me　go。〃
　
　〃I'm　considering　it；〃　Skink　said。
　
　〃Talk　to　me　about　what？〃
　
　The　driver　of　the　boat　reached　inside　the　console　and　came　out　with　a　can　of　beer。　He　took　a　swallow　and　leaned　one　hip　against　the　steering　wheel。
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　asked　her　husband：　〃What's　that　on　your　neck？〃　It　looked　like　some　appalling　implement　of　bondage；　she'd　seen　similar　items　in　the　display　windows　of　leather　shops　in　Greenwich　Village。
　
　Skink　came　into　the　light。　〃It's　a　training　device。　Lie　down；　Max。〃
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　studied　the　tall；　disheveled　stranger。　He　was　all　the　state　trooper　had　promised；　and　more。　In　size　he　appeared　capable　of　anything；　yet　Bonnie　felt　in　no　way　threatened。
　
　〃Max；　now！〃　the　kidnapper　said　to　her　husband。
　
　Obediently　Max　Lamb　lay　prone　on　the　wooden　dock。　When　Skink　told　him　to　roll　over；　like　a　dog；　he　did。
　
　Bonnie　was　embarrassed　for　her　husband。　The　kidnapper　noticed；　and　apologized。　He　instructed　Max　to　get　up。
　
　The　shopping　bag　contained　everything　Skink　had　demanded。　Within　moments　the　new　batteries　were　inserted　in　the　Walkman；　and　〃Tumbling　Dice〃　was　spilling　out　of　his　earphones。　He　opened　the　jar　of　green　olives　and　poured　them　into　his　gleaming　bucket　of　a　mouth。
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　asked　Max　what　in　God's　name　was　going　on。
　
　〃Later；〃　he　whispered。
　
　〃Tell　me　now！〃
　
　〃She　deserves　to　know；〃　the　kidnapper　interjected；　spraying　olive　juice。　〃She's　risking　her　life；　being　out　here　with　a　nutcase　like　me。〃
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　had　dressed　for　a　boat　ride…blue　slicker；　jeans　and　deck　shoes。　Good　stuff　but　practical；　Skink　noticed；　none　of　that　catalog　nonsense　from　California。　He　pulled　off　the　earphones　and　plimented　Bonnie　for　her　mon　sense。　Then　he　instructed　her　husband　to　remove　the　shock　collar　and　toss　it　in　the　sea。
　
　Max's　hands　quavered　at　his　neck。　Skink　told　him　to　go　ahead；　dammit；　off　with　it！　Max's　lips　tightened　in　determination；　but　he　couldn't　make　himself　touch　it。　Finally　it　was　his　wife　who　stepped　forward；　unhooked　the　clasp　and　removed　the　Tri…Tronics　dog　trainer。　She　examined　it　in　the　light　of　the　lantern。
　
　〃Sick；〃　she　said　to　Skink；　and　set　the　collar　on　the　dock。
　
　From　his　jacket　he　took　a　videotape　cassette。　He　tossed　it　to　Bonnie　Lamb；　who　caught　it　with　both　hands。　〃Your　hubbie's　home　movies　from　the　hurricane。　Talk　about　sick。〃
　
　Bonnie　wheeled　and　threw　the　cassette　into　the　bay。
　
　The　girl　had　fire！　Skink　liked　her　already。　Nervously　Max　lighted　a　cigaret。
　
　His　wife　wouldn't　have　been　more　repulsed　had　he　jabbed　a　hypodermic　full　of　heroin　in　his　arm。　She　said；　〃Since　when　do　you　smoke？〃
　
　〃If　you　put　the　collar　back　on　him；〃　Skink　volunteered　helpfully；　〃I　can　teach　him　to　quit。〃
　
　Max　Lamb　told　Skink　to　get　on　with　it。　〃You　said　you　wanted　to　talk　to　her；　so　talk。〃
　
　〃No；　I　said　I　wanted　to　spend　time　with　her。〃
　
　Bonnie　turned　toward　the　barefoot　young　man　at　the　helm　of　the　striped　speedboat。　He　apparently　had　nothing　to　say。　His　demeanor　was　casual；　almost　bored。
　
　〃Where；〃　Bonnie　asked　the　kidnapper；　〃did　you　want　to　spend　time？　And　doing　what？〃
　
　〃Not　what　you　think；〃　Max　Lamb　cut　in。
　
　Skink　put　on　his　plastic　shower　cap。　〃The　hurricane　has　set　me　on　a　new　rhythm。　I　feel　it　ticking。〃
　
　He　put　his　hands　on　Bonnie's　shoulders；　gently　moving　her　to　Max's　side。　From　the　governor's　shadow　she　felt　his　stare。　He　was　studying　them；　her　and　Max；　like　they　were　lab　rats。　Then　she　heard　him　mutter：　〃I　still　don't　see　how。〃
　
　Tersely　Bonnie　said；　〃Just　tell　us　what　you　want。〃
　
　〃Watch　it；〃　Max　advised。　〃He's　been　smoking　dope。〃
　
　Skink　looked　away；　toward　the　ocean。　〃No　offense；　Mrs。　Lamb；　but　your　husband　has　put　me　sorely　off　the　human　race。　A　feminine　counterpoint　would　be　nice。〃
　
　Bonnie　was　surprised　by　a　pleasurable　shiver；　goose…flesh　rising　on　her　neck。　The　stranger's　voice　was　soothing　and　hypnotic；　a　wild　broad　river；　she　could　have　listened　to　him　all　night。　Mad　is　what　he　was；　demonstrably　mad。　But　his　story　fascinated　her。　Once　a　governor；　the　trooper　had　said。　Bonnie　longed　to　know　more。
　
　Yet　here　was　her　husband；　exhausted；　sunburned；　emotionally　sapped。　She　ought　to　tend　to　him。　Poor　Max　had　been　through　hell。
　
　〃I　only　want　to　talk；〃　the　kidnapper　said。
　
　〃All　right；〃　Bonnie　told　him；　〃but　just　for　a　little　while。〃
　
　He　cupped　a　hand　to　his　mouth。　〃You；　Augustine！　Take　Mister　Lamb　to　safety。　He　needs　a　shower　and　a　shave　and　possibly　a　stool　softener。　Return　at　dawn　for　his　wife。〃
　
　Skink　grabbed　Max　under　the　arms　and　lowered　him　to　the　speedboat。　He　cut　the　line　with　a　pocketknife；　pushing　the　bow　away　from　the　sagging　stilt　house。　He　flung　one　arm　around　Bonnie　and　with　the　other　began　to　wave。　As　the　boat　drifted　out　of　the　lantern's　glow；　Skink　saw　a　third　figure　rise　in　the　stern　of　the　boat…　where　had　he　been　hiding？　Then　the　young　man　at　the　wheel　brought　a　rifle　to　his　shoulder。
　
　〃Damn；〃　said　Skink；　pushing　Bonnie　Lamb　from　the　line　of　fire。
　
　Something　stung　him　fiercely；　spinning　him　clockwise　and　down。　He　was　still　spinning　when　he　hit　the　warm　water；　and　wondering　why　his　arms　and　legs　weren't　working；　wondering　why　he　hadn't　heard　a　shot　or　seen　a　muzzle　flash；　wondering　if　perhaps　he　was　already　dead。
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　THIRTEEN
　
　
　Late　on　the　night　of　August　27；　with　a　warm　breeze　at　his　back　and　nine　cold　Budweisers　in　his　belly；　Keith　Higs…trom　decided　to　go　hunting。　His　friends　declined　to　acpany　him；　as　Keith　was　as　clumsy　and　unreliable　a　shooter　as　he　was　a　drunk。
　
　Truthfully　there　wasn't　much　to　hunt　in　South　Florida；　the　wild　game　having　long　ago　fled　or　died。　However；　the　hurricane　had　dispersed　throughout　the　suburbs　an　exotic　new　quarry：　livestock。　Mile　upon　mile　of　ranch　posts　in　rural　Dade　County　had　been　uprooted；　freeing　herds　of　cattle　and　horses　to　explore　vistas　beyond　their　mucky　flooded　pastures。　Motivated　more　by　dull　hunger　than　by　native　inquisitiveness；　the　animals　began　appearing　in　places　where　they　were　not　customarily　encountered。　One　such　place　was　Keith　Higstrom's　neighborhood；　a　subdivision　of　indistinguishable　clam…colored　houses；　stacked　twenty　deep　and　twenty…five　across　and　bordered　on　every　side　by　bankrupt　strip　shopping　malls。
　
　It　was　here　Keith　Higstrom　had　spent　his　childhood。　His　father's　family　had　moved　to　Miami　from　northern　Minnesota　in　the　early　1940s　bringing　an　affinity　for　long　guns　and　an　appetite　for　the　great　outdoors。　An　impressionable　boy；　Keith　had　listened　to　hunting　yarns　his　entire　life…timber　wolves　and　trophy　black　bears　in　the　north　woods；　white…tailed　deer　and　wild　turkeys　in　the　Florida　scrub。　The　head　of　an　eight…point　buck；　stoic　but　marble…eyed；　hung　over　the　Higstrom　dinner　table；　the　tawny　pelt　of　a　prized　panther　was　tacked　spread…eagle　on　the　west　wall　of　the　den。　At　age　five；　Keith　began　collecting　in　leatherbound　volumes　each　edition　of　Outdoor　Life；　Field　&　Stream　and　Sports　Afield。　His　most　treasured　possession　was　an　autographed　photo　of　the　famous　Joe　Foss；　standing　over　a　dead　grizzly。　At　age　six；　young　Keith　got　a　Daisy　popgun；　a　BB　pistol　at　age　nine；　a　pellet　rifle　at　age　eleven；　and　his　first　。22　at　thirteen。
　
　Yet　。。。　even　plinking　beer　cans　at　the　local　rock　pit；　the　boy　displayed　an　unfailing　lack　of　proficiency　with　firearms。　His　father　was　more　than　slightly　disappointed。　Young　Keith　was　a　pure　menace　with　a　gun。　Practice　brought　no　improvement；　nor　did　experimenting　with　different　styles　of　weapons。　Scopes　didn't　help。　Tripods　didn't　help。　Recoil　cushions　didn't　help。　Even　goddamn　breathing　exercises　didn't　help。
　
　Often　these　father…son　target　practices　disintegrated　into　sulking　and　tears　until　the　elder　Higstrom　relented；　allowing　young　Keith　to　fire　a　few　rounds　with　a　twelve…gauge　Mossberg；　just　so　he　could　have　the　experience　of　hitting　something。　Clearly　the　family　lineage　of　crack　dead…eye　shots　had　e　to　a　sorry　end。　Keith's　father　returned　from　these　outings　looking　pale　and　shaken；　although　he　said　nothing　to　Keith's　mother　about　what　he'd　witnessed　at　the　rock　pit。
　
　Fortunately；　by　the　time　Keith　was　old　enough　to　go　out　hunting；　there　was　practically　nothing　left　to　shoot