chiaasen.stormyweather-第25章

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　Fortunately；　by　the　time　Keith　was　old　enough　to　go　out　hunting；　there　was　practically　nothing　left　to　shoot　in　Miami　except　for　rats　and　low…flying　seagulls。　Every　autumn；　Keith　badgered　his　father　into　taking　him　to　the　Big　Cypress　Swamp　or　private　hunting　camps　in　the　Everglades；　where　the　deer　were　chased　into　high　water　by　airboats　and　shot　at　point…blank　range。　The　elder　Higstrom　dreaded　these　excursions　and　found　no　sport　in　the　killing；　but　his　son　couldn't　have　been　happier　had　he　been　lobbing　grenades　at　crippled　fawns。
　
　It　was　on　one　such　miserable　morning　that　Keith　Higstrom's　father　swore　off　hunting　forever。　They　were　riding　a　tank…sized　swamp　buggy　in　hot　pursuit　of　a　scraggly；　half…senile　bobcat。　Suddenly　Keith　began　firing　wildly　at　an　object　high　in　the　sky…a　bald　eagle；　it　turned　out；　a　federally　protected　species。　The　attempted　felony　was　not　consummated；　due　to　the　young　man's　shaky　aim；　but　in　the　fever　of　the　moment　he　managed　to　blow　off　his　father's　left　ear。
　
　Deafened；　blood…drenched；　writhing　facedown　in　Everglades　marl；　the　elder　Higstrom　experienced　a　peculiar　catharsis；　an　unexpected　soothing　of　the　soul；　as　if　a　cool　white　sheet　were　slowly　being　drawn　over　his　head。　Yes；　his　injury　was　terrible；　and　the　deafness　would　（if　he　came　clean　about　it）　cost　him　his　job　as　an　air　traffic　controller。　On　the　other　hand；　he　could　never　again　be　forced　to　go　hunting　with　his　excitable　son！
　
　Keith　Higstrom　couldn't　duck　responsibility　for　the　accident；　nor　the　guilt　that　went　with　it。　His　father　recovered　from　the　gunshot　wound；　and　was　kind　enough　not　to　bring　it　up　more　than　once　or　twice　a　day。　Before　long；　Keith's　remorse　gave　way　to　an　unspoken　resentment；　for　he　perceived　that　his　father　was　using　the　missing　ear　as　an　excuse　to　avoid　their　weekend　expeditions。　A　plastic　surgeon　had　attached　a　durable　polyurethane　facsimile　to　the　left　side　of　the　elder　Higstrom's　head；　while　a　high…tech　hearing　aid　had　restored　the　old　man's　auditory　capacity　to　eighty…one　percent　of　what　it　was　before　the　Everglades　mishap。　Yet　he　stubbornly　refused　to　pick　up　a　gun。　Doctor's　orders；　he　squawked。
　
　For　Keith；　outdoor　panionship　was　increasingly　hard　to　e　by。　His　friends　always　seemed　to　have　prior　mitments　whenever　Keith　invited　them　to　go　hunting。　Frustrated　and　restless；　he　spent　long　sullen　weekends　cleaning　his　guns　and　watching　videotapes　of　his　favorite　American　Sportsman　episodes。　Whenever　his　trigger　finger　got　itchy；　he'd　drive　out　the　Tamiami　Trail　and　park　by　the　canal。　As　soon　as　darkness　fell；　Keith　would　load　a　double…barrel　shotgun；　strap　on　a　headlamp　and　stalk　along　the　shoreline。　His　usual　targets　were　turtles　and　opossums；　anything　faster　or　smarter　generally　eluded　him。
　
　Shortly　after　the　hurricane；　Keith　Higstrom　noticed　four　dairy　cows　and　a　palomino　mare　grazing　on　his　neighbor's　front　lawn。　Everyone　on　the　block　was　gathered　on　the　sidewalk；　laughing　and　taking　pictures；　a　light　moment　of　relief　in　the　otherwise　somber　aftermath　of　the　storm。　That　night；　drinking　with　his　buddies　at　an　Irish　bar　on　Kendall　Drive；　Keith　asked：　〃How　much　does　a　cow　weigh？〃
　
　One　of　Keith's　friends　said；　〃I　give　up；　Higstrom。　How　much　does　a　cow　weigh？〃
　
　〃It's　not　a　joke。　More　than　an　elk？　Because　I　got　cows　loose　on　my　street。〃
　
　One　of　his　friends　said；　〃From　the　hurricane。〃
　
　〃Yeah；　but　how　big　do　you　figure？　More　than　a　mulie？〃　Keith　Higstrom　drained　his　Budweiser　and　stood　up。　〃Let's　go　hunting；　boys。〃
　
　〃Sit　down；　Higstrom。〃
　
　〃You　pussies　ing　or　not？〃
　
　〃Have　another　beer；　Keith。〃
　
　With　a　burp；　he　charged　out　the　door。　He　drove　home；　slipped　into　the　den；　and　removed　his　grandfather's　old　。30…06　from　the　maple　gun　cabinet。　He　dropped　a　box　of　bullets；　and　giggled　drunkenly　when　nobody　woke　up。　He　pulled　on　his　boots　and　his　mailorder　camo　jumpsuit；　strapped　on　the　headlamp；　and　went　looking　for　a　cow　to　shoot。
　
　They　were　no　longer　grazing　in　his　neighbor's　front　yard。　Dropping　into　an　exaggerated　half　crouch；　Keith　Higstrom　weaved　down　the　block。　He　felt　light　as　a　feather；　lethal　as　a　snake。　The　rifle　was　slick　and　magnificent　in　his　hands。　His　plan　was　to　tie　the　dead　cow　on　the　front　fender　of　his　Honda　Civic　and　drive　all　the　way　back　to　Kendall；　back　to　the　Irish　bar　where　his　chickenshit　pals　were　drinking。　Keith　Higstrom　chuckled　in　advance　at　the　spectacle。
　
　For　cover　he　used　mounds　of　hurricane　debris；　shuffling　noisily　from　one　to　another。　The　street　was　empty　and　black　and　shadowless；　the　homes　on　the　north　side　still　had　no　electricity。　Passing　the　Ullmans'　house；　Keith　Higstrom　heard　something　in　the　backyard…deep　raspy　snorting。　He　thought　it　might　be　the　runaway　palomino。　As　he　snuck　around　the　corner　of　the　garage；　the　beam　of　Keith　Higstrom's　headlamp　illuminated　a　pair　of　glistening　indigo　eyes；　as　large　as　ashtrays。
　
　〃God　damn；〃　he　exclaimed。
　
　An　enormous　animal　stood　next　to　the　Ullmans'　half…drained　swimming　pool。　The　light　from　Keith's　headlamp　played　up　and　down　its　blue…black　flanks。　This　was　no　ordinary　cow。　For　starters；　it　was　as　big　as　a　tractor。
　
　Its　sharp　horns　were　lavishly　curved　and　downslung；　upside　down　from　those　of　domestic　American　stock。
　
　Keith　Higstrom　knew　exactly　what　he　was　looking　at。　Hadn't　he　watched　Jimmy　Dean　and　Curt　Gowdy　shoot　one　of　the　very　same　majestic　bastards　on　The　American　I　Sportsman？　But　that　was　in　Africa；　for　Christ's　sake。　Not　Miami；　Florida。
　
　It　occurred　to　Keith　that　he　might　be　suffering　the　effects　of　too　much　alcohol；　that　the　gigantic　oval…eyed　ungulate　glaring　at　him　was　merely　a　Budweiser…enhanced　Angus。
　
　Then　it　snorted　again；　expelling　twin　strings　of　dewy　snot。　The　animal　lowered　its　head　and；　with　hooves　the　size　of　laundry　irons；　decisively　pawed　a　trench　in　the　Ullmans'　newly　replanted　Bermuda　sod。
　
　〃Shit　on　a　biscuit；〃　Keith　Higstrom　said；　raising　his　grandfather's　rifle。　〃That's　a　Cape　buffalo！〃
　
　He　fired　and；　naturally；　missed。　Twice。
　
　The　gunshots　awakened　Mr。　Ullman；　a　banker　by　trade　and　a　recent　arrival　from　Copenhagen；　who　looked　out　the　bedroom　window　just　in　time　to　see　a　tremendous　bull　galloping　across　his　yard　with　a　thrashing　young　American　impaled　on　its　rack。　Mr。　Ullman　quickly　telephoned　the　police　and　informed　them；　as　urgently　as　his　newly　acquired　English　would　allow；　that　an　〃unlucky　cowboy　is　being　perforated　seriously。〃　Eventually　the　police　figured　out　what　Mr。　Ullman　was　trying　to　say。
　
　Two　hours　later；　a　police　dispatcher　phoned　Augustine's　house　with　a　message：　His　dead　uncle's　missing　Cape　buffalo；　identified　by　an　ear　tag；　had　turned　up　in　the　produce　aisle　of　a　storm…gutted　supermarket。　Unfortunately；　there　was　trouble。　The　dispatcher　requested　that　Augustine　call　Animal　Control　as　soon　as　possible。
　
　Augustine　didn't　check　his　answering　machine　for　several　hours；　because　he　was　out　on　Biscayne　Bay　with　Bonnie　Lamb。
　
　They　had　borrowed　the　speedboat　from　one　of　Augustine's　friends；　an　airline　pilot。　The　pilot　owed　Augustine　a　favor　from　a　long…ago　divorce；　when　Augustine　had　let　him　bury　45；000　worth　of　gold　Krugerrands　behind　Augustine's　garage；　to　conceal　them　from　his　future　ex…wife's　private　investigator。　After　the　divorce　litigation　ended；　the　airline　pilot　was　left　with　nothing　but　the　hidden　stash　of　coins。　He　immediately　depleted　them　on　a　ninety…one…pound　fashion　model；　who　later　abandoned　him　at　a　five…star　hotel　in　Morocco。　Although　years　had　passed；　the　pilot　never　forgot　Augustine's　act　of　friendship　in　a　time　of　personal　crisis。
　
　The　speedboat　was　on　a　trailer　at　a　marina　in　North　Miami　Beach；　untouched　by　the　hurricane。　Augustine　and　Bonnie　Lamb　met　Jim　Tile　there。　His　eyes　were　red　and　his　voice　was　raw。　He　told　them　that　a　close　friend；　a　female　trooper；　had　been　savagely　beaten　by　a　car　thief；　and　that　he　would　have　preferred　to　be　out　on　road　patrol；　hunting　for　the　gutless　low…life　sonofabitch。
　
　As　distracted　as　he　was；　Jim　Tile　also　seemed　visibly　anxious　about　the　boat　trip。　Even　in　the　dark；　the　bay　looked　rough　and　tricky。　Oddly；　Bonnie　Lamb　wasn't　worried。　Maybe　it　was　the　way　Augustine　handled　himself　behind　the　wheel；　steering　casually　with　two　fingers　as　he　aimed；　with　his　free　hand；　the　spotlight。
　
　Smoothly　he　weaved　around　massive　tree　limbs　and　wind…split　lumber　and　ghostly　capsized　hulls。　The　scary　ride　temporarily　took　Jim　Tile's　mind　off　the　image　of　Brenda　on　an　ambulance　stretcher。。。。
　
　Bonnie　was　anticipating　her　first　sight　of　the　man　called　Skink。　She　kept　thinking　about　the　bloodied　corpse　in　the　morgue…impaled　on　a　TV　dish；　the　trooper　had　said。　Was　Skink　the　killer？　To　hear　the　trooper　tell　it；　the　ex…governor　was　not　a　nut　of　the　certifiable；　Mansonesque　strain。　Rather；　he　was　launched　on　a　mission：　a　reckless　doomed　mission；　boisterously　outside　the　law。　Bonnie　was　intrigued　by　bold　eccentrics。　She　wasn't　afraid　of　Skink；　not　with　the　trooper　and　Augustine　at　her　side。　In　an　odd　way；　although　she'd　never　admit　it；　she　looked　forward　to　confronting　the　kidnapper　almost　as　much　as　to　reuniting　with　her　husband。。。。
　
　Now　Jim　Tile　and　Augustine　were　struggling　to　drag　the　unconscious　man　over　the　gunwale　of　the　speedboat。　His　clothes　were　soaked；　adding　to　his　considerable　bulk。　Bonnie　Lamb　tried　to　help。　Augustine　got　a　silvery　handful　of　the　man's　hair；　the　trooper　had　him　by　the　belt　loops；　Bonnie　dug　her　fingers　in　the　tongues　of　his　boots…and　finally　the　kidnapper　was　on　the　deck；　vomiting　seawater。
　
　From　the　bow　came　a　whine　of　disgust：　Max　Lamb；　arms　folded；　face　pinched；　sucking　a　Bronco　cigaret。　Bonnie　turned　back　to　the　tranquilized　stranger。　The　trooper　knelt　beside　him。　With　a　handkerchief　he　cleaned　the　foul　splatter　off　Skirik's　face；　〃the　glass　eye　needed　special　attention。
　
　Augustine　said；　〃He's　breathing。〃
　
　A　volcanic　cough；　and　then：　〃I　saw　lobsters　big　as　Sonny　Listen。〃　Skink　raised　his　head。
　
　Jim　Tile　said；　〃Be　still　now。〃
　
　〃My　Walkman！〃
　
　〃We'll　get　you　a　new　one。　Now　lie　still。〃
　
　Skink　lowered　his　head　with　a　sharp　clunk。　Humming；　he　shut　both　eyes。
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　asked；　〃What　do　we　do　with　him？〃
　
　Max　laughed　acidly。　〃He's　going　to　jail；　what'd　you　think？〃
　
　Bonnie　looked　at　Augustine；　who　said；　〃It's　up　to　Jim。　He's　the　law。〃
　
　The　trooper　had　a　thermos　open；　trying　to　get　some　hot　coffee　into　his　groggy　friend。　Bonnie　put　her　hands　under　the　kidnapper's　head　to　help　him　drink。　Augustine　went　to　the　console　and　started　the　boat。　Over　the　noise　of　the　engines；　Bonnie　asked　Jim　Tile　if　she　should　sit　with　the　man　during　the　ride　back；　in　case　he　got　ill　again。　The　trooper　leaned　close　and　in　a　low　voice　said：　〃He's　all　right　now。　Go　check　on　your　husband。〃
　
　〃OK；〃　Bonnie　said。　She　was　glad　for　the　darkness；　so　the　trooper　couldn't　see　her　blush。　Neither　could　Max。
　
　The　conversation　between　Gar　Whitmark　and　his　wife　was　not　a　loving　one。　That　she　had　handed　seven　thousand　cash　to　a　band　of　crooked　roofers　was　infuriating　enough；　that　she　had　failed　to　ask　the　name　of　the　one　taking　the　money　was　unforgivably　stupid。　The　only　clue　in　tracking　the　thieves　was　the　piece　of　yellow　paper　that　had　been　given　by