chiaasen.stormyweather-第26章

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ly　clue　in　tracking　the　thieves　was　the　piece　of　yellow　paper　that　had　been　given　by　the　phony　roofing　foreman　to　Mrs。　Whitmark；　the　yellow　paper　intended　to　double　as　a　receipt　and　an　estimate；　the　yellow　paper　that　Mrs。　Whitmark　had　instantly　misplaced。
　
　Gar　Whitmark's　anger　had　another　facet。　He　was　by　trade　a　builder　of　residential　subdivisions；　and　was　therefore　personally　familiar　with　every　honest；　petent　roofer　in　Dade　County。　The　list　was　not　voluminous；　but　from　it　Gar　Whitmark　had　intended　to　select　the　crew　that　would　rebuild　the　roof　of　his　gutted　home。　He'd　left　messages　with　a　half…dozen　panies；　and　had　explained　（repeatedly）　to　his　wife　that　it　would　take　time　to　line　up　the　job。　The　hurricane　had　launched　a　drooling　Klondike　stampede　among　roofers…the　best　ones　were　swamped　with　emergency　work　and　likely　would　be　engaged　for　months　to　e。　Meanwhile　out…of…towners　were　pouring　into　Miami　by　the　truckload；　some　were　capable　and　experienced；　some　were　hapless　and　inept；　and　many　were　gypsy　impostors。　All　arrived　to　find　boundless　opportunity。
　
　The　typical　hurricane　victim；　frantic　for　shelter；　was　forced　to　trust　his　instincts　when　choosing　a　roof　builder。　Unfortunately；　the　instincts　of　the　typical　hurricane　victim　in　such　matters　were　not　acute。　Gar　Whitmark；　however；　had　the　twin　advantages　of　knowing　the　cast　of　characters　and　possessing　the　clout　to　divert　the　best　of　them　to　his　own　pressing　needs。　With　little　trouble　he　located　a　top…notch　roofer　who　agreed　to　put　all　other　contracts　aside　to　tackle　Gar　Whitmark's　roof　（Whitmark　being　one　of　the　most　prolific　home　builders…and　employers　of　roofing　contractors…in　all　South　Florida）。　However；　the　craftsman　whom　Whitmark　selected　first　had　to　replace　two　other　roofs：　his　own；　and　that　of　his　wife's　mother。
　
　Gar　Whitmark　gave　the　man　seven　days　to　patch　up　the　family　roofs。　The　delay　proved　unbearable　for　Mrs。　Whitmark；　whose　roaring　anxiety　at　the　chance　of　more　rain…stained　Chippendales　was　no　match　for　her　customary　palliative　dosages　of　sedatives；　muscle　relaxants；　sleep　aids　and　mood　elevators。　To　Mrs。　Whitmark；　the　unexpected　appearance　of　willing　roofers　at　the　door　had　been　a　godsend。　She　thought　her　husband　would　be　grateful　for　her　initiative…it　would　be　one　less　problem　for　him　to　worry　about；　what　with　all　the　nasty　threats　of　negligence　suits　from　customers　whose　Whitmark　Signature　homes　had　disintegrated　like　soggy　cardboard　in　the　hurricane。
　
　Standing　in　the　living　room；　the　rain　beating　a　tattoo　on　his　blue…veined　forehead；　Gar　Whitmark　instructed　his　wife　to　immediately　locate　the　goddamn　receipt　or　estimate　or　whatever　the　goddamn　so…called　foreman　had　called　it。　After　an　hour's　search；　the　crucial　yellow　paper　turned　up　neatly　folded　in　Mrs。　Whitmark's　high…school　yearbook；　Gar　Whitmark　couldn't　imagine　why　his　wife　had　put　it　there；　or　how　she　found　it。　Nor　could　she　explain　it　herself…her　brain　was　too　jumbled　by　the　hurricane。
　
　The　receipt　bore　the　name　of　〃Fortress　Roofing；〃　which　brought　a　bitter　cackle　from　Gar　Whitmark。　At　least　the　scammers　had　a　sense　of　irony！　Gar　Whitmark　dialed　the　number　and　got　an　answering　machine。　He　hung　up　and　called　the　director　of　the　county　building…and…zoning　department；　who　owed　his　job　to　seven　of　the　county　missioners；　who　owed　their　jobs　to　Gar　Whitmark's　generous　campaign　contributions。　As　Gar　Whitmark　anticipated；　the　building　director　expressed　shock　and　alarm　that　a　fraud　was　perpetrated　on　Gar　Whitmark's　wife；　and　promised　a　thorough　criminal　investigation。
　
　No；　he　hadn't　ever　heard　of　Fortress　Roofing…but　he'd　damn　sure　find　out　who　was　behind　it。
　
　Sooner　the　better；　said　Gar　Whitmark；　toweling　the　rainwater　from　his　stinging　scalp；　which　bristled　with　fifty　pink…stemmed；　freshly　implanted　hair　plugs。
　
　Fifteen　minutes　later；　the　building　director　phoned　back　to　report；　mournfully；　that　Fortress　Roofing　had　never　obtained　a　valid　Dade　County　contractor's　license　and　was　therefore　an　unknown　outlaw　entity。
　
　In　a　fury；　Gar　Whitmark　began　contacting　roofers　he　knew…some　honest；　some　not。　The　name　Fortress　struck　a　note　with　one　or　two；　who　said　they'd　recently　lost　crew　to　the　new　pany。　The　sonofabitch　owner；　they　said；　was　an　ex…inspector　named　Avila。　Dirty　as　they　e；　the　roofers　warned。
　
　Gar　Whitmark　knew　Avila　quite　well；　having　successfully　bribed　him　for　many　years。　All　those　times　Gar　Whitmark's　subcontractors　had　slipped　booty　to　the　greedy　bastard！　Cash；　booze；　porn…Avila　had　a　taste　for　the　hard　stuff；　girl…on…girl；　if　Gar　Whitmark　remembered　correctly。
　
　He　called　his　secretary；　whose　fingers　swiftly　punched　up　a　highly　confidential　puter　file　of　corrupt　and/or　corruptible　officials　in　Dade；　Broward；　Palm　Beach；　Lee　and　Monroe　Counties。　It　was　a　lengthy　roster；　alphabetized　for　convenience。　Avila's　name　and　unlisted　home　phone　number　winked　fatefully　at　the　bottom　of　the　first　screen。
　
　Gar　Whitmark　waited　until　three　in　the　morning　before　phoning。
　
　〃This　is　your　old　friend　Gar　Whitmark；〃　he　said。　〃Your　crew　of　gypsy　fakers　hit　my　wife　for　seven　grand。　My　wife　is　not　well；　Avila。　If　I　don't　see　my　money　by　tomorrow　morning；　you'll　be　in　the　county　jail　by　tomorrow　night。　And　I　will　arrange　for　you　to　share　a　cell　with　Paul　Pick…Percy。〃
　
　The　threat　brutally　jarred　Avila　wide　awake。　Paul　Pick…Percy　was　a　notorious　cannibal。　Currently　he　awaited　trial　on　charges　of　killing　and　eating　his　landlord；　who　had　neglected　to　repair　a　leaky　ball　cock　in　Paul　Pick…Percy's　toilet　tank。　Recently　Paul　Pick…Percy　had　also　been　found　guilty　of　killing　and　eating　a　tardy　cable…TV　repairman　and　a　rude　tollbooth　attendant。
　
　Avila　said：　〃Seven　thousand？　Mister　Whitmark；　I　swear　to　God　I　don't　know　nothing　about　this。〃
　
　〃Suit　yourself…〃
　
　〃Wait；　now　hold　on。。。。〃　Avila　sat　upright　in　bed。　〃Tell　me　supposedly　what　happened；　OK？〃
　
　〃There　is　no　fucking　'supposedly。'〃　Gar　Whitmark　related　his　wife's　pitiable　tale。
　
　〃And　the　truck　was　ours；　you're　sure？〃
　
　〃I'm　holding　the　receipt；　dipshit。　'Fortress　Roofing'　is　what　it　says。〃
　
　Avila　grimaced。　〃Who　signed　it？〃
　
　Gar　Whitmark　said　the　signature　was　illegible。　〃My　wife　said　the　guy　had　a　fucked…up　jaw　made　him　look　like　a　moray　eel。　Plus　he　wore　a　bad　suit。〃
　
　〃Shit；〃　Avila　said。　Exactly　what　he'd　feared。
　
　〃Is　this　ringing　a　bell？〃　Gar　Whitmark's　sarcasm　was　heavy　and　ominous。
　
　Avila　sagged　against　the　headboard　of　his　bed。　〃Sir；　you'll　get　your　money　back　first　thing。〃
　
　〃Damn　straight。　And　a　new　roof　as　well。〃
　
　〃What？〃
　
　〃You　heard　me；　noodle　dick。　The　seven　grand　your　people　stole；　plus　you're　picking　up　the　bill　when　my　new　roof　gets　done。　By　real　roofers。〃
　
　Avila's　stomach　pitched。　Gar　Whitmark　probably　lived　in　a　goddamn　ranch　house　way　down　south；　with　all　the　other　millionaires。　Avila　figured　he'd　be　looking　at　twenty　thousand；　easy；　for　a　new　roof　job。　He　said；　〃That　ain't　really　fair。〃
　
　〃You'd　rather　do　dinner　with　Chef　Pick…Percy？〃
　
　〃Aw；　Christ；　Mister　Whitmark。〃
　
　〃I　didn't　think　so。〃
　
　Avila　got　out　of　bed　and　went　to　the　backyard　to　round　up　two　roosters；　which　he　took　to　the　garage　for　beheading。　He　hoped　the　sacrifice　would　be　favorably　received。　After　a　short　scuffle；　the　deed　was　done。　Avila　dripped　the　warm　blood　into　a　plastic　pail　filled　with　pennies；　bleached　cat　bones　and　turtle　shells。　The　pail　was　placed　at　the　feet　of　a　ceramic　statue　of　Change；　the　saint　of　lightning　and　fire。　The　child…sized　statue　wore　a　robe；　colored　beads　and　a　gold…plated　crown。　Kneeling　in　beseechment；　Avila　raised　his　blood…flecked　arms　toward　the　heavens　and　asked　Change　to　please　strike　Snapper　dead　as　a　fucking　doornail　for　screwing　up　the　roofer　scam。
　
　Avila　wasn't　sure　the　ceremony　would　work。　He　was　relatively　new　to　the　study　of　santeria　and；　characteristically；　hadn't　bothered　to　research　it　thoroughly。　Avila　had　begun　dabbling　in　the　blood　practices　when　he　first　learned　the　authorities　were　investigating　him　for　bribery；　several　cocaine　dealers　of　his　acquaintance　swore　that　santeria　worship　had　kept　them　out　of　jail；　so　Avila　figured　there　was　nothing　to　lose　by　trying。　In　Hialeah　he　conferred　with　a　genuine　santero　priest；　who'　offered　to　teach　him　the　secrets　of　the　religion；　rooted　in　ancient　Afro…Cuban　customs。　The　history　was　infinitely　too　deep　and　mystical　for　Avila；　and　soon　he　grew　impatient　with　the　lessons。
　
　All　he　really　wanted；　he　explained　to　the　santero；　was　the　ability　to　put　curses　on　his　enemies。　Lethal　curses。
　
　The　priest　wailed　and　told　him　to　get　lost。　But　Avila　went　home　convinced　that；　from　the　mumbo　jumbo　he'd　seen；　he　could　teach　himself　the　basics　of　hexing。　For　his　deity　Avila　picked　the　saint　Change；　because　he　liked　the　macho　name。　For　his　first　target　he　chose　the　county　prosecutor　leading　the　investigation　against　corrupt　building　inspectors。
　
　Pennies　were　easy　to　e　by；　as　were　old　animal　bones；　Avila's　grandmother　lived　four　blocks　from　a　pet　cemetery　in　Medley。　Obtaining　blood　was　the　biggest　obstacle　for　Avila；　who　had　no　zeal　for　performing　live　sacrifices。　The　first　few　times；　he　tried　pleasing　Chango　by　sprinkling　the　coins　and　bones　with　steak　juices　and　。。　homemade　bouillon。　Nothing　happened。　Evidently　the　santeria　saints　preferred　the　fresh　stuff。
　
　One　rainy　Sunday　afternoon；　Avila　bought　himself　a　live　chicken。　His　wife　was　cooking　a　big　dinner　for　the　cousins；　so　she　banished　Avila　from　the　kitchen。　He　put　a　Ginsu　knife　in　his　back　pocket　and　smuggled　the　victim　to　the　garage。　As　soon　as　Avila　began　spreading　newspapers　on　the　floor；　the　chicken　sensed　trouble。　Avila　was　astounded　that　a　puny　five…pound　bird　could　make　such　a　racket　or　put　up　such　spirited　resistance。　The　crudely　staged　sacrifice　eventually　was　pleted；　but　Avila　emerged　scratched；　pecked　and　smeared　with　bloody　feathers。　So　was　his　wife's　cream…colored　Buick　Electra。　Her　ear…splitting　tirade　caused　the　cousins　to　forgo　dessert　and　head　home　early。
　
　Two　days　later；　the　magic　happened。　The　prosecutor　targeted　by　Avila's　chicken　curse　fell　and　dislocated　a　shoulder　in　the　shower。　At　the　time；　he　was　in　the　pany　of　an　athletic　prostitute　named　Kandi；　who　was　thoughtful　enough　not　only　to　call　911　but　to　make　herself　available　for　numerous　press　interviews。　Given　the　media　uproar；　the　State　Attorney　suggested　that　the　fallen　prosecutor　take　an　indefinite　leave　of　absence。
　
　The　corruption　investigation　wasn't　derailed；　merely　reassigned。　Nevertheless；　Avila　was　convinced　that　the　santeria　spell　was　a　success。　Later　attempts　to　replicate　the　results　proved　fruitless　（and　messy）；　but　Avila　blamed　his　own　inexperience；　plus　a　lack　of　suitable　facilities。　Perhaps；　during　the　sacrifices；　he　was　chanting　the　wrong　phrases；　or　chanting　the　right　phrases　in　the　wrong　order。　Perhaps　he　was　performing　the　ceremonies　at　a　bad　time　of　day　for　the　mercurial　Change。　Or　perhaps　Avila　was　simply　using　inferior　poultry。
　
　While　he　ended　up　plea…bargaining　with　the　replacement　prosecutor；　Avila's　faith　in　the　witchcraft　of　bones　and　blood　remained　unshaken。　He　decided　Snapper's　transgression　was　heinous　enough　to　merit　the　offering　of　two　chickens　instead　of　one