chiaasen.stormyweather-第52章

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　〃No　problem；〃　said　Bonnie。
　
　〃I　got　my　period　or　something。〃
　
　〃Right。〃
　
　Skink　leaned　forward。　〃Could　you　hand　me　the　gun？〃
　
　〃Why　not；〃　Edie　said。　Perhaps　the　smiler　would　shoot　Snapper　dead。　There　were　about　forty…seven　thousand　reasons　that　Edie　wasn't　upset　at　the　idea；　not　including　the　barrel…shaped　bruise　on　her　right　breast。
　
　She　was　passing　the　。357　to　Skink　when　he　waved　her　off；　saying：　〃On　second　thought…〃
　
　Edie　turned　and　let　out　a　gasp。　It　was　Snapper's　face；　dripping　wet；　pressed　to　the　window　of　the　Jeep。　The　bent　nose　and　misshapen　mouth　made　him　look　like　a　gargoyle。
　
　〃Miss　me；　bay…beeee？〃　he　crooned；　pallid　lips　wriggling　like　flatworms　against　the　glass。
　
　Jim　Tile　was　tempted　to　call　for　backup；　though　it　would　spell　the　end　of　the　governor's　elaborate　reclusion。
　
　Long　ago　they'd　made　a　pact：　no　cavalry；　unless　innocent　lives　were　in　peril。　The　trooper　was　thinking　of　the　tourist　woman　as　more　or　less　innocent。　She　and　Skink　might　be　dead　already。
　
　Glumly　Jim　Tile　watched　the　rain　drench　the　passing　cars　on　Highway　One。　Again　he　castigated　himself　for　letting　his　emotions　get　the　better　of　his　brain。　Brenda　was　alive。　He　should've　thanked　God；　then　let　it　go。
　
　But　he　didn't。　And　the　governor　had　had　little　trouble　talking　him　out　of　the　license…tag　number。
　
　〃Pest　control〃　was　what　Skink　had　called　it；　as　they　were　leaving　the　hospital。
　
　〃Whoever　did　that　to　Mrs。　Rourke　is　not　a　viable　member　of　the　species。　Not　a　wele　donor　to　the　gene　pool。　Wouldn't　Darwin　himself　agree？〃
　
　And　the　trooper　had　merely　said：　〃Be　careful。〃
　
　〃Jim；　we're　infested　with　these　mutant　shitheads。　Look　what　they've　done　to　the　place。〃
　
　The　trooper；　locked　in　some　cold　distant　zone：　〃The　tag's　probably　stolen　off　another　car。　It　may　lead　you　nowhere。〃
　
　The　governor；　momentarily　shaking　loose　of　his　friend's　firm　grip：　〃They're　turning　it　into　a　sump　hole。　Some　with　guns；　some　with　briefcases…it's　all　the　same　goddamn　crime。〃
　
　〃Pest　control。〃
　
　〃We　do　what　we　can。〃
　
　〃Be　careful；　captain。〃
　
　Then　he'd　flashed　those　movie…star　pearlies；　the　ones　that　had　gotten　him　elected。　And　Jim　Tile　stood　back　and　let　him　go。　Let　him　stalk　the　man　in　the　black　Jeep　Cherokee。
　
　Which　was　now　parked　in　a　windy　drizzle　outside　the　Paradise　Palms。　The　trooper　counted　three　figures　inside　the　truck；　two　of　them；　he　hoped；　were　Skink　and　Bonnie　Lamb。
　
　A　dark　shape　near　the　road　caught　his　attention。
　
　The　tall　man　in　the　suit　was　hurrying　along　the　gravel　shoulder　of　Highway　One。　There　was　a　tippiness　to　his　gait；　he　seemed　well　challenged　to　keep　a　straight　course；　clear　of　the　speeding　cars。　He　flinched　when　the　high　beams　of　a　gasoline　tanker　caught　him　in　the　face。
　
　This　time　Jim　Tile　got　a　good　look　at　the　misaligned　jaws。
　
　He　watched　the　man　pass　beneath　the　bright　electric　sign　in　front　of　the　motel。　He　saw　him　walk　up　to　the　Jeep；　lean　close　to　a　window。　Then　the　man　ran　around　to　the　driver's　side；　opened　the　door　and　got　in。　Smoke　puffed　from　the　truck's　exhaust：　pipe。　The　brake　lights　flickered。
　
　Jim　Tile　said；　〃Hello；〃　and　started　his　engine。
　
　Suddenly；　all　around；　the　night　was　diced　into　blues　and　whites。
　
　Snapper　was　backing　the　Jeep　out；　chortling　about　what　had　happened　to　Avila：　〃Dumb　fuck　went　straight　off　the　bridge；　you　shoulda　seen…　Hey！　Hey；　what　the　hell。。。〃
　
　Bright　lights　started　strobing　everywhere。　In　the　reflection　of　the　puddles。　On　the　coral…colored　walls　of　the　motel。　In　the　fronds　of　the　sabal　palms。
　
　Snapper　shoved　the　Jeep　into　Neutral。　〃Fucking　cops！〃
　
　〃No　way；〃　Edie　said。　But　she　knew　he　was　right。
　
　A　figure　in　gray　was　approaching　the　Cherokee。　Snapper　rolled　down　the　window。　It　was　a　state　trooper；　big　black　sonofabitch；　too。　He'd　parked　his　patrol　car　at　an　angle；　to　block　the　exit。
　
　Snapper's　mind　raced；　half　drunk；　half　wired：　Christ　Almighty；　would　Momma　and　Pappy　pitch　a　fit　they　ever　heard　I　got　taken　down　by　a　nigger　cop。　Momma　especially。
　
　In　a　flash　Snapper　figured　out　what　must've　happened：　The　lady　trooper　either　was　alive；　or　had　survived　long　enough　after　the　beating　to　give　a　description　of　the　Jeep；　and　maybe　even　of　Snapper　himself。
　
　So　this　was　the　big　black　posse。
　
　Snapper　knew　he　should've　ditched　the　Cherokee　after　it　happened。　Sure；　park　the　fucker　in　the　nearest　canal　and　call　it　a　deal。　But；　oh　Jesus；　how　he　loved　that　stereo　system！　Reba；　Garth；　Hank　Jr。；　they'd　never　sounded　so　sweet。　His　whole　life　Snapper　had　wanted　a　car　with　decent　speakers。　So　he'd　stayed　with　the　stolen　Jeep　because　of　its　awesome　stereo…and　here　was　the　price　to　be　paid。
　
　A　big　black　motherfucker　of　a　cop；　ing　across　the　parking　lot；　drawing　his　gun。
　
　The　one…eyed　man　tapped　him　on　the　shoulder。　〃Haul　ass；　chief。〃
　
　〃Huh？〃
　
　〃That's　what　I'd　do。〃
　
　〃No；〃　murmured　Edie　Marsh。　〃We've　had　it。〃
　
　Snapper　told　her　to　shut　up。　He　snatched　the　。357　off　the　seat；　pointed　it　out　the　window　and　somehow　managed　to　shoot　the　trooper　in　the　center　of　the　chest。　The　man　fell　backward；　landing　with　a　splash。
　
　〃Good　night；　nigger；〃　Snapper　said。
　
　Skink　went　rigid。　Bonnie　and　Edie　screamed。　Snapper　slammed　the　Jeep　into　gear　and　peeled　rubber。
　
　〃You　see　thaa…aatt？〃　he　whinnied。　〃One　shot；　one　nigger　cop！　Whooheee！　One　shot！〃
　
　In　the　cargo　well　of　the　Cherokee；　Augustine　popped　up　on　one　knee。　The　stubby　dart　rifle　was　at　his　shoulder；　the　sights　trained　on　the　ragged　hairline　of　Snapper's　neck。　He　was　surprised　when　Skink　turned　and　shoved　him　back　to　the　floor。
　
　That's　when　the　rear　window　of　the　Jeep　vaporized。
　
　The　explosion　caught　Snapper　furrowed　in　concentration；　as　he　labored　to　steer　around　the　parked　Highway　Patrol　car；　lit　up　like　a　Mardi　Gras　float。
　
　Snapper　ducked；　peering　up　at　the　rearview。　He　saw　the　black　trooper　lying　in　a　puddle；　his　arm　waving　but　not　aiming　the　smoking　gun。　Then　the　trooper　went　limp；　and　Snapper　cackled。
　
　The　Cherokee　fishtailed　on　the　rain…slicked　asphalt　as　it　entered　the　highway。　Edie　Marsh　hunched　like　an　aged　nun；　sobbing　into　her　hands。　Skink　had　pulled　Bonnie　Lamb　into　his　lap；　out　of　the　gunfire's　path。　Huddled　in　the　cargo　hatch；　Augustine　silently　plucked　nuggets　of　safety　glass　from　his　clothes。
　
　Snapper　was　loopy　on　Midols；　Johnnie　Walker　and　pure　criminal　adrenaline。　〃You　see　that　big　nigger　go　down？〃　he　yammered　at　the　top　of　his　lungs。　〃You　see　him　go　down！〃
　
　Christophe　Michel　spent　the　night　of　the　hurricane　in　the　safe　and　convivial　atmosphere　of　Key　West。　At　noon　the　next　morning　he　put　on　the　television　and　recognized；　with　cramps　of　dread；　the　bombed…out　remains　of　a　luxury　housing　development　called　Gables…on…the…Bay。　The　subdivision　had　been　built　by　a　pany　called　Zenith　Custom　Homes；　which　not　only　employed　Christophe　Michel　as　a　senior　structural　engineer　but　advertised　his　ecumenical　credentials　in　its　sales　brochures。　Michel　had　been　recruited　from　one　of　France's　oldest　engineering　firms；　which　had　not　energetically　protested　his　departure。　Among　the　fields　in　which　Michel　sorely　lacked　experience　was　that　of　girding　single…family　structures　to　withstand　the　force　of　tropical　cyclones。　His　new　employer　assured　him　there　was　nothing　to　it；　and　FedExed　him　a　copy　of　the　South　Florida　Building　Code；　which　weighed　several　pounds。　Christophe　Michel　skimmed　it　on　the　flight　from　Orly　to　Miami。
　
　He　got　along　fine　at　Zenith；　once　he　understood　that　cost　containment　was　higher　on　the　list　of　corporate　priorities　than　ensuring　structural　integrity。　To　justify　its　preposterously　inflated　prices；　the　pany　had　hyped　Gables…on…the…Bay　as　〃South　Florida's　first　hurricane…proof　munity。〃　Much　in　the　same　way；　Michel　later　reflected；　that　the　Titanic　was　promoted　as　unsinkable。
　
　All　week　the　news　from　Dade　County　worsened。　The　newspaper　hired　its　own　construction　engineers　to　inspect　the　storm　rubble；　uncovering　so　many　design　flaws　that　an　unabridged　listing　was　possible　only　in　the　tiniest　of　agate　type。　One　of　the　engineers　sarcastically　remarked　that　Gables…on…the…Bay　should　have　been　called　Gables…w…the…Bay…a　quote　so　colorful　that　it　merited　enlargement；　in　boldface；　on　the　front　page。
　
　With　home　owners　picketing　Zenith　headquarters　and　demanding　a　grand　jury；　Christophe　Michel　prudently　planned　his　departure　from　the　United　States。　He　closed　his　bank　accounts；　shuttered　the　condo　in　Key　West；　packed　the　Seville　and　set　out　for　the　mainland。
　
　The　rain　did　nothing　for　his　fragile　confidence　in　American　traffic。　Every　bend　and　rise　in　the　overseas　highway　was　a　trial　of　reflexes　and　posure。　Michel　finished　his　last　cigaret　while　crossing　the　Bahia　Honda　Bridge；　and　by　Islamorada　had　gnawed　his　forty…dollar　manicure　to　slaw。　At　the　first　break　in　the　weather；　he　stopped　at　a　Circle　K　for　a　carton　of　Broncos；　an　American　brand　to　which　he　unaccountably　had　bee　devoted。
　
　When　he　returned　to　the　Seville；　four　strangers　emerged　from　the　shadows。　One　of　them　put　a　gun　to　his　belly。
　
　〃Give　us　your　goddamn　car；〃　the　man　said。　〃Certainly。〃
　
　〃Don't　stare　at　me　like　that！〃
　
　〃Sorry。〃　The　engineer's　trained　eye　calculated　the　skew　of　the　man's　jawbone　at　thirty…five　degrees　off　center。
　
　〃I　got　one　bullet　left！〃
　
　〃I　believe　you；〃　said　Christophe　Michel。　The　disfigured　gunman　told　him　to　go　back　in　the　store　and　count　backward　from　one　hundred；　slowly。　Michel　asked；　〃May　I　keep　my　suitcase？〃
　
　〃Fuck；　no！〃
　
　〃I　understand。〃
　
　He　was　counting　aloud　as　he　walked　for　the　second　time　into　the　Circle　K。　The　clerk　at　the　register　asked　if　something　was　wrong。　Michel；　fumbling　to　light　a　Bronco；　nodded　explicitly。
　
　〃My　life　savings　just　drove　away；〃　he　said。　〃May　I　borrow　the　telephone？〃
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　expected　Skink　to　erupt　in　homicidal　fury　upon　seeing　his　best　friend　shot　down。　He　didn't。　Bonnie　worried　about　the　listless　sag　to　his　shoulders；　the　near　feebleness　of　his　movements。　He　wore　the　numb；　unfocused　glaze　of　the　heavily　sedated。　Bonnie　was　sorry　to　see　the　governor's　high　spirits　extinguished。
　
　Meanwhile　Snapper　ranted　and　swore　because　the　Seville　had　no　CD　player；　only　a　tape　deck；　and　here　he'd　gone　to　all　the　goddamn　trouble　of　removing　his　pact　discs　from　the　Jeep　before　they'd　ditched　it　behind　the　convenience　store。
　
　Bonnie　squeezed　Skink's　arm　and　asked　if　he　was　all　right。　He　shifted　his　feet；　and　something　rattled　metallically　on　the　floorboard。　He　picked　it　up　and　asked；　〃What's　this？〃
　
　It　was　a　red　pronged　instrument；　with　a　black　plastic　grip　and　a　chrome　key　lock。
　
　Snapper　looked　over　his　shoulder　and　sniggered。　〃The　Club！〃
　
　〃The　what？〃
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　said；　〃You　know。　That　thing　they　advertise　all　the　time　on　TV。〃
　
　〃I　watch　no　television；〃　Skink　said。
　
　Snapper　hooted。　〃The　Club；　for　Chrissakes。　The　Club！　See；　you　lock　it　across't　here〃…he　patted　the　steering　wheel…〃so　your　car　don't　get　stolen。〃
　
　〃Really？〃
　
　〃Yeah。　Lotta　good　it　did　that　dickhead　back　at　the　Circle　K。〃　Snapper's　laughter　had　a　ring　of　triumph。
　
　Edie　Marsh　was　struggling　to　collect　hers