ch.doublewhammy-第22部分

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　Ott　sacked　out　with　a　beach　bunny…the　story　probably　was　all　over　Harney　by　now。　〃Maybe　that's　it；〃　Decker　said。　〃He　was　probably　on　his　way　home　when　the　accident　happened。〃　This　was　Ott's　old　pal　from　Miami；　lying　through　his　teeth。　If　Kilpatrick　only　knew　the　truth；　Decker　thought。　He　said；　〃Sandy；　I'm　so　sorry。　I　can't　believe　he's　dead。〃　That　part　was　almost　true；　and　the　regret　was　genuine。
　〃The　service　is　tomorrow；〃　Kilpatrick　said。　〃Cremation　seemed　the　best　way　to　go；　considering。〃
　Decker　said　good…bye　and　hung　up。　Then　he　called　a　florist　shop　in　Miami　and　asked　them　to　wire　an　orchid　to　Ott　Pickney's　funeral。　The　best　orchid　they　had。
　
　Jim　Tile　was　born　in　the　town　of　Wilamette；　Florida；　a　corrupt　and　barren　flyspeck　untouched　by　the　alien　notions　of　integration；　fair　housing；　and　equal　rights。　Jim　Tile　was　one　of　the　few　blacks　ever　to　have　escaped　his　miserable　neighborhood　without　benefit　of　a　bus　ride　to　Raiford　or　a　football　scholarship。　He　attributed　his　success　to　good　steady　parents　who　made　him　stay　in　school；　and　also　to　his　awesome　physical　abilities。　Most　street　kids　thought　punching　was　the　cool　way　to　fight；　but　Jim　Tile　preferred　to　wrestle　because　it　was　more　personal。　For　this　he　took　some　grief　from　his　pals　until　the　first　time　the　white　kids　jumped　him　and　tried　to　push　his　face　in　some　cowshit。　There　were　three　of　them；　and　naturally　they　waited　until　Jim　Tile　was　alone。　They　actually　got　him　down　for　a　moment；　but　the　one　who　was　supposed　to　lock　Jim　Tile's　arms　didn't　get　a　good　grip　and　that　was　that。　One　of　the　white　kids　ended　up　with　a　broken　collarbone；　another　with　both　elbows　hyperextended　grotesquely；　and　the　third　had　four　broken　ribs　where　Jim　Tile　had　squeezed　him　in　a　leg　scissors。　And　they　all　went　to　the　hospital　with　cowshit　on　their　noses。
　After　high　school　Jim　Tile　enrolled　at　Florida　State　University　in　Tallahassee；　majored　in　criminal　justice；　was　graduated；　and　joined　the　highway　patrol。　His　friends　and　classmates　told　him　that　he　was　nuts；　that　a　young　black　man　with　a　4。0　grade　average　and　a　college　degree　could　write　his　own　ticket　with　the　DEA　or　Customs；　maybe　even　the　FBI。　Jim　Tile　could　have　taken　his　pick。　Besides；　everybody　knew　about　the　highway　patrol：　it　had　the　worst　pay　and　the　highest　risks　of　any　law…enforcement　job　in　the　state…not　to　mention　its　reputation　as　an　enclave　for　hardcore　rednecks　who；　while　not　excluding　minority　recruits；　hardly　weled　them　with　champagne　and　tickertape　parades。
　In　the　1970s　the　usual　fate　of　black　troopers　was　to　get　assigned　to　the　lousiest　roads　in　the　reddest　counties。　This　way　they　could　spend　most　of　their　days　writing　tickets　to　foul…mouthed　Klansmen　farmers　who　insisted　on　driving　their　tractors　down　the　middle　of　the　highway　in　violation　of　about　seventeen　traffic　statutes。　Two　or　three　years　of　this　challenging　work　was　enough　to　inspire　most　black　troopers　to　look　elsewhere　for　employment；　but　Jim　Tile　hung　on。　When　other　troopers　asked　him　why；　he　replied　that　he　intended　someday　to　bee　mander　of　the　entire　highway　patrol。　His　friends　thought　he　was　joking；　but　when　word　of　Jim　Tile's　boldly　stated　ambition　reached　certain　colonels　and　lieutenants　in　Tallahassee　he　was　immediately　reassigned　to　patrol　the　remote　roadways　of　Harney　County　and　faithfully　protect　its　enlightened　citizenry；　most　of　whom　insisted　on　addressing　him　as　Boy　or　Son　or　Officer　Zulu。
　One　day　Trooper　Jim　Tile　was　told　to　acpany　a　little…known　gubernatorial　candidate　on　a　campaign　swing　through　Harney。　The　day　began　with　breakfast　at　the　pancake　house　and　finished　with　a　roast…hog　barbecue　on　the　shore　of　Lake　Jesup。　The　candidate；　Clinton　Tyree；　gave　the　identical　slick　speech　no　less　than　nine　times；　and　out　of　utter　boredom　Jim　Tile　memorized　it。　By　the　end　of　the　day　he　was　unconsciously　muttering　the　big　applause　lines　just　before　they　came　out　of　the　candidate's　mouth。　From　the　reactions…and　penurious　donations…of　several　fat…cat　political　contributors；　it　was　obvious　that　they　had　gotten　the　idea　that　Clinton　Tyree　was　letting　a　big　black　man　tell　him　what　to　say。
　At　dusk；　after　all　the　reporters　and　politicos　had　polished　off　the　barbecue　and　gone　home；　Clinton　Tyree　took　Jim　Tile　aside　and　said：
　〃I　know　you　don't　think　much　of　my　speech；　but　in　November　I'm　going　to　be　elected　governor。〃
　〃I　don't　doubt　it；〃　Jim　Tile　had　said；　〃but　it's　because　of　your　teeth；　not　your　ideals。〃
　After　Clinton　Tyree　won　the　election；　one　of　the　first　things　he　did　was　order　Trooper　Jim　Tile　transferred　from　Harney　County　to　the　governor's　special　detail　in　Tallahassee。　This　unit　was　the　equivalent　of　the　state's　Secret　Service；　one　of　the　most　prestigious　assignments　in　the　highway　patrol。　Never　before　had　a　black　man　been　chosen　as　a　bodyguard　for　a　governor；　and　many　of　Tyree's　cronies　told　him　that　he　was　setting　a　dangerous　precedent。　The　governor　only　laughed。　He　told　them　that　Jim　Tile　was　the　most　prescient　man　he'd　met　during　the　whole　campaign。　An　exit　survey　taken　on　election　day　by　the　pollster　Pat　Caddell　revealed　that　what　Florida　voters　had　liked　most　about　candidate　Clinton　Tyree　was　not　his　plainly　spoken　views　on　the　death　penalty　or　toxic　dumps　or　corporate　ine　taxes；　but　rather　his　handsome　smile。　In　particular；　his　teeth。
　During　his　brief　and　turbulent　tenure　in　the　governor's　mansion；　Clinton　Tyree　confided　often　in　Jim　Tile。　The　trooper　grew　to　admire　him；　he　thought　the　new　governor　was　courageous；　visionary；　earnest；　and　doomed。　Jim　Tile　was　probably　the　only　person　in　Florida　who　was　not　surprised　when　Clinton　Tyree　resigned　from　office　and　vanished　from　the　public　eye。
　As　soon　as　Tyree　was　gone；　Trooper　Jim　Tile　was　removed　from　the　governor's　detail　and　sent　back　to　Harney　in　the　hopes　that　he'd　e　to　his　senses　and　quit　the　force。
　For　some　reason　he　did　not。
　
　Jim　Tile　remained　loyal　to　Clinton　Tyree；　who　was　now　calling　himself　Skink　and　subsisting　on　fried　bass　and　dead　animals　off　the　highway。　Jim　Tile's　loyalty　extended　so　far　as　to　driving　the　former　governor　to　the　Orlando　airport　for　one　of　his　rare　trips　out　of　state。
　〃I　could　take　some　p　time　and　e　with　you；〃　Jim　Tile　volunteered。
　Skink　was　riding　in　the　back　of　the　patrol　car　in　order　to　draw　less　attention。　He　looked　like　a　prisoner　anyway。
　〃Thanks　for　the　offer；〃　he　said；　〃but　we're　going　to　a　tournament　in　Louisiana。〃
　Jim　Tile　nodded　in　understanding。　〃Gotcha。〃　Bopping　down　Bourbon　Street　he'd　be　fine。　Fishing　the　bayous　was　another　matter。
　〃Keep　your　ears　open　while　I'm　gone；〃　Skink　said。　〃I'd　steer　clear　of　the　Morgan　Slough；　too。〃
　〃Don't　worry。〃
　Skink　could　tell　Jim　Tile　was　worried。　He　could　see　distraction　in　the　way　the　trooper　sat　at　the　wheel；　driving　was　the　last　thing　on　his　mind。　He　was　barely　doing　sixty。
　〃Is　it　me　or　yourself　you're　thinking　about？〃　Skink　asked。
　〃I　was　thinking　about　something　that　happened　yesterday　morning；〃　Jim　Tile　said。　〃About　twenty　minutes　after　I　dropped　you　guys　off　on　the　highway；　I　pulled　over　a　pickup　truck　that　nearly　broke　my　radar。〃
　〃Mrnrnm；〃　Skink　said；　acting　like　he　couldn't　have　cared　less。
　〃I　wrote　him　up　a　speeding　ticket　for　doing　ninety…two。　The　man　said　he　was　late　for　work。　I　said　where　do　you　work；　and　he　said　Miller　Lumber。　I　said　you　must　be　new；　and　he　said　yeah；　that's　right。　I　said　it　must　be　your　first　day　because　you're　driving　the　wrong　damn　direction；　and　then　he　didn't　say　anything。〃
　〃You　ever　seen　this　boy　before？〃
　〃No；〃　Jim　Tile　said。
　〃Or　the　truck？〃
　〃No。　Had　Louisiana　plates。　Jefferson　Parish。〃
　〃Mmmm；〃　Skink　said。
　〃But　you　know　what　was　funny；〃　Jim　Tile　said。　'There　was　a　rifle　clip　on　the　front　seat。　No　rifle；　just　a　fresh　clip。　Thirty　rounds。　Would　have　fit　a　Ruger；　I　expect。　The　man　said　the　gun　was　stolen　out　of　his　truck　down　in　West　Palm。　Said　some　nigger　kids　stole　it。〃
　Skink　frowned。　〃He　said　that　to　your　face？　Nigger　kids？　What　the　hell　did　you　do　when　he　said　that；　Jim？　Split　open　his　cracker　skull；　I　hope。〃
　〃Naw；〃　Jim　Tile　said。　〃Know　what　else　was　strange？　I　saw　two　jugs　of　coffee　on　the　front　seat。　Not　one；　but　two。〃
　〃Maybe　he　was　extra　thirsty；〃　Skink　said。
　〃Or　maybe　the　second　jug　didn't　belong　to　him。　Maybe　it　belonged　to　a　buddy。〃　The　trooper　straightened　in　the　driver's　seat；　yawned；　and　stretched　his　arms。　〃Maybe　the　man's　buddy　was　the　one　with　the　rifle。　Maybe　there　was　some　trouble　back　on　the　road　and　something　happened　to　him。〃
　〃You　got　one　hell　of　an　imagination；〃　Skink　said。　〃You　ought　to　write　for　the　movies。〃　There　was　no　point　in　telling　his　friend　about　the　killing。　Someday　it　might　be　necessary；　but　not　now；　the　trooper　had　enough　to　worry　about。
　〃So　you　got　the　fellow's　name；　the　driver；〃　Skink　said。
　Jim　Tile　nodded。　〃Thomas　Curl。〃
　〃I　don't　believe　he　works　at　Miller's；〃　Skink　remarked。
　〃Me　neither。〃
　〃Suppose　I　ask　around　New　Orleans。〃
　〃Would　you　mind？〃　Jim　Tile　said。　〃I'm　just　curious。〃
　〃Don't　blame　you。　Man's　got　to　have　a　reason　for　lying　to　a　cop。　I'll　see　what　I　can　dig　up。〃
　They　rode　the　last　ten　miles　in　silence；　Jim　Tile；　wishing　that　Skink　would　just　e　out　and　tell　him　about　it；　but　knowing　there　were　good　reasons　not　to。　The　second　ma