ch.doublewhammy-第4部分

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　There　was　no　tournament　that　weekend；　so　Dickie　Lockhart　was　taping　a　show。　He　was　shooting　on　Lake　Kissimmee；　not　far　from　Disney　World。　The　title　of　this　particular　episode　was　〃Hawg　Hunting。〃　Dickie　needed　a　bass　over　ten　pounds；　anything　less　wasn't　a　hawg。
　As　always；　he　used　two　boats；　one　to　fish　from；　one　for　the　film　crew。　Like　most　TV　fishing…show　hosts；　Dickie　Lockhart　used　videotapes　because　they　were　cheaper　than　sixteen…millimeter；　and　reusable。　Film　was　unthinkable　for　a　bass　show　because　you　might　go　two　or　three　days　shooting　nothing　but　men　casting　their　lures　and　spitting　tobacco；　but　no　fish。　With　the　video；　a　bad　day　didn't　blow　the　whole　budget　because　you　just　backed　it　up　and　shot　again。
　Dickie　Lockhart　had　been　catching　bass　all　morning；　little　two…and　three…pounders。　He　could　guess　the　weight　as　soon　as　he　hooked　up；　then　furiously　skitter　the　poor　fish　across　the　surface　into　the　boat。　〃Goddammit；〃　he　would　shout；　〃rewind　that　sucker　and　let's　try　again。〃
　During　lulls　in　the　action；　Dickie　would　grow　tense　and　foul…mouthed。　〃e　on；　you　bucket…mouthed　bastards；〃　he'd　growl　as　he　cast　at　the　shoreline；　〃hit　this　thing　or　I'm　bringing　dynamite　tomorrow；　y'hear？〃
　Midmorning　the　wind　kicked　up；　mussing　Dickie　Lockhart's　shiny　black　hair。　〃Goddammit；〃　he　shouted；　〃stop　the　tape。〃　After　he　got　a　b　from　his　tacklebox　and　slicked　himself　down；　he　ordered　the　cameraman　to　crank　it　up　again。
　〃How　do　I　look？〃　Dickie　asked。
　〃Like　a　champ；〃　the　cameraman　said　thinly。　The　cameraman　dreamed　of　the　day　when　Dickie　Lockhart　would　get　shitfaced　drunk　and　drop　his　drawers　to　moon　his　little　ole　fishing　pals　all　across　America。　Then　Dickie　would　fall　out　of　the　boat；　as　he　often　did　after　drinking。　Afterward　the　cameraman　would　pretend　to　rewind　the　videotape　and　erase　this　sloppy　moment；　but　of　course　he　wouldn't。　He'd　save　it　and；　when　the　time　was　right；　threaten　to　send　it　to　the　sports…and…religion　network　that　syndicated　Dickie　Lockhart's　fishing　show。　Dickie　would　suddenly　bee　a　generous　fellow；　and　the　cameraman　would　finally　be　able　to　afford　to　take　his　wife　to　the　Virgin　Islands。
　Now；　with　the　tape　rolling；　Dickie　Lockhart　was　talking　man…to…man　with　the　serious　bass　angler　back　home。　Dickie's　TV　accent　was　much　thicker　and　gooier　than　his　real…life　accent；　an　exaggeration　that　was　necessary　to　meet　the　demographic　of　the　show；　which　was　basically　male　Deep　Southern　grit…suckers。　As　he　cast　his　lure　and　reeled　it　in；　Dickie　Lockhart　would　confide　exactly　what　brand　of　crankbait　he　was　using；　what　pound　line　was　on　the　reel；　what　kind　of　sunglasses　（amber　or　green）　worked　better　on　a　bright　day。　The　patter　carried　an　air　of　informality　and　friendliness；　when　in　fact　the　point　was　to　shill　as　many　of　Dickie　Lockhart's　sponsors'　products　as　possible　in　twenty…four　minutes　of　live　tape。　The　crankbait　was　made　by　Bagley；　the　line　by　Du　Pont；　the　reel　by　Shimano；　the　sunglasses　by　Polaroid；　and　so　on。　Somehow；　when　Dickie　stared　into　the　camera　and　dropped　these　bald…faced　plugs；　it　didn't　seem　so　cheap。
　At　about　noon　a　third　bass　boat　raced　up　to　the　fishing　spot；　and　Dickie　started　hollering　like　a　madman。　〃Goddammit；　stop　the　tape！　Stop　the　tape！〃　He　hopped　up　and　down　on　the　bow　and　shook　his　fist　at　the　man　in　the　other　boat。　〃Hey；　can't　you　see　we're　filming　a　goddamn　TV　show　here？　You　got　the　whole　frigging　lake　but　you　gotta　stop　here　and　wreck　the　tape！〃　Then　he　saw　that　the　other　angler　was　Ozzie　Rundell；　Culver's　brother；　so　Dickie　stopped　shouting。　He　didn't　apologize；　but　he　did　pipe　down。
　〃Didn't　mean　to　interrupt；〃　Ozzie　said。　He　was　a　mumbler。　Dickie　Lockhart　told　him　to　speak　up。
　〃Didn't　mean　to　interrupt！〃　Ozzie　said；　a　bit　louder。　In　his　entire　life　he　had　never　boated　a　bass　over　four　pounds；　and　was　in　awe　of　Dickie　Lockhart。
　〃Well？〃　Dickie　said。
　〃I　thought　you'd　want　to　know。〃
　Dickie　shook　his　head。　He　kicked　a　button　on　the　bow　and　used　the　trolling　motor　to　steer　his　boat　closer　to　Ozzie's。　When　the　two　were　side　by　side；　Dickie　said　impatiently；　〃Now　start　over。〃
　〃I　thought　you'd　want　to　know。　They　found　Bobby　Clinch。〃
　〃Where？〃
　〃Dead。〃
　Ozzie　would　get　around　to　answering　the　questions；　but　not　in　the　order　he　was　asked。　His　mind　worked　that　way。
　〃How？〃　Dickie　said。
　〃In　Lake　Harney。〃
　〃When？〃
　〃Flipped　his　boat　and　drowned；〃　Ozzie　said。
　〃Goddamn；〃　said　Dickie　Lockhart。　〃I'm　sorry。〃
　〃Yesterday；〃　Ozzie　said　in　conclusion。
　Dickie　turned　to　the　cameraman　and　said；　〃Well；　that's　it　for　the　day。〃
　Ozzie　seemed　thrilled　just　to　be　able　to　touch　the　deck　of　the　champion's　boat。　He　gazed　at　Dickie　Lockhart's　fishing　gear　the　way　a　Little　Leaguer　might　stare　at　Ted　Williams'　bat。　〃Well；　sorry　to　interrupt；〃　he　mumbled。
　〃Don't　worry　about　it；〃　Dickie　Lockhart　said。　〃They　stopped　biting　two　hours　ago。〃
　〃What　plug　you　usin'？〃　Ozzie　inquired。
　〃My　special　baby；〃　Dickie　said；　〃the　Double　Whammy。〃
　The　Double　Whammy　was　the　hottest　lure　on　the　pro　bass　circuit；　thanks　in　large　measure　to　Dickie　Lockhart。　For　the　last　eight　tournaments　he'd　won；　Dickie　had　declared　it　was　the　amazing　Double　Whammy　that　had　tricked　the　trophy　fish。　His　phenomenal　success　with　the　lure…a　skirted　spinnerbait　with　twin　silver　spoons…had　not　been　duplicated　by　any　other　professional　angler；　though　all　had　tried；　filling　their　tackleboxes　with　elaborate　variations　and　imitations。　Most　of　the　bassers　caught　big　fish　on　the　Double　Whammy；　but　none　caught　as　many；　or　at　such　opportune　times；　as　Dickie　Lockhart。
　〃It's　a　real　killer；　huh？〃　Ozzie　said。
　〃You　betcha；〃　Dickie　said。　He　took　the　fishing　line　in　his　front　teeth　and　bit　through；　freeing　the　jangling　lure。　〃You　want　it？〃　he　asked。
　Ozzie　Rundell　beamed　like　a　kid　on　Christmas　morning。　〃Shoot　yeah！〃
　Dickie　Lockhart　tossed　the　lure　toward　Ozzie's　boat。　In　his　giddiness　Ozzie　actually　tried　to　catch　the　thing　in　his　bare　hands。　He　missed；　of　course；　and　the　Double　Whammy　embedded　its　needle…sharp　hook　firmly　in　the　poor　man's　cheek。　Ozzie　didn't　seem　to　feel　a　thing；　didn't　seem　to　notice　the　blood　dripping　down　his　jawline。
　〃Thanks！〃　he　shouted　as　Dickie　Lockhart　started　up　his　boat。　〃Thanks　a　million！〃
　〃Don't　mention　it；〃　the　champion　replied；　leaning　on　the　throttle。
　
　R。　J。　Decker　had　been　born　in　Texas。　His　father　had　been　an　FBI　man；　and　the　family　had　lived　in　Dallas　until　December　of　1963。　Two　weeks　after　Kennedy　was　shot；　Decker's　father　was　transferred　to　Miami　and　assigned　to　a　crack　squad　whose　task　was　to　ensure　that　no　pals　of　Fidel　Castro　took　a　shot　at　LBJ。　It　was　a　tense　and　exciting　time；　but　it　passed。　Decker's　father　eventually　wound　up　in　a　typically　stupefying　FBI　desk　job；　got　fat；　and　died　of　clogged　arteries　at　age　forty…nine。　One　of　Decker's　older　brothers　grew　up　to　be　a　cop　in　Minneapolis。　The　other　sold　Porsches　to　cocaine　dealers　in　San　Francisco。
　A　good　athlete　and　a　fair　student　in　college；　R。　J。　Decker　surprised　all　his　classmates　by　being　a　professional　photographer。　Cameras　were　his　private　passion；　he　was　fascinated　with　the　art　of　freezing　time　in　the　eye。　He　never　told　anyone　but　it　was　the　Zapruder　film　that　had　done　it。　When　Life　magazine　had　e　out　with　those　grainy　movie　pictures　of　the　assassination；　R。　J。　Decker　was　only　eight　years　old。　Still　he　was　transfixed　by　the　frames　of　the　wounded　president　and　his　wife。　The　pink　of　her　dress；　the　black　blur　of　the　Lincoln…horrific　images；　yet　magnetic。　The　boy　never　imagined　such　a　moment　could　be　captured　and　kept　for　history。　Soon　afterward　he　got　his　first　camera。
　For　Decker；　photography　was　more　than　just　a　hobby；　it　was　a　way　of　looking　at　the　world。　He　had　been　cursed　with　a　short　temper　and　a　cynical　outlook；　so　the　darkroom　became　a　soothing　place；　and　the　ceremony　of　making　pictures　a　gentle　therapy。
　Much　to　his　frustration；　the　studio…photography　business　proved　unbearably　dull　and　profitable。　Decker　did　weddings；　bar　mitzvahs；　portraits；　and　mercial　jobs；　mostly　magazine　advertisements。　He　was　once　paid　nine　thousand　dollars　to　take　the　perfect　picture　of　a　bottle　of　Midol。　The　ad　showed　up　in　all　the　big　women's　magazines；　and　Decker　clipped　several　copies　to　send　to　his　friends；　as　a　joke　on　himself。
　And；　of　course；　there　were　the　fashion　layouts　with　professional　models。　The　first　year　Decker　fell　in　love　seventeen　times。　The　second　year　he　let　the　Hasselblad　do　the　falling　in　love。　His　pictures　were　very　good；　he　was　making　large　sums　of　money；　and　he　was　bored　out　of　his　skull。
　One　afternoon　on　Miami　Beach；　while　Decker　was　on　a　mercial　shoot　for　a　new　tequila…scented　suntan　oil；　a　young　tourist　suddenly　tore　off　her　clothes　and　jumped　into　the　Atlantic　and　tried　to　drown　herself。　The　lifeguards　reached　her　just　in　time；　and　Decker　snapped　a　couple　of　frames　as　they　carried　her　from　the　surf。　The　woman's　blond　hair　was　tangled　across　her　cheeks；　her　eyes　were　puffy　and　half…closed；　and　her　lips　were　grey。　What　really　made　the　photograph　was　the　face　of　one　of　the　lifeguards　who　had　rescued　the　young　woman。　He'd　carefully　wrapped　his　arms　around　her　bare　chest　to　shield　her　from　the　gawkers；　and　in　his　eyes　Decker's　lens　had　captured　both　panic　and　pity。
　For　the　hell　of　it