ch.doublewhammy-第59部分

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　The　raid　had　failed。
　The　Broward　SWAT　team　had　swept　with　lethal　certainty　into　Room　1412　of　the　Coral　Springs　Holiday　Inn　and　brusquely　arrested　one　Mr。　Juan　Gomez；　suspected　kidnapper。　Unfortunately　he　turned　out　to　be　a　genuine　Juan　Gomez；　puter　software　salesman。　Furthermore；　the　young　lady　he　had　been　diddling　in　his　motel　room　turned　out　not　to　be　the　missing　Catherine　Stuckameyer；　but　rather　the　nineteen…year…old　daughter　of　the　founder　of　Floppy　World；　one　of　Juan　Gomez's　biggest　retail　clients。
　By　the　time　the　confusion　was　sorted　out　and　the　SWAT　team　returned　to　the　Holiday　Inn；　the　other　Juan　Gomez；　the　one　whose　real　name　was　Thomas　Curl；　had　fled　his　room　for　parts　unknown。　Evidence　technicians　spent　hours　analyzing　the　Gaines　Burger　particles。
　Al　Garcia　had　arranged　the　raid　without　telling　R。　J。　Decker；　who　had　fiercely　rejected　the　idea　of　a　police　rescue　attempt。　He　had　insisted　on　handling　Thomas　Curl　himself　because　Catherine's　life　was　at　stake；　so　Jim　Tile　and　Al　Garcia　had　backed　off　and　pretended　to　go　along　with　it。　As　soon　as　Decker　left　Harney；　Garcia　got　on　the　phone　to　his　lieutenant　in　Miami；　who　got　on　the　phone　to　the　Broward　sheriff's　office。　There　was　a　delay　of　several　hours　in　the　police　bureaucracy；　mainly　because　no　Catherine　Stuckameyer　had　officially　been　reported　missing　and　the　authorities　suspected　it　was　just　another　lonely　rich　wife　skipping　out。　By　the　time　the　SWAT　team　moved；　and　found　the　right　motel　room；　it　was　too　late。
　〃They　fucked　it　up；〃　Garcia　said；　slamming　down　the　phone。　〃Can　you　believe　it；　now　they're　pissed　off　at　me！　Some　pinhead　gringo　captain's　saying　I　made　'em　look　bad；　says　there's　still　no　evidence　of　a　kidnap。　Fucking　GI　Joes　with　their　greasepaint　and　their　M…16s　hit　the　wrong　damn　room；　it's　not　my　fault。〃
　〃Meanwhile；〃　Jim　Tile　said；　〃we've　lost　Curl；　Decker's　ex；　and　even　Decker　himself。〃
　〃So　the　hotshot　gets　his　way　after　all。　It's　his　ball　game　now。〃
　Garcia　threw　down　his　bass　cap　and　cursed。　〃What　the　hell　else　can　we　do？〃
　〃Go　fishing；〃　the　trooper　said。　'That's　all。〃
　
　It　was　half…past　midnight　when　someone　knocked　on　the　door　of　Dennis　Gault's　room。　He　couldn't　imagine　who　it　might　be。　He　had　elected　not　to　stay　at　the　Lunker　Lakes　Lodge　with　the　others　because　all　the　parties　would　be　raucous　and　distracting；　and　because　the　other　anglers　would　ignore　him　as　always。　Besides；　there　was　sawdust　all　over　the　carpets；　and　the　walls　reeked　of　fresh　paint；　obviously　the　place　had　been　slapped　together　in　about　two　weeks；　just　for　the　tournament。
　So　Gault　had　taken　a　suite　at　the　Everglades　Hilton；　where　he　always　stayed　in　Fort　Lauderdale。　Only　Lanie；　his　secretaries；　and　a　few　lady　friends　knew　where　to　find　him。　Which　was　why　he　was　puzzled　by　the　midnight　visitor。
　He　listened　at　the　door。　From　the　other　side　came　the　sound　of　a　man's　labored　breathing　and　a　faint　buzzing　noise。　〃Who　is　it？〃
　〃Me；　Mr。　Gault。〃
　He　recognized　the　voice。　Angrily　Gault　opened　the　door；　but　what　he　saw　stole　his　breath　away。　〃Mother　of　Jesus！〃
　〃Hey；　chief；〃　said　Thomas　Curl；　〃nice　pajamas。〃　He　swayed　in　and　crashed　down　into　an　armchair。
　〃Uh；　Tom…〃
　〃'What's　the　matter；　chief？〃
　Gault　stared　numbly。　What　could　he　say？　Curl　looked　like　death　on　a　bad　day。　His　eyes　were　swollen　slits；　his　face　streaked　with　purple。　Sweat　glistened　on　his　gray　forehead　and　a　chowder…white　ooze　flecked　the　corners　of　his　lips。
　〃What　happened　to　you；　Tom？〃
　〃Mrs。　Decker's　safe　in　the　trunk；　don't　worry。〃　Curl　wiped　his　mouth　on　the　sleeve　of　his　jacket。　〃Say；　chief；　those　the　shiniest　damn　pajamas　I　ever　saw。〃
　Dennis　Gault's　gaze　fixed　on　Curl's　right　arm。　〃What　。。。　what　the　fuck　is　that？〃　he　stammered。
　〃Lucas　is　his　name；〃　Curl　said。　〃He　good　boy。〃
　〃Oh；　Christ。〃　Now　Gault　realized　where　the　buzzing　sound　had　e　from。　From　the　flies　swarming　around　the　dog　head。
　〃I's　raised　around　puppies；〃　Curl　said；　〃mostly　mutts。〃
　Gault　said；　〃It's　not　good　for　you　to　be　here。〃
　〃But　I　got　a　few　hours　to　kill。〃
　〃Before　you　meet　Decker？〃
　〃Yep。〃　Curl　spotted　a　decanter　of　brandy　on　a　sideboard。　Mechanically　Gault　handed　it　to　him。　Curl　drew　three　hard　swallows　from　the　bottle。　His　eyes　glowed　after　he　put　it　down。　〃I'll　need　a　bass　boat；〃　he　said；　smacking　his　lips。
　Gault　scribbled　a　phone　number　on　a　napkin。　〃Here；　this　guy's　got　a　Starcraft。〃
　〃Anything'll　do。〃
　〃You　all　right？〃　Gault　asked。
　〃I'll　be　fine。　Clear　this　shit　up　once　and　for　all。〃　Curl　noticed　Gault's　fishing　gear　laid　out　meticulously　on　the　carpet。　〃Nice　tackle；　chief。　Looks　straight　out　of　the　catalog。〃
　〃Tom；　you'd　better　go。　I've　got　to　be　up　early　tomorrow。〃
　〃I　ain't　been　sleepin　much；　myself。　Lucas；　he　always　wants　to　play。〃
　Dennis　Gault　could　scarcely　breathe；　the　stink　was　so　vile。　〃Call　me　day　after　tomorrow。　I'll　have　a　little　something　for　you。〃
　〃Real　good。〃
　〃One　more　thing；　Tom；　it's　very　important：　everything's　set　for　tonight；　right？　With　Decker；　I　mean。〃
　〃Don't　you　worry。〃
　Gault　said；　〃You　can　handle　it　alone？〃
　〃It's　my　rightful　obligation。〃
　At　the　door；　Thomas　Curl　drunkenly　thrust　out　his　right　hand。　〃Put　her　there；　chief。〃　Gault　shook　the　rotted　thing　without　daring　to　look。
　〃Well；　tight　lines！〃　said　Curl；　with　a　sloppy　but　spirited　sailor's　salute。
　〃Thank　you；　Tom；〃　said　Dennis　Gault。　He　closed　the　door；　dumped　the　brandy；　then　bolted　into　a　scalding　shower。
　
　The　phone　calls　started　as　soon　as　they　turned　in。
　When　Al　Garcia　answered；　the　voice　on　the　other　end　said：　〃Why　don't　you　go　back　to　Miami；　spic…face？〃
　When　Jim　Tile　answered；　the　message　was：　〃Don't　show　your　lips　on　the　lake；　nigger。〃
　After　the　fourth　call；　Garcia　turned　on　the　light　and　sat　up　in　bed。　〃It's　bad　enough　they　give　us　the　worst　damn　room　in　the　place；　and　now　this。〃
　〃Nice　view　of　the　dumpster；　though；〃　Jim　Tile　said。　When　he　swung　his　bare　brown　legs　out　from　under　the　covers；　Garcia　noticed　the　bandage　over　Culver　Rundell's　bullet　hole。
　〃It's　nothing；　just　a　through…and…through；〃　the　trooper　said。
　〃One　of　these　bass　nuts？〃
　Jim　Tile　nodded。
　〃Well；　shit；〃　Garcia　said；　〃maybe　we　oughta　take　the　phone　calls　more　seriously。〃
　〃They're　just　trying　to　scare　us。〃
　The　phone　started　ringing　again。　Jim　Tile　watched　it　for　a　full　minute　before　picking　up。
　〃You're　gator　bait；　spook；〃　the　caller　drawled。
　The　trooper　hung　up。　His　jaw　was　set　and　his　eyes　were　hard。　〃I'm　beginning　to　take　this　personally。〃
　〃You　and　me　both。〃　Garcia　grabbed　his　pants　off　the　chair　and　dug　around　for　the　cigarette　lighter。　When　the　phone　rang　again；　the　detective　said；　〃My　turn。〃
　Another　Southern　voice：　〃Lucky　for　you；　grease　floats。〃
　Garcia　slammed　down　the　receiver　and　said；　〃You'd　think　one　of　us　would　have　the　brains　to　pull　the　plug　out　of　the　wall。〃
　〃No；〃　said　Jim　Tile。　He　was　worried　about　Skink；　and　Decker。　One　of　them　might　need　to　get　through。
　〃I　can't　imagine　these　jerks　are　actually　worried　about　us　winning；　not　after　seeing　the　boat；〃　Garcia　said。　〃Wonder　what　they're　so　damn　scared　of。〃
　〃The　sight　of　us；〃　Jim　Tile　said。　He　lay　back　on　his　pillow　and　stared　at　the　ceiling。　Garcia　lit　a　cigarette　and　thumbed　through　a　Lunker　Lakes　sales　brochure　that　some　lady　had　given　him　at　the　barbecue。
　It　was　half…past　two　when　somebody　outside　fired　a　rifle　through　their　window　and　ran。
　Angrily　Jim　Tile　picked　up　the　phone　and　started　dialing。
　As　he　shook　the　broken　glass　out　of　his　blanket；　Al　Garcia　asked；　〃So　who　you　calling；　chico；　the　Fish　and　Game？〃
　〃I　think　it's　important　to　make　an　impression；〃　the　trooper　said。　〃Don't　you？〃
　
　To　get　on　the　dike；　Eddie　Spurling　had　to　drive　to　the　west　end　of　Road　84；　then　zig　north　up　U。S。　27　to　the　Sawgrass　Fish　Camp。　Here　the　dike　was　accessible；　but　wide　enough　for　only　one　vehicle；　at　three　in　the　morning　Eddie　didn't　anticipate　oning　traffic。　He　drove　the　Wagoneer　at　a　crawl　through　a　crystal　darkness；　insects　whorling　out　of　the　swamp　to　cloud　the　headlights。　Every　so　often　he　had　to　brake　as　the　high…beams　froze　some　animal；　ruby…eyed；　on　the　rutted　track…rabbits；　raccoons；　foxes；　bobcats；　even　a　fat　old　female　otter。　Eddie　marveled　at　so　much　wildlife；　so　close　to　the　big　city。
　It　took　an　hour　to　make　the　full　circuit　back　to　where　the　flood　levee　abutted　Lunker　Lake　Number　Seven。　When　he　reached　the　designated　spot；　Eddie　Spurling　turned　off　the　engine；　killed　the　lights；　rolled　down　his　window；　and　gazed　off　to　the　west。　The　Everglades　night　was　glorious　and　immense；　the　sweep　of　the　sky　unlike　anything　he'd　seen　anywhere　in　the　South；　here　the　galaxy　seemed　to　spill　straight　into　the　shimmering　swamp。
　When　Eddie　looked　east　he　saw　blocked　and　broken　landscape；mthe　harsh　aura　of　downtown　lights；　the　pale　linear　scar　of　the　nascent　superhighway　and　its　three　interchanges；　built　especially　for　Charlie　Weeb's　development。　There　was　nothing　beautiful　about　it；　and　Eddie　turned　away。　He　put　on　his　cap；　snapped　his　down　vest；　and　stepped　out　of　the　truck　into　the　gentle　hum　of　the　marsh。
　Water　glistened　on　both　sides　of　the　dike。　Under　a　thin　fog；　Lunker　Lake　Number　Seven　lay　as　flat　and　dead　as　a　cistern；　by　contrast；　the　small　pool　on　the　Everglades