chiaasen.stormyweather-第1章

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　On　August　23；　the　day　before　the　hurricane　struck；　Max　and　Bonnie　Lamb　awoke　early；　made　love　twice　and　rode　the　shuttle　bus　to　Disney　World。　That　evening　they　returned　to　the　Peabody　Hotel；　showered　separately；　switched　on　the　cable　news　and　saw　that　the　storm　was　heading　directly　for　the　southeastern　tip　of　Florida。　The　TV　weatherman　warned　that　it　was　the　fiercest　in　many　years。
　
　Max　Lamb　sat　at　the　foot　of　the　bed　and　gazed　at　the　color　radar　image…a　ragged　flame…colored　sphere；　spinning　counterclockwise　toward　the　coast。　He　said；　〃Jesus；　look　at　that。〃
　
　A　hurricane；　Bonnie　Lamb　thought；　on　our　honeymoon！　As　she　slipped　under　the　sheets；　she　heard　the　rain　beating　on　the　rental　cars　in　the　parking　lot　outside。　〃Is　this　part　of　it？〃　she　asked。　〃All　this　weather？〃
　
　Her　husband　nodded。　〃We're　on　the　edge　of　the　edge。〃
　
　Max　Lamb　seemed　excited　in　a　way　that　Bonnie　found　unsettling。　She　knew　better　than　to　suggest　a　sensible　change　of　plans；　such　as　hopping　a　plane　back　to　La　Guardia。　Her　new　husband　was　no　quitter；　the　reservations　said　five　nights　and　six　days；　and　by　God　that's　how　long　they　would　stay。　It　was　a　special　package　rate；　no　refunds。
　
　She　said；　〃They'll　probably　close　the　park。〃
　
　〃Disney？〃　Max　Lamb　smiled。　〃Disney　never　closes。　Not　for　plagues；　famines；　or　even　hurricanes。〃　He　rose　to　adjust　the　volume　on　the　television。　〃Besides；　the　darn　thing's　three　hundred　miles　away。　The　most　we'll　see　up　here　is　more　rain。〃
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　detected　disappointment　in　her　husband's　tone。　Hands　on　his　hips；　he　stood　nude　in　front　of　the　TV　screen；　his　pale　shoulder　blades　and　buttocks　were　streaked　crimson　from　a　day　on　the　water　flumes。　Max　was　no　athlete；　but　he'd　done　fine　on　the　river　slide。　Bonnie　wondered　if　it　had　gone　to　his　head；　for　tonight　he　affected　the　square…shouldered　posture　of　a　college　jock。　She　caught　him　glancing　in　the　mirror；　flexing　his　stringy　biceps　and　sizing　up　his　own　nakedness。　Maybe　it　was　just　a　honeymoon　thing。
　
　The　cable　news　was　showing　live　video　of　elderly　residents　being　evacuated　from　condominiums　and　apartment　buildings　on　Miami　Beach。　Many　of　the　old　folks　carried　cats　or　poodles　in　their　arms。
　
　〃So；〃　said　Bonnie　Lamb；　〃we're　still　doing　Epcot　tomorrow？〃
　
　Her　husband　didn't　answer。
　
　〃Honey？〃　she　said。　〃Epcot？〃
　
　Max　Lamb's　attention　was　rooted　to　the　hurricane　news。　〃Oh　sure；〃　he　said　absently。
　
　〃You　remembered　the　umbrellas？〃
　
　〃Yes；　Bonnie；　in　the　car。〃
　
　She　asked　him　to　turn　off　the　television　and　e　to　bed。　When　he　got　beneath　the　covers；　she　moved　closer；　nipped　his　earlobes；　played　her　fingers　through　the　silky　sprout　of　hair　on　his　bony　chest。
　
　〃Guess　what　I'm　not　wearing；〃　she　whispered。
　
　〃Ssshhh；〃　said　Max　Lamb。　〃Listen　to　that　rain。〃
　
　Edie　Marsh　headed　to　Dade　County　from　Palm　Beach；　where　she'd　spent　six　months　trying　to　sleep　with　a　Kennedy。　She'd　had　the　plan　all　worked　out；　how　she'd　seduce　a　young　Kennedy　and　then　threaten　to　run　to　the　'cops　with　a　lurid　tale　of　perversion；　rape　and　torture。　She'd　hatched　the　scheme　while　watching　the　William　Kennedy　Smith　trial　on　Court　TV　and　noticing　the　breathless　relief　with　which　the　famous　clan　had　received　the　acquittal；　all　of　them　with　those　fantastic　teeth；　beaming　at　the　cameras　but　wearing　an　expression　that　Edie　Marsh　had　seen　more　than　a　few　times　in　her　twenty…nine　action…packed　years…the　look　of　those　who'd　dodged　a　bullet。　They'd　have　no　stomach　for　another　scandal；　not　right　away。　Next　time　there'd　be　a　mad　stampede　for　the　Kennedy　family　checkbook；　in　order　to　make　the　problem　go　away。　Edie　had　it　all　figured　out。
　
　She　cleaned　out　her　boyfriend's　bank　account　and　grabbed　the　Amtrak　to　West　Palm；　where　she　found　a　cheap　duplex　apartment。　She　spent　her　days　sleeping；　shoplifting　cocktail　dresses　and　painting　her　nails。　Each　night　she'd　cross　the　bridge　to　the　rich　island；　where　she　assiduously　loitered　at　Au　Bar　and　the　other　trendy　clubs。　She　overtipped　bartenders　and　waitresses；　with　the　understanding　that　they　would　instantly　alert　her　when　a　Kennedy；　any　Kennedy；　arrived。　In　this　fashion　she　had　quickly　met　two　Shrivers　and　a　distant　Lawford；　but　to　Edie　they　would　have　been　borderline　fucks。　She　was　saving　her　charms　for　a　direct　heir；　a　pipeline　to　old　Joe　Kennedy's　mother　lode。　One　of　the　weekly　tabloids　had　published　a　diagram　of　the　family　tree；　which　Edie　Marsh　had　taped　to　the　wall　of　the　kitchen；　next　to　a　Far　Side　calendar。　Right　away　Edie　had　ruled　out　screwing　any　Kennedys…by…marriage；　the　serious　money　followed　the　straightest　lines　of　genealogy；　as　did　the　scandal　hunters。　Statistically　it　appeared　her　best　target　would　be　one　of　Ethel　and　Bobby's　sons；　since　they'd　had　so　many。　Not　that　Edie　wouldn't　have　crawled　nude　across　broken　glass　for　a　whack　at　John　Jr。；　but　the　odds　of　him　strolling　unescorted　into　a　Palm　Beach　fern　bar　were　laughable。
　
　Besides；　Edie　Marsh　was　nothing　if　not　a　realist。　John　Kennedy　Jr。　had　movie…star　girlfriends；　and　Edie　knew　she　was　no　movie　star。　Pretty；　sure。　Sexy　in　a　low…cut　Versace；　you　bet。　But　John…John　probably　wouldn't　glance　twice。　Some　of　those　cousins；　though；　Bobby's　boys…Edie　was　sure　she　could　do　some　damage　there。　Suck　'em　cross…eyed；　then　phone　the　lawyers。
　
　Unfortunately；　six　grueling　months　of　barhopping　produced　only　two　encounters　with　Kennedy　Kennedys。　Neither　tried　to　sleep　with　Edie；　she　couldn't　believe　it。　One　of　the　young　men　even　took　her　on　an　actual　date；　but　when　they　returned　to　her　place　he　didn't　so　much　as　grope　her　boobs。　Just　pecked　her　good　night　and　said　thanks　for　a　nice　time。　The　perfect　goddamn　gentleman；　she'd　thought。　Just　my　luck。　Edie　had　tried　valiantly　to　change　his　mind；　practically　pinned　him　to　the　hood　of　his　car；　kissed　and　rubbed　and　grabbed　him。　Nothing！　Humiliating　is　what　it　was。　After　the　young　Kennedy　departed；　Edie　Marsh　had　stalked　to　the　bathroom　and　studied　herself　in　the　mirror。　Maybe　there　was　wax　in　her　ears　or　spinach　in　her　teeth；　something　gross　to　put　the　guy　off。　But　no；　she　looked　fine。　Furiously　she　peeled　off　her　stolen　dress；　appraised　her　figure　and　thought：　Did　the　little　snot　think　he's　too　good　for　this？　What　a　joke；　that　Kennedy　charm。　The　kid　had　all　the　charisma　of　oatmeal。　He'd　bored　her　to　death　long　before　the　lobster　entree　arrived。　She'd　felt　like　hopping　on　the　tabletop　and　shrieking　at　the　top　of　her　lungs：　Who　gives　a　shit　about　illiteracy　in　South　Boston？　Tell　me　about　Jackie　and　the　Greek！
　
　That　dismal　evening；　it　turned　out；　was　Edie's　last　shot。　The　summer　went　dead　in　Palm　Beach；　and　all　the　fuckable　Kennedys　traveled　up　to　Hyannis。　Edie　was　too　broke　to　give　chase。
　
　The　hurricane　on　the　TV　radar　had　given　her　a　new　idea。　The　storm　was　eight　hundred　miles　away；　churning　up　the　Caribbean；　when　she　phoned　a　man　named　Snapper；　who　was　ing　off　a　short　hitch　for　manslaughter。　Snapper　got　his　nickname　because　of　a　crooked　jaw；　which　had　been　made　that　way　by　a　game　warden　and　healed　poorly。　Edie　Marsh　arranged　to　meet　him　at　a　sports　bar　on　the　beach。　Snapper　listened　to　her　plan　and　said　it　was　the　nuttiest　fucking　thing　he'd　ever　heard　because　（a）　the　hurricane　probably　won't　hit　here　and　（b）　somebody　could　get　busted　for　heavy　time。
　
　Three　days　later；　with　the　storm　bearing　down　on　Miami；　Snapper　called　Edie　Marsh　and　said　what　the　hell；　let's　check　it　out。　I　got　a　guy；　Snapper　said；　he　knows　about　these　things。
　
　The　guy's　name　was　Avila；　and　formerly　he　had　worked　as　a　building　inspector　for　Metropolitan　Dade　County。　Snapper　and　Edie　met　him　at　a　convenience　store　on　Dixie　Highway　in　South　Miami。　The　rain　was　deceptively　light；　given　the　proximity　of　the　hurricane；　but　the　clouds　hung　ominously　low；　an　eerie　yellow　gauze。
　
　They　went　in　Avila's　car；　Snapper　sitting　next　to　Avila　up　front　and　Edie　by　herself　in　the　back。　They　were　going　to　a　subdivision　called　Sugar　Palm　Hammocks：　one　hundred　and　sixty…four　single…family　homes　platted　sadistically　on　only　forty　acres　of　land。　Without　ment；　Avila　drove　slowly　through　the　streets。　Many　residents　were　outside；　frantically　nailing　plywood　to　the　windows　of　their　homes。
　
　〃There's　no　y