chiaasen.stormyweather-第23章
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from the Ocala National Forest。 The thing that he now thought he was seeing stood seven feet at the shoulders。
Cain Darby closed his eyes tightly to clear the sleep。 Then he opened them again； very slowly。 The huge shape was still there； a motionless phantasm。 mon sense told him he was mistaken…they don't grow thousand…pound bears in Florida！ But that's sure what it looked like。。。。
So he raised his rifle。
Then； from the corner of his eye； he spotted headlights barreling down Quail Roost Drive。 He turned to see。 Somebody was driving toward the roadblock like a bat out of hell。 Judging by the rising chorus of sirens； half the Metro police force was on the chase。
When Cain Darby spun back toward the bear； or the shape that looked like a bear； it was gone。 He lowered the gun and directed his attention to the maniac in the oning truck。 Cain Darby struck an erect military pose in front of the candy…striped barricades…spine straight； legs apart； the rifle held at a ready angle across the chest。
A half mile behind the truck was a stream of flashing blue and red lights。 The fugitive driver seemed undaunted。 As the headlights drew closer； Sergeant Darby hurriedly weighed his options。 The asshole wasn't going to stop； that much was clear。 By now the man had （unless he was blind； drunk or both） seen the soldier standing in his path。
Yet the vehicle was not decelerating。 If anything； it was gaining speed。 Cain Darby cursed as he dashed out of the way。 If there was one thing he found intolerable； it was disrespect for a uniform； whether it belonged to the Department of Corrections or the National Guard。
So he indignantly cranked off a few rounds as the idiot driver smashed through the barricade。
No one was more stunned than Cain Darby to see the speeding truck overshoot the Turnpike ramp and plunge full speed into a drainage canal； no one except the driver； Gil Peck。 The sound of gunfire had destroyed his ragged reflexes； particularly his ability to locate the brake pedal。 He couldn't believe some peckerwood Guardsman was shooting at him。
What did not surprise Gil Peck； considering his heavy cargo of stolen bricks； was how swiftly the flatbed sunk in the warm brown water。 He squeezed through the window； swam to shore and began weeping at his own foul luck。 All his hurricane booty was lost； except for the package of hash； which bobbed to the surface at the precise moment the first police car arrived。
Yet the drugs weren't the most serious of Gil Peck's legal concerns。 As he was being handcuffed； he declared： 〃I didn't kill him！〃
〃Kill who？〃 the officer asked。
〃The guy； you know。 The guy at the trailer park。〃 Gil Peck assumed that's why the cops were chasing him…they'd found the body'of the crucified man。
But they hadn't。 Gil Peck's nausea worsened。 He should've kept his damn mouth shut。 Now it was too late。 Pink and blue bikini panties began to float up； like pale jellyfish； from the bed of the sunken truck。
The officer said： 〃What guy at what trailer park？〃
Gil Peck told him about the dead man impaled in the TV dish。 As other policemen arrived； Gil Peck repeated the story； and also his impassioned denials of guilt。 One of the officers asked Gil Peck if he would take them to the body； and he agreed。
After the paramedics checked him for broken bones； the thief was toweled off and deposited in the back…seat cage of a Highway Patrol car。 The trooper at the wheel was a large black man in a Stetson。 On the way to the trailer court； Gil Peck delivered yet another excited monologue about his innocence。
〃If you didn't do it；〃 the trooper cut in； 〃why'd you run？〃
〃Scared； man。〃 Gil Peck shivered。 〃You should see。〃
〃Oh； I can't wait；〃 the trooper said。
〃You a Christian； sir？〃
It was amazing； thought the trooper； how quickly the handcuffs induced spiritual devoutness。 〃Anyone read you your rights？〃 he asked the truck driver。
Gil Peck thrust his face to the mesh of the cage。 〃If you're a Christian； you gotta believe what I'm sayin'。 It wasn't me that crucified the poor fucker。〃
But Jim Tile hoped with all his Christian heart that it was。 Because the other prime suspect was someone he didn't want to arrest； unless there was no choice。
CHAPTER NINE
Skink eavesdropped leisurely while Max Lamb made two calls。 The phone booth was at a truck stop on Krome Avenue； the fringe of the Everglades。 Longbeds overloaded with lumber； sheet glass and tar paper streamed south in ragged convoys to the hurricane zone。 Nobody glanced twice at the unshaven man on the phone； despite the collar around his neck。
When Max Lamb hung up； Skink grabbed his arm and led him to the airboat； beached on the bank of a muddy canal。 Skink ordered him to lie in the bow； and there he remained for two hours； his cheekbone vibrating against the hull。 The howl of the aviation engine filled his ears。 Skink was no longer singing harmony。 Max Lamb wondered what he'd done to further annoy his abductor。
They stopped once。 Skink left the airboat briefly and returned with a large cardboard box； which he set in the bow next to Max。 They traveled until dusk。 When Skink finally lifted him to his knees； Max was surprised to see the Indian village。 They didn't stay long enough for Max to negotiate the return of his video camera。 Skink borrowed a station wagon； put the box in the back； and buckled his prisoner on the passenger side。 There was no sign of the monkey； and for that Max Lamb was grateful。
Skink put on the shower cap and started the car。 Max needed to pee but was afraid to ask。 He was no longer confident that he could talk his way out of the kidnapping。
〃Is something wrong？〃 he asked。
Skink shot him a stony look。 〃I remember your wife from the hurricane video。 Hugging two little Cuban girls。〃
〃Yes； that was Bonnie。〃
〃Beautiful woman。 You zoomed in on her face。〃
〃Can we stop the car；〃 Max interrupted； squirming； 〃just for a minute？〃
Skink kept his eyes on the road。 〃Your bride's got a good heart。 That much is obvious from the video。〃
〃A saint；〃 Max agreed。 He jammed both hands between his legs； he'd tie his dick in a Windsor before he'd wet himself in front of the governor。
〃Why she's with you； I can't figure。 It's a real puzzler；〃 Skink said。 He braked the car sharply。 〃Why didn't you try to phone her tonight？ You call your buddy in New York。 You call your folks in Milan…fucking…Italy。 Why not Bonnie？〃
〃I don't know where she is。 That damn answering machine…〃
〃And the crap about you and her having a fight…〃
〃I didn't want Peter to worry；〃 Max said。
〃Well； God forbid。〃 Skink jammed the transmission into Park and flung himself out the door。 He reappeared in the beam of the headlights； a hoary apparition crouched on the pavement。 Max Lamb craned to see what he was doing。
Skink strolled back to the station wagon and tossed a dead opossum on the seat next to Max； who gasped and recoiled。 A few miles later； Skink added a truck…flattened coachwhip snake to the evening's menu。 Max forgot about his bladder until they made camp at an abandoned horse barn west of Krome。
The horses were gone； scattered by the storm； the owners had e by to retrieve the saddles and tack； and to scatter feed in case any of the animals returned。 Max Lamb stood alone in the musky darkness and relieved himself torrentially。 He considered running； but feared he wouldn't survive a single night alone in nature。 In Max's mind； all Florida south of Orlando was an immense swamp； humidly teeming with feral beasts。 Some had claws and poisonous fangs； some drove air…boats and feasted on roadkill。 They were all the same to Max。
Skink appeared at his side to announce that dinner soon would be served。 Max followed him into the stables。 He asked if it was wise to make a campfire inside a barn。 Skink replied that it was extremely dangerous； but cozy。
Max Lamb was impressed that the odor of horseshit could not be vanquished by a mere Force Four hurricane。 On a positive note； the fragrance of dung pletely neutralized the aroma of boiled op
