chiaasen.stormyweather-第43章

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　Then；　on　the　other　side　of　the　door；　a　gun　went　off；　the　dachshunds　bayed　and　Snapper　bellowed　profanely。
　
　〃Jesus！〃　Edie　exclaimed。
　
　The　insurance　man　burrowed　in　her　cleavage。　〃What're　we　going　to　do？〃　he　asked；　desolately。
　
　Avila　thought：　I'm　either　dead　or　dreaming。
　
　Because　it　should　hurt　worse　than　this；　being　nailed　to　a　cross。　Even　if　it's　only　one　hand；　it　should　hurt　like　a　mother。　I　ought　to　be　screaming　at　the　top　of　my　lungs；　instead　of　just　hanging　here　with　a　dull　ache。　Hanging　like　a　wet　flag　and　staring　at。。。
　
　It　must　be　a　dream。
　
　Because　they　don't　have　lions　in　Florida。　And　that's　what　that　monster　is；　a　full…grown　African　lion。　King　of　the　motherfucking　jungle。　So　real　you　can　see　the　red…brown　stains　on　its　mouth。　So　real　you　can　smell　its　piss。　So　real　you　can　hear　the　dead　man's　spine　dear　God　Almighty　being　crunched　in　its　fangs。
　
　The　lion　was　eating　the　doughnut　man。
　
　Avila　was　frozen　in　the　pose　of　a　scarecrow。　He　was　afraid　to　blink。　Between　bites；　the　big　cat　would　glance　up；　yawn；　lick　its　paws；　shake　the　gnats　off　its　mane。　Avila　noticed　a　blue　tag　fastened　to　one　of　its　ears；　but　that　wasn't　important。
　
　The　important　thing　was：　He　definitely　wasn't　dreaming。　The　lion　was　real。　Clearly　it　was　sent　to　save　his　life。
　
　And　not　by　the　Catholic　God…Catholics　had　no　expertise　in　the　summoning　of　demonic　jungle　beasts。　No；　it　was　a　funkier；　more　mystical　deity　who　had　answered　Avila's　plea　from　the　cross。
　
　Gracias；　Change！　Muchas　gracias。
　
　When　I　get　home；　Avila　promised　his　santeria　guardian；　I　shall　make　an　offering　worthy　of　royalty。　Chickens；　rabbits。　Perhaps　I'll　even　spring　for　a　goat。
　
　In　the　meantime；　Avila　implored；　please　make　the　lion　go　away　so　I　can　get　this　fucking　nail　out　of　my　hand！
　
　The　big　cat　dined　leisurely；　no　more　than　fifteen　yards　from　the　pine　tree。　Ira　Jackson's　hammer　lay　where　he'd　dropped　it；　at　Avila's　feet。　From　marks　on　the　ground；　it　appeared　that　the　doughnut　man　had　been　jumped　from　behind；　swiftly　done　in；　and　dragged　to　the　dry　weedy　patch　where　the　lion　now　sat；　possessively　attending　the　disemboweled；　disarticulated　corpse。　Ira　Jackson's　gold　chain　dangled　like　spaghetti　from　the　cat's　whiskered　maw。　It　disappeared　with　a　flick　of　the　tongue。
　
　Avila's　knowledge　of　lion　eating　habits　was　sketchy；　but　he　couldn't　believe　the　animal　could　still　be　hungry　after　devouring　the　substantial　Mr。　Jackson。　Despite　the　worsening　pain　in　his　hand；　Avila　remained　rock　steady　against　the　cross　until　the　lion　quit　munching　and　nodded　off。
　
　Slowly　Avila　turned　his　head　to　examine　the　nasty　puncture。　His　palm　was　striped　with　congealed　blood。　The　nail　had　penetrated　the　tough　fleshy　web　between　the　second　and　third　fingers；　which　wiggled　feebly　at　Avila's　silent　bidding。　A　moral　victory；　of　sorts…Ira　Jackson　had　failed　to　break　any　major　bones。
　
　Keeping　a　close　watch　on　the　snoozing　lion；　and　moving　with　glacial　deliberation；　Avila　tugged　his　good　hand　free　of　the　duct　tape。　Slowly　he　reached　across　and　began　to　work　the　nail　loose　from　the　punctured　palm。　The　undertaking　caused　less　agony　than　he'd　anticipated；　perhaps　Chango　had　anesthetized　him　as　well。
　
　Luckily；　the　wood　of　the　makeshift　crucifix　was　soft。　In　less　than　a　minute　the　nail　pulled　out；　and　Avila's　hand　fell　free；　with　only　a　modest　geyser　of　blood。　He　inserted　the　hand　forcefully　between　his　shaking　knees；　and　bit　his　lower　lip　to　stifle　a　cry。　The　lion　did　not　stir。　The　exhaust　of　its　snore　fluttered　the　bright　remains　of　Ira　Jackson's　sports　shirt；　which　clung　like　a　lobster　bib　to　the　big　cat's　throat。
　
　While　the　beast　slept；　Avila　unwrapped　the　sticky　tape　from　his　ankles。　As　he　furtively　inched　clear　of　the　pine　tree；　his　eyes　fell　on　a　partially　masticated　chunk　of　bone　a　wee　remnant　of　the　doughnut　man；　but　a　potent　talisman　for　future　santeria　rites。
　
　Avila　pocketed　the　moist　prize　and　stole　away。
　
　Skink　chose　to　spend　the　night　in　the　back　of　the　pickup　truck。　Shortly　after　ten；　Augustine　emerged　from　the　house　with　a　hot　Cuban　sandwich　and　two　bottles　of　beer。　Skink　winked　appreciatively　and　sat　up。　He　finished　the　sandwich　in　four　huge　bites；　guzzled　the　beer　and　said：　〃So　she　stayed。〃
　
　〃I　don't　know　why。〃
　
　〃Because　she's　never　seen　the　likes　of　you。〃
　
　〃Or　you；〃　said　Augustine。
　
　〃And　because　her　husband　behaved　poorly。〃
　
　Augustine　slouched　against　the　fender。　〃She's　here；　and　I'm　glad　about　it。　Which　makes　me　quite　the　model　of　rectitude…a　woman　on　her　honeymoon；　for　Christ's　sake。〃
　
　Skink　arched　a　tangled　eyebrow。　〃A　new　low？〃
　
　〃Oh　yes。〃
　
　〃Her　decision；　son。　Don't　beat　yourself　up。〃
　
　Anxiety；　not　guilt；　gnawed　at　Augustine。　On　his　present　course；　he　would　very　soon　fall　in　love　with　Mrs。　Max　Lamb。　How　much　fragrant　late…night　snuggling　could　a　man　endure？　And　Bonnie　was　an　ardent　snug…gler；　even　in　platonic　mode。　Augustine　was　racked　with　worry。　He　had　no　chance　whatsoever；　not　with　her　hair　smelling　like　bougainvilleas；　not　with　that　velvet　slope　of　neck；　not　with　those　denim…blue　eyes。　He　couldn't　recall　being　with　a　woman　who　felt　so　right；　nestled　in　his　embrace。　Even　her　slumbering　snorts　and　sniffles　soothed　him…that's　how　hard　he　was　falling。
　
　It's　just　a　kiss　away。　Like　Mick　and　Keith　said。
　
　A　newly　married　woman。　Brilliant。
　
　Unconsciously　Augustine　found　himself　gazing　at　the　window　of　the　guest　room。　Soon　Bonnie's　shadow　crossed　behind　the　drapes。　Then　the　lights　went　off。
　
　Skink　poked　him　sharply。　〃Settle　down。　Nothing'll　happen　unless　she　wants　it　to。〃　He　stood　in　the　bed　of　the　pickup　for　a　series　of　twisting　calisthenics；　acpanied　by　preternaturally　asthmatic　grunts。　That　went　on　for　twenty　full　minutes　under　the　stars。　Augustine　watched　without　interrupting。　Afterwards　Skink　sat　down　heavily；　rocking　the　truck。
　
　Pointing　at　the　remaining　beer；　he　said：　〃You　gonna　drink　that？〃
　
　〃Help　yourself。〃
　
　〃You're　a　patient　young　man。〃
　
　〃I've　got　nothing　but　time；〃　Augustine　said。　Why　rush　the　guy？
　
　Skink　threw　back　his　head　and　tilted　the　beer　bottle　until　it　was　empty。　Pensively　he　said：　〃You　never　know　how　these　things'll　play　out。〃
　
　〃Doesn't　matter；　captain。　I'm　in。〃
　
　〃OK。　Here。〃　He　handed　Augustine　the　scrap　of　paper　that　Jim　Tile　had　given　him　at　the　hospital。　On　the　paper；　the　trooper　had　written：　black　Jp。　Cherokee　BZQ…42F。
　
　Augustine　was　impressed　that　Brenda　Rourke　remembered　the　license　tag；　or　anything　else；　after　the　hideous　beating。
　
　Skink　said；　〃The　plate's　stolen。　No　surprise　there。〃
　
　〃The　driver？〃
　
　〃White　non…Latin　male；　late　thirties。　Deformed　jaw；　according　to　Trooper　Rourke。　Plus　he　wore　a　pinstriped　suit。〃
　
　Skink　returned　to　a　sprawled　position。　He　folded　his　arms　under　his　head。
　
　Augustine　peered　over　the　side　of　the　truck。　〃Where　do　we　start？〃　The　man　could　be　all　the　way　to　Atlanta　by　now。
　
　〃I've　got　some　ideas；〃　said　the　governor。
　
　Augustine　was　doubtful。　〃The　cops'll　find　him　first。〃
　
　〃They're　all　on　hurricane　duty；　double　shifts。　Even　the　detectives　are　directing　traffic。〃　Skink　chuckled　quietly。　〃It's　not　a　bad　time　to　be　a　fugitive。〃
　
　Augustine　felt　something　brush　his　leg…a　neighbor's　orange　tabby。　When　he　reached　to　pet　it；　the　cat　scooted　beneath　the　pickup。
　
　The　governor　said；　〃I'm　doing　this　for　Jim。　It's　not　often　he　asks。〃
　
　〃But　there's　other　reasons。〃
　
　Skink　nodded。　〃True。　I'm　not　fond　of　shitheads　who　beat　up　women。　And　the　storm　has　left　me；　well；　unfulfilled。。。。〃
　
　It　hadn't　been　the　cataclysmic　purgative　he　had　hoped　for　and　prophesied。　Ideally　a　hurricane　should　drive　people　out；　not　bring　people　in。　The　high　number　of　new　arrivals　to　South　Florida　was　merely　depressing；　the　moral　caliber　of　the　fortune…seekers　was　appalling…low…life　hustlers；　slick…talking　scammers　and　cold…blooded　opportunists；　not　to　mention　pure　gangsters　and　thugs。　Precisely　the　kind　of　creeps　who　would　cave　in　a　lady's　face。
　
　〃Do　not；〃　Skink　said；　〃expect　me　to　control　my　temper。〃
　
　〃Wouldn't　dream　of　it；〃　said　Augustine。
　
　The　light　in　the　guest　bedroom　w