chiaasen.stormyweather-第71章

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Edie　mused；　for　the　future。　Particularly　if　the　hurricane　scam　continued　to　unravel　at　its　current　pace。
　
　She　put　Snapper's　gun　on　the　seat。　〃Get　out　of　here；〃　she　told　Skink　and　Bonnie。　〃Go　on。　I'll　tell　him　you　pushed　me　down　and　got　away。〃
　
　Bonnie　looked　over　at　the　governor；　who　said：　〃Now's　your　chance；　girl。〃
　
　〃What　about　you？〃
　
　He　shook　his　head。　〃I　made　a　promise　to　Jim。〃
　
　〃Who　the　hell's　Jim？〃　asked　Edie　Marsh。
　
　Bonnie　said：　〃Then　I　guess　we're　staying。〃
　
　Skink　encouraged　her　to　make　a　dash　for　it。　〃Go　call　Augustine。　Let　him　know　you're　OK。〃
　
　〃Nope；〃　Bonnie　said。
　
　〃And　your　husband；　too。〃
　
　〃No！　Not　until　it's　over。〃
　
　Edie　was　exasperated；　her　nerves　worn　ragged。　Snapper　was　right；　they　are　nuts。　〃Fine；〃　she　said；　〃you　two　fruitballs　stay　if　you　want；　but　I'm　outta　here。〃
　
　Skink　said：　〃Excellent　decision。〃
　
　〃Tell　him　I　went　to　use　the　bathroom。〃
　
　〃No　problem；〃　said　Bonnie。
　
　〃I　got　my　period　or　something。〃
　
　〃Right。〃
　
　Skink　leaned　forward。　〃Could　you　hand　me　the　gun？〃
　
　〃Why　not；〃　Edie　said。　Perhaps　the　smiler　would　shoot　Snapper　dead。　There　were　about　forty…seven　thousand　reasons　that　Edie　wasn't　upset　at　the　idea；　not　including　the　barrel…shaped　bruise　on　her　right　breast。
　
　She　was　passing　the　。357　to　Skink　when　he　waved　her　off；　saying：　〃On　second　thought…〃
　
　Edie　turned　and　let　out　a　gasp。　It　was　Snapper's　face；　dripping　wet；　pressed　to　the　window　of　the　Jeep。　The　bent　nose　and　misshapen　mouth　made　him　look　like　a　gargoyle。
　
　〃Miss　me；　bay…beeee？〃　he　crooned；　pallid　lips　wriggling　like　flatworms　against　the　glass。
　
　Jim　Tile　was　tempted　to　call　for　backup；　though　it　would　spell　the　end　of　the　governor's　elaborate　reclusion。
　
　Long　ago　they'd　made　a　pact：　no　cavalry；　unless　innocent　lives　were　in　peril。　The　trooper　was　thinking　of　the　tourist　woman　as　more　or　less　innocent。　She　and　Skink　might　be　dead　already。
　
　Glumly　Jim　Tile　watched　the　rain　drench　the　passing　cars　on　Highway　One。　Again　he　castigated　himself　for　letting　his　emotions　get　the　better　of　his　brain。　Brenda　was　alive。　He　should've　thanked　God；　then　let　it　go。
　
　But　he　didn't。　And　the　governor　had　had　little　trouble　talking　him　out　of　the　license…tag　number。
　
　〃Pest　control〃　was　what　Skink　had　called　it；　as　they　were　leaving　the　hospital。
　
　〃Whoever　did　that　to　Mrs。　Rourke　is　not　a　viable　member　of　the　species。　Not　a　wele　donor　to　the　gene　pool。　Wouldn't　Darwin　himself　agree？〃
　
　And　the　trooper　had　merely　said：　〃Be　careful。〃
　
　〃Jim；　we're　infested　with　these　mutant　shitheads。　Look　what　they've　done　to　the　place。〃
　
　The　trooper；　locked　in　some　cold　distant　zone：　〃The　tag's　probably　stolen　off　another　car。　It　may　lead　you　nowhere。〃
　
　The　governor；　momentarily　shaking　loose　of　his　friend's　firm　grip：　〃They're　turning　it　into　a　sump　hole。　Some　with　guns；　some　with　briefcases…it's　all　the　same　goddamn　crime。〃
　
　〃Pest　control。〃
　
　〃We　do　what　we　can。〃
　
　〃Be　careful；　captain。〃
　
　Then　he'd　flashed　those　movie…star　pearlies；　the　ones　that　had　gotten　him　elected。　And　Jim　Tile　stood　back　and　let　him　go。　Let　him　stalk　the　man　in　the　black　Jeep　Cherokee。
　
　Which　was　now　parked　in　a　windy　drizzle　outside　the　Paradise　Palms。　The　trooper　counted　three　figures　inside　the　truck；　two　of　them；　he　hoped；　were　Skink　and　Bonnie　Lamb。
　
　A　dark　shape　near　the　road　caught　his　attention。
　
　The　tall　man　in　the　suit　was　hurrying　along　the　gravel　shoulder　of　Highway　One。　There　was　a　tippiness　to　his　gait；　he　seemed　well　challenged　to　keep　a　straight　course；　clear　of　the　speeding　cars。　He　flinched　when　the　high　beams　of　a　gasoline　tanker　caught　him　in　the　face。
　
　This　time　Jim　Tile　got　a　good　look　at　the　misaligned　jaws。
　
　He　watched　the　man　pass　beneath　the　bright　electric　sign　in　front　of　the　motel。　He　saw　him　walk　up　to　the　Jeep；　lean　close　to　a　window。　Then　the　man　ran　around　to　the　driver's　side；　opened　the　door　and　got　in。　Smoke　puffed　from　the　truck's　exhaust：　pipe。　The　brake　lights　flickered。
　
　Jim　Tile　said；　〃Hello；〃　and　started　his　engine。
　
　Suddenly；　all　around；　the　night　was　diced　into　blues　and　whites。
　
　Snapper　was　backing　the　Jeep　out；　chortling　about　what　had　happened　to　Avila：　〃Dumb　fuck　went　straight　off　the　bridge；　you　shoulda　seen…　Hey！　Hey；　what　the　hell。。。〃
　
　Bright　lights　started　strobing　everywhere。　In　the　reflection　of　the　puddles。　On　the　coral…colored　walls　of　the　motel。　In　the　fronds　of　the　sabal　palms。
　
　Snapper　shoved　the　Jeep　into　Neutral。　〃Fucking　cops！〃
　
　〃No　way；〃　Edie　said。　But　she　knew　he　was　right。
　
　A　figure　in　gray　was　approaching　the　Cherokee。　Snapper　rolled　down　the　window。　It　was　a　state　trooper；　big　black　sonofabitch；　too。　He'd　parked　his　patrol　car　at　an　angle；　to　block　the　exit。
　
　Snapper's　mind　raced；　half　drunk；　half　wired：　Christ　Almighty；　would　Momma　and　Pappy　pitch　a　fit　they　ever　heard　I　got　taken　down　by　a　nigger　cop。　Momma　especially。
　
　In　a　flash　Snapper　figured　out　what　must've　happened：　The　lady　trooper　either　was　alive；　or　had　survived　long　enough　after　the　beating　to　give　a　description　of　the　Jeep；　and　maybe　even　of　Snapper　himself。
　
　So　this　was　the　big　black　posse。
　
　Snapper　knew　he　should've　ditched　the　Cherokee　after　it　happened。　Sure；　park　the　fucker　in　the　nearest　canal　and　call　it　a　deal。　But；　oh　Jesus；　how　he　loved　that　stereo　system！　Reba；　Garth；　Hank　Jr。；　they'd　never　sounded　so　sweet。　His　whole　life　Snapper　had　wanted　a　car　with　decent　speakers。　So　he'd　stayed　with　the　stolen　Jeep　because　of　its　awesome　stereo…and　here　was　the　price　to　be　paid。
　
　A　big　black　motherfucker　of　a　cop；　ing　across　the　parking　lot；　drawing　his　gun。
　
　The　one…eyed　man　tapped　him　on　the　shoulder。　〃Haul　ass；　chief。〃
　
　〃Huh？〃
　
　〃That's　what　I'd　do。〃
　
　〃No；〃　murmured　Edie　Marsh。　〃We've　had　it。〃
　
　Snapper　told　her　to　shut　up。　He　snatched　the　。357　off　the　seat；　pointed　it　out　the　window　and　somehow　managed　to　shoot　the　trooper　in　the　center　of　the　chest。　The　man　fell　backward；　landing　with　a　splash。
　
　〃Good　night；　nigger；〃　Snapper　said。
　
　Skink　went　rigid。　Bonnie　and　Edie　screamed。　Snapper　slammed　the　Jeep　into　gear　and　peeled　rubber。
　
　〃You　see　thaa…aatt？〃　he　whinnied。　〃One　shot；　one　nigger　cop！　Whooheee！　One　shot！〃
　
　In　the　cargo　well　of　the　Cherokee；　Augustine　popped　up　on　one　knee。　The　stubby　dart　rifle　was　at　his　shoulder；　the　sights　trained　on　the　ragged　hairline　of　Snapper's　neck。　He　was　surprised　when　Skink　turned　and　shoved　him　back　to　the　floor。
　
　That's　when　the　rear　window　of　the　Jeep　vaporized。
　
　The　explosion　caught　Snapper　furrowed　in　concentration；　as　he　labored　to　steer　around　the　parked　Highway　Patrol　car；　lit　up　like　a　Mardi　Gras　float。
　
　Snapper　ducked；　peering　up　at　the　rearview。　He　saw　the　black　trooper　lying　in　a　puddle；　his　arm　waving　but　not　aiming　the　smoking　gun。　Then　the　trooper　went　limp；　and　Snapper　cackled。
　
　The　Cherokee　fishtailed　on　the　rain…slicked　asphalt　as　it　entered　the　highway。　Edie　Marsh　hunched　like　an　aged　nun；　sobbing　into　her　hands。　Skink　had　pulled　Bonnie　Lamb　into　his　lap；　out　of　the　gunfire's　path。　Huddled　in　the　cargo　hatch；　Augustine　silently　plucked　nuggets　of　safety　glass　from　his　clothes。
　
　Snapper　was　loopy　on　Midols；　Johnnie　Walker　and　pure　criminal　adrenaline。　〃You　see　that　big　nigger　go　down？〃　he　yammered　at　the　top　of　his　lungs。　〃You　see　him　go　down！〃
　
　Christophe　Michel　spent　the　night　of　the　hurricane　in　the　safe　and　convivial　atmosphere　of　Key　West。　At　noon　the　next　morning　he　put　on　the　television　and　recognized；　with　cramps　of　dread；　the　bombed…out　remains　of　a　luxury　housing　development　called　Gables…on…the…Bay。　The　subdivision　had　been　built　by　a　pany　called　Zenith　Custom　Homes；　which　not　only　employed　Christophe　Michel　as　a　senior　structural　engineer　but　advertised　his　ecumenical　credentials　in　its　sales　brochures。　Michel　had　been　recruited　from　one　of　France's　oldest　engineering　firms；　which　had　not　energetically　protested　his　departure。　Among　the　fields　in　which　Michel　sorely　lacked　experience　was　that　of　girding　single…family　structures　to　wit