ch.doublewhammy-第11章
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…gray hair。
He poured coffee for Decker； but none for himself。
〃I got fresh rabbit for lunch；〃 Skink said。
〃No thanks。〃
〃I said fresh。〃
〃I just ate；〃 Decker said unconvincingly。
〃How was the funeral？〃
Decker shrugged。 〃Did you know Robert Clinch？〃
〃I know them all；〃 Skink said。
〃Lanie Gault？〃
〃Her brother's the big tycoon who hired you。〃
〃Right。〃 Decker had been relieved when Ott had told him that Dennis Gault was Lanie's brother。 A husband would have been disconcerting news indeed。
Decker said； 〃Miss Gault thinks there's something strange about the way Bobby Clinch died。〃
Skink was on his haunches； working on the fire。 He didn't answer right away。 Once the tinder was lit； he said； 〃Good rabbit is tough to e by。 They tend to get all the way smushed and there's no damn meat left。 The best ones are the ones that just barely get clipped and knocked back to the shoulder of the road。 This one here； you'd hardly know it got hit。 Meat's perfect。 Might as well dropped dead of a bunny heart attack。〃 Skink was arranging the pieces on a frypan。
〃I'll try a bite or two；〃 Decker said； surrendering。
Only then did Skink smile。 It was one of the unlikeliest smiles Decker had ever seen； because Skink had perfect teeth。 Straight； flawless； blindingly white ivories； the kind nobody is born with。 TV…anchorman…type teeth…Skink's were that good。
Decker wasn't sure if he should be forted or concerned。 He was still thinking about those teeth when Skink said： 〃I was at the Coon Bog Saturday morning。〃
〃When it happened？〃
〃Right before。〃
〃They said he must've been doing sixty knots when the boat flipped。〃
Skink basted the sizzling rabbit with butter。 He looked up and said； 〃When I saw the boat； it wasn't moving。〃
〃Was Clinch alive？〃
〃Hell； yes。〃
Decker said； 〃Then the accident must have happened after you left。〃
Skink snorted。
〃Did he see you？〃 Decker asked。
〃Nope。 I was kneeling in the trees； skinning out a rattler。 Nobody saw me。〃 He handed Decker a hunk of fried meat。
Decker blew on it until it cooled； then took a small bite。 It was really very good。 He asked； 〃What made you notice Clinch？〃
〃Because he wasn't fishing。〃
Decker swallowed the meat； and out came a quizzical noise。
〃He wasn't fishing；〃 Skink repeated； 〃and I thought that was damn strange。 Get up at dawn； race like mad to a fishing hole； then just poke around the lily pads with a paddle。 I was watching because I wanted to see if he'd find what he was looking for。〃
〃Did he？〃
〃Don't know。 I left； had to get the snake on ice。〃
〃Christ；〃 Decker said。 He reached into the frypan and gingerly picked out another piece of rabbit。 Skink nodded approvingly。
Decker asked； 〃What do you make of it？〃
Skink said： 〃I'm working for you； is that right？〃
〃If you'll do it； I sure need the help。〃
〃No shit。〃 The pan was empty。 Skink poured the gloppy grease into an old milk carton。
〃Bass were slapping over that morning；〃 he said； 〃and not once did that fucker pick up a rod and cast。 Do you find that strange？〃
〃I suppose；〃 Decker said。
〃God； you need a lesson or two；〃 Skink muttered。 〃Guys like Clinch love to catch bass more than they love to screw。 That's the truth； Miami。 You put 'em on a good bass lake at dawn and they get hard。 So the question is； why wasn't Bobby Clinch fishing on the Coon Bog last Saturday？〃
Decker had nothing to offer。
〃You want to hear something even stranger？〃 Skink said。 〃There was another boat out there too； and not far away。 Two guys。〃
Decker said； 〃And they weren't fishing either； were they； captain？〃
〃Ha…ha！〃 Skink cawed。 〃See there…those rabbit glands went straight to your brain！〃
Decker's coffee had cooled； but it didn't matter。 He gulped the rest of it。
Skink had bee more animated and intense； the cords in his neck were tight。 Decker couldn't tell if he was angry or ecstatic。 Using a pocket knife to pick strings of rabbit meat from his perfect teeth； Skink said： 〃Well； Miami； aren't you going to ask me what this means？〃
〃It was on my list of questions； yeah。〃
〃You'll hear my theory tonight； on the lake。〃
〃On the lake？〃
〃Your first munion；〃 Skink said； and scrambled noisily back up into the big pine。
Ott Pickney had left Miami in gentle retreat from big…city journalism。 He knew he could have stayed at the Sun for the rest of his life； but felt he had more or less made his point。 Having written virtually nothing substantial in at least a decade； he had nonetheless departed the newspaper in a triumphant state of mind。 He had survived the conversion to cold type； the advent of unions； the onslaught of the preppy cubs； the rise of the hotshot managers。 Ott had watched the stars and starfuckers arrive and； with a minimum of ambition； outlasted most of them。 He felt he was living proof that a successful journalist need not be innately cunning or aggressive； even in South Florida。
In Ott's own mind； Harney was the same game； just a slower track。
Which is why he half…resented R。 J。 Decker's infernal skepticism about the death of Bobby Clinch。 A foolhardy fisherman wrecks his boat and drowns…so what？ In Miami it's one crummy paragraph on page 12…D； no one would look twice。 Ott Pickney was peeved at Decker's coy insinuation that something sinister was brewing right under Ott's nose。 This wasn't Dade County； he thought； and these weren't Dade County people。 The idea of an organized cheating ring at the fish tournaments struck Ott as merely farfetched； but the suggestion of foul play in Robert Clinch's death was a gross insult to the munity。 Ott resolved to show R。 J。 Decker how wrong he was。
After the funeral； Ott went back to the newsroom and stewed awhile。 The Sentinel's deadlines being what they were； he had two days to play with the Clinch piece。 As he flipped through his notebook； Ott figured he had enough to bang out fifteen or twenty inches。 Barely。
In an uncharacteristic burst of tenacity； he decided to give Clarisse Clinch another shot。
He found the house in chaos。 A yellow moving van was parked out front； a crew of burly men was emptying the place。 Clarisse had set up a mand post in the kitchen； and under her scathing direction the movers were working very swiftly。
〃Sorry to intrude；〃 Ott said to her； 〃but I remembered a couple more questions。〃
〃I got no answers；〃 Clarisse snapped。 〃We're on our way to Valdosta。〃
Ott tried to picture Clarisse in a slinky； wet…looking dress； sliding long…legged into a tangerine sports car。 He couldn't visualize it。 This woman was a different species from Lanie Gault。
〃I just need a little more about Bobby's hobby；〃 Ott said。 〃A few anecdotes。〃
〃Anecdotes！〃 Clarisse said sharply。 〃You writing a book？〃
〃Just a feature story；〃 Ott said。 〃Bobby's friends say he was quite a fisherman。〃
〃You saw the coffin；〃 Clarisse said。 〃And you saw his friends。〃 She clapped her hands twice loudly。 〃Hey！ Watch the ottoman； Pablo； unless you want to buy me a new one！〃
The man named Pablo mumbled something obscene。
Clarisse turned back to Ott。 〃Do you fish？〃
He shook his head。
〃Thank God there's at least one of you；〃 she said。
Her eyes flickered to a bookcase in the living room。 Ott noticed that there were no books on the shelves； only trophies。 Each of the trophies was crowned with a cheap gold…painted replica of a jumping fish。 Bass； Ott assumed。 He counted up the trophies and wrote the number 〃18〃 in his notebook。 One of the movers unfolded a big cardboard box and began wrapping and packing the trophies。
〃No！〃 Clarisse said。 〃Those go in the dumpster。〃
The mover shrugged。
Ott followed the widow to the garage。 〃This junk in here；〃 she was saying； 〃I've got to sell。〃
Bobby Clinch's fishing gear。 Cane poles； spinning rods； flipping rods； bait…casting rods； popping rods； fly rods。 Ott Pickney counted them up and wrote 〃22〃 in his notebook。 Each of the outfits seemed to be in immaculate condition。
〃These are worth a lot of money；〃 Ott said to Clarisse。
〃Maybe I should take out an ad in your newspaper。〃
〃Yes； good idea。〃 All Harney Sentinel reporters were trained in the paperwork of classified advertising； just in case the moment arose。 Ott got a pad of
