ch.doublewhammy-第12章

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　〃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　order　forms　out　of　the　glove　box　in　the　truck。
　〃Twenty…two　fishing　rods；〃　he　began。
　〃Three　pairs　of　hip　waders；〃　Clarisse　said；　rummaging　through　her　husband's　bass　trove。
　〃Two　landing　nets；〃　Ott　noted。
　〃Four　vests；〃　she　said；　〃one　with　Velcro　pockets。〃
　〃Is　that　an　electric　hook　sharpener？〃
　〃Brand　new；〃　Clarisse　said。　〃Make　sure　you　put　down　that　it's　brand　new。〃
　〃Got　it。〃
　〃And　I　don't　know　what　to　do　about　this。〃　From　under　a　workbench　she　dragged　what　appeared　to　be　a　plastic　suitcase　with　the　word　〃PLANO〃　stamped　on　the　top。　〃I　can't　even　lift　the　darn　thing；〃　she　said。　〃I'm　afraid　to　look　inside。〃
　〃What　is　it？〃　Ott　asked。
　〃The　mother　lode；〃　Clarisse　said。　〃Bobby's　tacklebox。〃
　Ott　hoisted　it　by　the　handle；　then　set　it　down　on　the　kitchen　counter。　It　must　have　weighed　fifty　pounds。
　〃He　has　junk　in　there　from　when　he　was　ten　years　old。　Lures　and　stuff。〃　Clarisse's　voice　sounded　small；　she　was　blinking　her　eyes　as　if　she　were　about　to　cry；　or　at　least　fighting　the　urge。
　Ott　unfastened　the　clasps　on　the　tacklebox　and　opened　the　lid。　He　had　never　seen　such　an　eclectic　collection　of　gadgets：　rainbow…colored　worms　and　frogs　and　plastic　minnows　and　even　tiny　rubber　snakes；　all　bristling　with　diamond…sharpened　hooks。　The　lures　were　neatly　organized　on　eight　folding　trays。　Knives；　pliers；　stainless…steel　hook　removers；　sinkers；　swivels；　and　spools　of　leader　material　filled　the　bottom　of　the　box。
　In　a　violet　velvet　pouch　was　a　small　bronze　scale　used　for　weighing　bass。　The　numerals　on　the　scale　optimistically　went　up　to　twenty…five　pounds；　although　no　largemouth　bass　that　size　had　ever　been　caught。
　Of　the　scale；　Clarisse　remarked：　〃That　stupid　thing　cost　forty　bucks。　Bobby　said　it　was　tournament…certified；　whatever　that　means。　All　the　guys　had　the　same　model；　he　said；　so　nobody　could　cheat　on　the　weight。〃
　Ott　Pickney　carefully　fitted　the　bronze　scale　back　in　its　pouch。　He　returned　the　pouch　to　Bobby　Clinch's　tacklebox　and　closed　the　latches。
　Clarisse　sat　down　on　the　concrete　steps　in　the　garage　and　stared　sadly　at　the　bushel　of　orphaned　fishing　poles。　She　said；　〃This　is　what　Bobby's　life　was　all　about；　Mr。　Pickney。　Not　me　or　the　kids　or　the　job　at　the　phone　pany　。。。　just　this。　He　wasn't　happy　unless　he　was　out　on　the　lake。〃
　Finally　a　decent　quote；　Ott　thought；　and　scribbled　feverishly　in　his　notebook。　He　wasn't　happy　unless　he　was　fishing　on　the　lake。　Close　enough。
　It　wasn't　until　later；　as　Ott　Pickney　was　driving　back　to　the　newspaper　office；　that　it　hit　him　like　a　fist　in　the　gut：　R。　J。　Decker　was　right。　Something　odd　was　going　on。
　If　Bobby　Clinch　had　taken　the　tacklebox　on　his　fateful　trip；　it　surely　would　have　been　lost　in　the　boat　accident。
　So　why　had　he　gone　to　Lake　Jesup　without　it？
　
　Skink's　boat　was　a　bare　twelve…foot　skiff　with　peeling　oars　and　splinters　on　the　seat　planks。
　〃Get　in；〃　he　told　R。　J。　Decker。
　Decker　sat　in　the　prow　and　Skink　shoved　off。　It　was　a　chilly　night　under　a　muffled　sky；　an　unbroken　mat　of　high　gray　clouds；　pushed　south　by　a　cold　breeze。　Skink　set　a　Coleman　lantern　in　the　center　of　the　skiff；　next　to　Decker's　weatherproof　camera　bag。
　〃No　bugs；〃　Skink　remarked。　〃Not　with　this　wind。〃
　He　had　brought　two　fishing　rods　that　looked　like　flea…market　specials。　The　fiberglass　was　brown　and　faded；　the　reels　tarnished　and　dull。　The　outfits　bore　no　resemblance　to　the　sparkling　masterpiece　that　Decker　had　seen　displayed　so　reverently　in　Bobby　Clinch's　casket。
　Skink　rowed　effortlessly；　wavelets　kissed　at　the　bow　as　the　little　boat　crossed　Lake　Jesup。　Decker　enjoyed　the　quiet　ride　in　the　cool　night。　He　was　still　slightly　uneasy　around　Skink；　but　he　was　beginning　to　like　the　guy；　even　if　he　was　a　head　case。　Decker　had　met　a　few　like　Skink；　eccentric　hoary　loners。　Some　were　hiding；　some　were　running；　some　just　waiting　for　something；　or　someone；　to　catch　up。　That　was　Skink；　waiting。　Decker　would　give　him　plenty　of　room。
　〃Looks　like　no　one　else　is　out　tonight；〃　he　said　to　Skink。
　〃Ha；　they're　everywhere；〃　Skink　said。　He　rowed　with　his　back　to　Decker。　Decker　wished　he'd　take　off　the　damn　shower　cap；　but　couldn't　figure　a　way　to　broach　the　subject。
　〃How　do　you　know　which　way　to　go？〃　he　asked。
　〃There's　a　trailer　park　due　northwest。　Lights　shine　through　the　trees；〃　Skink　said。　〃They　leave　'em　on　all　night；　too。　Old　folks　who　live　there；　they're　scared　if　the　lights　go　off。　Wild　noises　tend　to　get　loud　in　the　darkness…you　ever　noticed　that；　Miami？　Pay　attention　now：　the　boat　is　the　face　of　a　clock；　and　you're　sittin'　at　midnight。　The　trailer　park　lights　are　ten　o'clock…〃
　〃I　see。〃
　〃Good。　Now　look　around　about　two…thirty；　see　there？　More　lights。　That's　a　Zippy　Mart　on　Route　222。〃　Skink　described　all　this　without　once　turning　around。　〃Which　way　we　headed　from　camp；　Miami？〃
　〃Looks　like　due　north。〃
　〃Good；〃　Skink　said。　〃Got　myself　a　fuckin'　Eagle　Scout　in　the　boat。〃
　Decker　didn't　know　what　this　giant　fruitcake　was　up　to；　but　a　boat　ride　sure　beat　hell　out　of　an　all…night　divorce　surveillance。
　Skink　stopped　rowing　after　twenty　minutes。　He　set　the　lantern　on　the　seat　plank　and　picked　up　one　of　the　fishing　rods。　From　the　prow　Decker　watched　him　fiddling　with　the　line；　and　heard　him　curse　under　his　breath。
　Finally　Skink　pivoted　on　the　seat　and　handed　Decker　the　spinning　rod。　Tied　to　the　end　of　the　line　was　a　long　purple　rubber　lure。　Decker　figured　it　was　supposed　to　be　an　eel；　a　snake；　or　a　worm　with　thyroid。　Skink's　knot　was　hardly　the　tightest　that　Decker　had　ever　seen。
　〃Let's　see　you　cast；〃　Skink　said。
　Decker　held　the　rod　in　his　right　hand。　He　took　it　back　over　his　shoulder　and　made　a　motion　like　he　was　throwing　a　baseball。　The　rubber　lure　landed　with　a　slap　four　feet　from　the　boat。
　〃That　sucks；〃　Skink　said。　〃Try　opening　the　bail。〃
　He　showed　Decker　how　to　open　the　face　of　the　reel；　and　how　to　control　the　line　with　the　tip　of　his　forefinger。　He　demonstrated　how　the　wrist；　not　the　arm；　supplied　the　power　for　the　cast。　After　a　half…dozen　tries；　Decker　was　winging　the　purple　eel　sixty…five　feet。
　〃All　right；〃　Skink　said。　He　turned　off　the　Coleman　lantern。
　The　boat　drifted　at　the　mouth　of　a　small　cove；　where　the　water　lay　as　flat　as　a　smoky　mirror。　Even　on　a　starless　night　the　lake　gave　off　its　own　gray　light。　Decker　could　make　out　an　apron　of　pines　along　the　shore；　around　the　boat　were　thick…stemmed　lily　pads；　cypress　nubs；　patches　of　tall　reeds。
　〃Go　to　it；〃　said　Skink。
　〃Where？〃　Decker　said。　〃Won't　I　get　snagged　on　all　these　lilies？〃
　〃That's　a　weedless　hook　on　the　end　of　your　line。　Cast　just　like　you　were　doing　before；　then　think　like　a　nightcrawler。　Make　it　dance　like　a　goddamn　worm　that　knows　it's　about　to　get　eaten。〃
　Decker　made　a　good　cast。　The　lure　plopped　into　the　pads。　As　he　retrieved　it；　he　waggled　the　rod　in　a　lame　attempt　to　make　the　plastic　bait　slither。
　〃Jesus　Christ；　it's　not　a　fucking　breadstick；　it's　a　snake。〃　Skink　snatched　the　outfit　from　Decker's　hands　and　made　a　tremendous　cast。　The　lure　made　a　distant　plop　as　it　landed　close　to　the　shoreline。　〃Now　watch　the　tip　of　the　rod；〃　Skink　instructed。　〃Watch　my　wrists。〃
　The　snake…eel…worm　skipped　across　the　lily　pads　and　wriggled　across　the　plane　of　the　water。　Decker　had　to　admit　it　looked　alive。
　When　the　lure　was　five　feet　from　the　boat；　it　seemed　to　explode。　Or　something　exploded　beneath　it。　Skink　yanked　back；　hard；　but　the　eel　flew　out　of　the　water　and　thwacked　into　his　shower　cap。
　Decker's　chest　pounded　in　a　spot　right　under　his　throat。　Only　bubbles　and　foam　floated　in　the　water　where　the　thing　had　been。
　〃What　the　hell　was　that？〃　he　stammered。
　〃Hawg；〃　Skink　said。　〃Good　one；　too。〃　He　unhooked　the　fake　eel　from　his　cap　and　handed　the　fishing　rod　back　to　Decker。　〃You　try。　Quick　now；　while　he's　still　hot　in　the　belly。〃
　Decker　made　a　cast　in　the　same　direction。　His　fingers　trembled　as　he　jigged　the　rubber　creature　across　the　surface　of　the　cove。
　〃Water's　nervous；〃　Skink　said；　drying　his　beard。　〃Slow　it　down　a　tad。〃
　〃Like　this？〃　Decker　whispered。
　〃Yeah。〃
　Decker　he