ch.nativetongue-第49章

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　〃Maybe　not；〃　Skink　said。　〃I　think　the　Mojo's　rising。〃
　The　trooper　always　got　lost　when　Skink　started　quoting　old　rock…and…roll　songs；　someday　he　was　going　to　sit　Skink's　shiny　ass　down　and　make　him　listen　to　Aretha。　Put　some　soul　in　his　system。　Jim　Tile　said；　〃I've　got　a　life；　too。　Can't　spend　the　rest　of　it　looking　out　for　you。〃
　Skink　sagged　against　the　car　door。　〃Jim；　they're　paving　the　goddamn　island。〃
　〃Not　the　whole　thing…〃
　〃But　this　is　how　it　begins；〃　Skink　said。　〃Jesus　Christ；　you　ought　to　know。　This　is　how　it　begins！〃
　There　was　no　point　in　pushing　it。　The　state　had　bought　up　nearly　all　North　Key　Largo　for　preservation；　the　Amazing　Kingdom　and　the　Falcon　Trace　property　were　essentially　all　that　remained　in　private　hands。　Still；　Skink　was　not　celebrating。
　Jim　Tile　said；　〃This　guy　you　recruited…〃
　〃I　didn't　recruit　him。〃
　〃Whatever。　He's　in　it；　that's　the　main　thing。〃
　〃Apparently　so；〃　Skink　said。　〃Apparently　he's　serious。〃
　〃So　locking　you　up　won't　do　any　good；　will　it？　Not　with　him　still　out　there。〃　The　trooper　put　on　his　hat　and　adjusted　it　out　of　habit。　In　the　darkness　of　the　car；　Skink　couldn't　read　the　expression　on　his　friend's　face。　Jim　Tile　said；　〃Promise　me　one　thing；　all　right？　Talk　some　sense　to　the　boy。　He's　new　at　it；　Governor；　and　he　could　get　hurt。　That　stunt　with　the　bulldozers；　it's　not　cool。〃
　〃I　know；〃　said　Skink；　〃but　it's　got　a　certain　flair。〃
　〃Listen　to　me；〃　Jim　Tile　said　sternly。　〃Already　he's　got　some　serious　people　after　his　ass；　you　understand？　There's　things　I　can　help　with　and　things　I　can't。〃
　Skink　nodded。　〃I'll　talk　to　him；　I　promise。　And　thanks。〃
　Then　he　was　gone。　Jim　Tile　reached　across　to　shut　the　door　and　his　arm　instantly　was　enveloped　by　an　influx　of　mosquitoes。　Frenzied　humming　filled　the　car。
　He　stomped　the　accelerator　and　the　big　Crown　Victoria　sprayed　a　fusillade　of　gravel　into　the　mangroves。　Westbound　at　a　hundred　fifteen　miles　an　hour；　the　trooper　rolled　down　the　windows　to　let　the　wind　suck　the　bugs　from　the　car。
　〃Two　of　them。〃　His　words　were　swallowed　in　the　roar　of　the　open　night。　〃Now　I　got　two　of　the　crazy　bastards。〃
　
　TWENTY…ONE
　Carrie　Lanier's　place　was　furnished　as　exquisitely　as　any　mobile　home。　It　had　a　microwave；　an　electric　can　opener；　a　stove；　a　nineteen…inch　color　TV；　two　paddle　fans　and　a　Naugahyde　convertible　sofa　where　Joe　Winder　slept。　But　there　was　no　music；　so　on　his　third　day　as　a　fugitive　Winder　borrowed　Carrie's　car　and　went　back　to　the　apartment　to　retrieve　his　stereo　system　and　rock　tapes。　He　was　not　totally　surprised　to　find　that　his　place　had　been　broken；　entered　and　ransacked；　judging　by　the　viciousness　of　the　search；　Pedro　Luz　was　the　likely　intruder。　The　inventory　of　losses　included　the　portable　television；　three　champagne　glasses；　a　tape　recorder；　the　plumbing　fixtures；　the　mattress；　a　small　Matisse　print　and　the　toaster。　One　of　Nina's　pink　bras；　which　she　had　forgotten；　had　been　desecrated　ominously　with　cigarette　burns；　and　hung　from　a　Tiffany　lamp。　Also；　the　freshwater　aquarium　had　been　shattered；　and　the　twin　Siamese　fighting　fish　had　been　killed。　It　appeared　to　Joe　Winder　that　their　heads　were　pinched　off。
　The　stereo　tuner　and　tape　deck　escaped　harm；　though　the　turntable　was　in　pieces。　A　pair　of　hedge　clippers　protruded　from　one　of　the　speakers；　the　other；　fortunately；　was　undamaged。
　〃It's　better　than　nothing；〃　Joe　Winder　said　when　he　got　back　to　the　trailer。　〃Low　fidelity　is　better　than　no　fidelity。〃
　While　he　reassembled　the　ponents；　Carrie　Lanier　explored　the　box　of　cassettes。　Every　now　and　then　she　would　smile　or　go　〃Hmmm〃　in　an　amused　tone。
　Finally　Winder　looked　up　from　the　nest　of　colored　wires　and　said；　〃You　don't　like　my　music？〃
　〃I　like　it　just　fine；〃　she　said。　〃I'm　learning　a　lot　about　you。　We've　got　The　Kinks。　Seeger　live　at　Cobo　Hall。　Mick　and　the　boys。〃
　〃Living　in　the　past；　I　know。〃
　〃Oh；　baloney。〃　She　began　to　stack　the　tapes　alphabetically　on　a　shelf　made　from　raw　plywood　and　cinder　blocks。
　〃Do　you　have　a　typewriter？〃　he　asked。
　〃In　the　closet；〃　Carrie　said。　〃Are　you　going　to　start　writing　again？〃
　〃I　wouldn't　call　it　writing。〃
　She　got　out　the　typewriter；　an　old　Olivetti　manual；　and　made　a　place　for　it　on　the　dinette。　〃This　is　a　good　idea；〃　she　said　to　Joe　Winder。　〃You'll　feel　much　better。　No　more　shooting　at　heavy　machinery。〃
　He　reminded　her　that　he　hadn't　actually　pulled　the　trigger　on　the　bulldozers。　Then　he　said；　〃I　stopped　writing　a　long　time　ago。　Stopped　being　a　journalist；　anyway。〃
　〃But　you　didn't　burn　out；　you　sold　out。〃
　〃Thanks；〃　Winder　said；　〃for　the　reminder。〃
　It　was　his　fault　for　staggering　down　memory　lane　in　the　first　place。　Two　nights　earlier；　Carrie　had　quizzed　him　about　the　newspaper　business；　wanted　to　know　what　kind　of　stories　he'd　written。　So　he'd　told　her　about　the　ones　that　had　stuck　with　him。　The　murder　trial　of　a　thirteen…year…old　boy　who'd　shot　his　little　sister　because　she　had　borrowed　his　Aerosmith　album　without　asking。　The　marijuana…smuggling　ring　led　by　a　fugitive　former　justice　of　the　Florida　Supreme　Court。　The　bribery　scandal　in　which　dim…witted　Dade　County　building　inspectors　were　caught　soliciting　Lotto　tickets　as　payoffs。　The　construction　of　a　47　million　superhighway　by　a　Mafia　contractor　whose　formula　for　high…grade　asphalt　included　human　body　parts。
　Joe　Winder　did　not　mention　the　story　that　had　ended　his　career。　He　offered　nothing　about　his　father。　When　Carrie　Lanier　had　asked　why　he'd　left　the　newspaper　for　public　relations；　he　simply　said；　〃Because　of　the　money。〃　She　had　seemed　only　mildly　interested　in　his　short　time　as　a　Disney　World　flack；　but　was　impressed　by　the　reckless　sexual　behavior　that　had　gotten　him　fired。　She　said　it　was　a　healthy　sign　that　he　had　not　bee　a　corporate　drone；　that　the　spark　of　rebellion　still　glowed　in　his　soul。　〃Maybe　in　my　pants；〃　Winder　said；　〃not　in　my　soul。〃
　Carrie　repeated　what　she　had　told　him　the　first　night：　〃You　could　always　go　back　to　being　a　reporter。〃
　〃No；　I'm　afraid　not。〃
　〃So　what　is　it　you　want　to　type…love　letters？　Maybe　a　confession？〃　Mischievously　she　tapped　the　keys　of　the　Olivetti；　two　at　a　time；　as　if　she　were　playing　〃Chopsticks。〃
　The　trailer　was　getting　smaller　and　smaller。　Joe　Winder　felt　the　heat　lick　at　his　eardrums。　He　said；　〃There's　a　reason　you've　hidden　that　gun。〃
　〃Because　it's　not　your　style。〃　Carrie　slapped　the　carriage　and　made　the　typewriter　ring。　〃God　gave　you　a　talent　for　expression；　a　gift　with　the　language。〃
　Winder　moaned　desolately。　〃Have　you　ever　read　a　single　word　I've　written？〃
　〃No；〃　she　admitted。
　〃So　my　alleged　talent　for　expression；　this　gift…〃
　〃I'm　giving　you　the　benefit　of　the　doubt；〃　she　said。　The　fact　is；　I　don't　trust　you　with　a　firearm。　Now　e　help　me　open　the　wine。〃
　
　Every　evening　at　nine　sharp；　visitors　to　the　Amazing　Kingdom　of　Thrills　gathered　on　both　sides　of　Kingsbury　Lane；　the　park's　main　thoroughfare；　to　buy　overpriced　junk　food　and　await　the　rollicking　pageant　that　was　the　climax　of　the　day's　festivities。　All　the　characters　in　the　Kingdom　were　expected　to　participate；　from　the　gunslingers　to　the　porpoise　trainers　to　the　elves。　Sometimes　a　real　marching　band　would　acpany　the　procession；　but　in　the　slow　months　of　summer　the　music　was　usually　canned；　piped　in　through　the　garbage　chutes。　Ten　brightly　colored　floats　prised　the　heart　of　the　parade；　although　mechanical　problems　frequently　reduced　the　number　of　entries　by　half。　These　were　organized　in　a　story　line　based　loosely　on　the　settlement　of　Florida；　going　back　to　the　days　of　the　Spaniards。　The　plundering；　genocide；　defoliation　and　gang　rape　that　typified　the　peninsula's　past　had　been　toned　down　for　the　sake　of　Francis　X。　Kingsbury's　younger；　more　impressionable　customers；　also；　it　would　have　been　difficult　to　find　a　musical　score　suitable　to　acpany　a　mass　disemboweling　of　French　Huguenots。
　For　the　feel…good　purposes　of　the　Amazing　Kingdom's　nightly　pageant；　the　sordid　history　of　Florida　was　pressed　into　a　series　of　amiable　and　bloodless　encounters。　Floats　celebrated　such　fabricated　milestones　as　the　first　beachfront　Thanksgiving；　when　friendly　settlers　and　gentle　Tequesta　Indians　shared　wild　turkey　and　fresh　coconut　milk　under　the　palms