ch.doublewhammy-第39章

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big　arms；　was　a　tired　voice　that　said；　〃Okay；　Miami；　I'm　impressed。〃
　
　Skink　slipped　unconscious　in　the　back　seat。　His　head　sagged　against　R。　J。　Decker's　shoulder　and　the　breath　rattled　deep　in　his　ribs。　Decker　felt　warm　drops　seeping　through　his　shirt。
　〃He's　lost　that　eye；〃　Al　Garcia　said　grimly；　chewing　on　a　cigarette　as　he　drove。
　Decker　had　seen　it　too。　Skink's　left　eye　was　a　jellied　mess…Kyle；　the　big　kid；　had　been　wearing　Texas　roach…stomper　boots。　A　whitish　fluid　oozed　down　Skink's　cheek。
　〃He　needs　a　doctor；〃　Decker　said。
　So　did　the　teenage　thugs；　Garcia　thought；　but　they　would　live…no　thanks　to　Decker。　Barehanded　he　would　have　killed　them　all　if　Skink　hadn't　stopped　him。　Garcia　felt　certain　that　the　kids　wouldn't　tell　the　police　about　the　beating…Jeff；　the　acne　twerp；　was　the　type　to　spill　the　beans　and　the　others　knew　it。　Together　they'd　invent　some　melodramatic　story　of　what　had　happened　under　the　bridge；　something　that　would　play　well　at　school。　Garcia　was　pretty　sure　two　of　them　would　spend　the　rest　of　the　semester　in　the　hospital；　anyway。
　Decker　felt　exhausted　and　depressed。　His　arms　ached　and　his　knuckles　stung。　He　touched　Skink's　face　and　felt　a　crust　of　blood　on　the　big　man's　beard。
　〃Maybe　I　ought　to　give　up；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Don't　be　a　moron。〃
　〃Once　we　get　him　to　a　doctor；　you　drop　me　off　on　the　highway　and　haul　ass　back　to　Dade　County。　Nobody'll　know　a　thing。〃
　〃Fuck　you；〃　Garcia　said。
　〃Al；　it's　not　worth　it。〃
　〃Speak　for　yourself。〃　It　was　Skink。　He　raised　his　head　and　wiped　his　face　with　the　sleeve　of　his　rainsuit。　With　a　forefinger　he　probed　his　broken　eye　socket　and　said；　〃Great。〃
　〃There's　a　hospital　near　the　St。　Lucie　exit；〃　Garcia　said。
　Skink　said；　〃Naw；　just　keep　driving。〃
　〃I'm　sorry；　captain；〃　Decker　said。　〃We　shouldn't　have　left　you　alone。〃
　〃Alone　is　how　I　like　it。〃　He　slid　over　to　the　corner　of　the　back　seat。　His　face　sank　into　the　shadow。
　
　Garcia　pulled　off　the　Turnpike　at　Fort　Pierce　and　stopped　at　a　Pic　'n'　Pay　convenience　store。　Decker　got　out　to　make　a　phone　call。　While　he　was　gone　Skink　stirred　again　and　straightened　up。　In　the　washhouse　light　his　face　looked　pulpy　and　lopsided；　Garcia　could　tell　he　was　in　agony。
　He　said；　〃Hang　in　there；　Governor。〃
　Skink　stared　at　him。　〃What；　you　lifted　some　fingerprints？〃
　Garcia　nodded。　〃From　a　brass　doorknob。　That　night　at　the　chiropractor's　house。　Got　a　solid　match　from　the　FBI　on　an　ancient　missing…persons　case。〃
　〃A　closed　case；〃　Skink　said。
　〃A　famous　case。〃
　Skink　gazed　out　the　window　of　the　car。
　〃Who　else　knows？〃　he　said。
　〃Nobody　but　me　and　some　G…7　clerk　at　the　Hoover　Building。〃
　〃I　see。〃
　Garcia　said；　〃For　what　it's　worth；　I　don't　like　quitters；　Mr。　Tyree；　but　I　suspect　you　had　your　reasons。〃
　〃I'll　make　no　goddamn　apologies；〃　Skink　said。　After　a　pause　he　added：　〃Don't　tell　Decker。〃
　〃No　reason　to；〃　said　Al　Garcia。
　Decker　came　back　with　hot　coffee　and　Danish。　Skink　said　he　wasn't　hungry。　〃Keep　your　eyes　out；　though；〃　he　added　when　they　were　back　on　the　road。
　〃I　got　you　something。〃　Decker　handed　him　a　brown　bag。
　Skink　opened　it　and　grinned　what　was　left　of　his　TV　smile。
　Inside　the　bag　was　a　new　pair　of　black　sunglasses。
　Just　before　midnight　he　suddenly　groaned　and　passed　out　again。　Decker　tore　up　his　own　shirt　for　a　press　bandage　and　wrapped　the　bad　eye。　He　held　Skink's　head　in　his　lap　and　told　Garcia　to　drive　faster。
　Minutes　after　they　crossed　the　county　line　into　Harney；　a　highway…patrol　car　appeared　in　the　rearview　mirror　and　practically　glued　itself　to　the　Chrysler's　bumper。
　〃Oh　hell；〃　Al　Garcia　said。
　But　R。　J。　Decker　was　feeling　much　better。
　
　Deacon　Johnson　was　proud　of　himself。　He　had　gone　down　to　the　welfare　office　near　the　Superdome　and　found　a　nine…year…old　blond　girl　who　was　double…jointed　at　the　elbows。　When　she　popped　her　bony　arms　out　they　looked　magnificently　grotesque；　an　effect　that　would　be　amplified　dramatically　by　Charlie　Weeb　s　television　cameras。　Deacon　Johnson　asked　the　girl's　mother　if　he　could　rent　her　daughter　for　a　couple　of　days　and　the　mother　said　sure；　for　a　hundred　bucks…but　no　funny　business。　Deacon　Johnson　said　don't　worry；　ma'am；　this　is　a　wholesome　Christian　enterprise；　and　led　the　little　girl　to　his　limousine。
　At　the　downtown　production　studios　of　the　Outdoor　Christian　Network；　Deacon　Johnson　took　the　little　girl；　whose　name　was　Darla；　to　meet　the　famous　Reverend　Charles　Weeb。
　Twirling　his　eyeglasses　in　one　hand；　Weeb　looked　relaxed　behind　his　desk。　He　wore　a　powder…blue　pullover；　white　parachute　pants；　and　a　pair　of　black　Nike　running　shoes。　A　young　woman　with　astounding　breasts　was　trimming　his　famous　cinnamon…blond　eyebrows。
　Deacon　Johnson　said；　〃Darla；　show　the　preacher　your　little　trick。〃
　Darla　took　one　step　forward　and　extended　both　arms；　as　if　awaiting　handcuffs。
　〃Well？〃　said　Charlie　Weeb。
　Darla　closed　her　eyes；　strained…and　chucked　her　elbows　out　of　joint　at　preposterous　angles。　The　sockets　emitted　two　little　pops　as　they　disengaged。
　The　statuesque　eyebrow　barber　nearly　wilted。
　〃Bravo！〃　said　Charlie　Weeb。
　〃Thank　you；〃　said　Darla。　Her　pale　arms　hung　crookedly　at　her　sides。
　〃Izzy；　whadya　think？〃　Weeb　said。　〃I　think　we're　talking　the　big　P。〃
　〃Polio？〃　Deacon　Johnson　frowned。
　〃Why　the　hell　not？〃
　Deacon　Johnson　said；　〃Well；　it's　very　unmon　these　days。〃
　〃Perfect。〃
　〃Except　everybody　knows　there's　a　vaccine。〃
　〃Not　in　the　bowels　of　Appalachian　coal　country；〃　Charlie　Weeb　said。　〃Not　for　a　poor　little　orphan　girl　raised　on　grubworms　and　drainwater。〃
　Darla　spoke　up。　〃I　live　in　a　'partment　on　St。　Charles；〃　she　said　firmly。　〃With　my　momma。〃
　〃Talk　to　this　child；〃　Charlie　Weeb　said　to　Deacon　Johnson。　〃Explain　how　TV　works。〃
　It　was　a　good　thing　for　Charlie　Weeb　that　there　was　no　audience　for　the　dress　rehearsals。　At　first　Darla　insisted　on　popping　her　elbows　in　and　out；　in　and　out…just　to　show　off…and　it　took　Deacon　Johnson　quite　some　time　to　make　her　understand　the　theatrical　importance　of　timing。　At　a　given　cue　Darla　was　supposed　to　roll　her　eyes；　loll　her　tongue；　and　fall　writhing　onto　the　stage；　when　she　rose　again　to　face　the　cameras　and　audience；　her　polio　would　be　cured。　To　demonstrate　the　success　of　his　ministrations；　the　Reverend　Charles　Weeb　would　then　toss　her　a　beach　ball。
　The　cue　for　Darla's　fit　was　to　be　when　Weeb　raised　his　arms　and　implored：　〃Lord　Jesus；　mend　this　poor　Christian　creature！〃　The　first　few　times；　Darla　jumped　the　gun　badly；　collapsing　on　the　word　〃Jesus〃　so　that　the　sound　of　her　limp　form　hitting　the　stage　stepped　all　over　Charlie　Weeb's　big　climax。　Once　Deacon　Johnson　had　coached　Darla　past　this　problem；　the　next　challenge　was　teaching　her　to　catch　the　beach　ball。　The　first　few　times　she　simply　let　the　ball　bounce　off　her　chest；　and　the　noise　of　it　smacking　the　lanyard　mike　nearly　blew　out　the　engineer's　eardrums。　Darla　dropped　the　ball　so　many　times　in　rehearsal　that　the　Reverend　Weeb　lost　his　Christian　temper　and　called　her　a　〃palsied　little　twat〃…a　term　which；　fortunately；　the　child　did　not　understand。　When　Weeb　demanded　that　they　go　back　to　the　lidocaine…injection　method；　Deacon　Johnson　quickly　intervened　and　suggested　now　was　a　good　time　for　lunch。
　Miraculously；　the　live　Sunday　broadcast　went　off　without　a　hitch。　The　crew　did　an　extraordinary　job　making　Darla　appear　sallow　and　gray　and　mortally　ill。　When　the　cue　came；　she　collapsed　perfectly　and…after　much　thrashing…arose　beaming　and　cherubic　and　healed。　Reviewing　the　videotapes　later；　the　Reverend　Weeb　marveled　aloud　at　how　deftly　and　invisibly　little　Darla　had　reengaged　her　elbow　joints。　Only　on　slo…mo　could　you　see　her　do　it。　And；　at　the　end；　she　even　caught　the　beach　ball。　Charlie　Weeb　had　been　so　genuinely　overjoyed　that　he　hadn't　even　needed　the　glycerine　tears。
　They　ran　the　800　number　for　five　full　minutes　on　the　TV　screen　following　Darla's　performance。　That　evening；　when　Charlie　Weeb　got　the　final　figures　from　the　phone　bank；　he　called　Deacon　Johnson　at　home。
　〃Guess　the　totals；　Izzy。〃
　〃I　really　don't　know。　A　million？〃
　Weeb　cackled　and　said；　〃Guess　again；　sucker。〃
　Deacon　Johnson　was　too　tired　to　guess。　〃I　don't　know；　Charles；〃　he　said。
　〃How　does　a　million…four　sound？〃　the　Reverend　Weeb　exulted。
　The　deacon　was　amazed。　〃Holy　shit；〃　he　said。
　〃Exactly；〃　said　Charlie　Weeb。　〃Are　you　thinking　what　I'm　thinking？〃
　
　Thomas　Curl　had　been　thoroughly　enjoying　himself　at　the　Grand　Bay　Hotel　and　was　annoyed　that　he　had　to　depart　so　suddenly。　One　morning；　while　eating　eggs　Benedict　in　the　sunken　bathtub；　he　had　received　a　strange　and　unsettling　phone　call。　Thomas　Curl　could　tell　by　the　scratchy　connection　that　it　was　long　distance；　and　he　could　tell　by　the　voice　that　it　wasn't　either　Dennis　Gault　or　his　Uncle　Shawn；　the　only　two　men　who　knew　where　to　find　him。　The　voice　sounded　to　Thomas　Curl　like　it　might　belong　to　a　nigger；　but　Curl　couldn't　be　sure。　Whoever　it　was　had　called　him　by　name；　so　Curl　had　hung　up　the　phone　immediately　and　decided　to　check　out　of　the　hotel。　He　was　worried　that　the　black…sounding　voice　might　turn　out　to　be　Decker's　crazy　gorilla　friend　Skink；　who　would　think　nothing　of　breaking　into　a　fancy　suite　and　drowning　somebody　in　a　sunken　tub。
　Thomas　Curl　took　a　more　modest　room　at　the　Airport　Marriott　and　shrewdly　registered　under　the　name　〃Juan　Gomez；〃　which　he　figured　was　the　Miami　equivalent　of　John　Smith。　The　fact　that　Thomas　Curl　looked　about　as　Hispanic　as　Gale　Yarborough　didn't　stop　him；　and　his　Juan　Gomez　signature　drew　scarcely　a　raised　eyebrow　from　a　desk　clerk　named　Rosario。
　That　evening；　after　a　room…service　steak；　Thomas　Curl　went　to　work。　R。　J。　Decker's　address　was　in　the　phone　book；　and　now　it　was　only　a　matter　of　finding　a　decent　map　of　Bade　County。
　The　Palmetto　Expressway；　Thomas　Curl　decided；　was　worse　than　anything　in　New　Orleans；　worse　even　than　Interstate　4　in　Orlando。　Thomas　Curl　had　always　considered　himself　a　fast　and　sharp…witted　driver；　but　the　Palmetto　shattered　his　confidence。　It　was　as　if　he'd　stalled　out　in　the　center　lane；　with　bleating　semis　and　muffler…dragging　low…riders　and　cherry　Porsches　speeding　past　on　both　sides。　Thomas　Curl　had　heard　the　wild　tales　about　Miami　drivers；　and　now　he　could　go　back　home　and　say　it　was　all　true。　They　were　moving　so　damn　fast　you　couldn't　even　flip　them　the　finger。
　He　was　delighted　when　he　found　his　exit　and　got　on　a　street　with　actual　traffic　lights。　The　trailer　park　was　at　the　dark　end　of　a　deadend　street。　Thomas　Curl　poked　the　car　around　slowly　until　he　found　the　mailbox　to　R。　J。　Decker's　mobile　home。　The　lights　were　off　and　the　trailer　looked　empty；　as　Thomas　Curl　knew　it　would　be。　An　older　grey　sedan；　a　Dodge　or　Plymouth；　sat　in　the　gravel　drive；　the　rear　tires　looked　low　on　air；　as　if　the　car　hadn't　been　driven　recently。　Curl　parked　behind　it　and　cut　off　his　headlights。　He　took　a　sixteen…inch　flathead　screwdriver　from　under　the　front　seat。　He　was　not　the　world's　greatest　burglar　but　he　knew　the　fundamentals；　including　the　fact　that　trailers　usually　were　a　cinch。
　Another　cardinal　rule　of　burglary　was：　Leave　your　gun　in　the　car　unless　you　want　another　nickel　tacked　onto　your　prison　sentence。　Thomas　Curl　began　to　have　second　thoughts　about　this　rule　after　he　had　gott