ch.doublewhammy-第4章

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ing　down　his　jawline。
　〃Thanks！〃　he　shouted　as　Dickie　Lockhart　started　up　his　boat。　〃Thanks　a　million！〃
　〃Don't　mention　it；〃　the　champion　replied；　leaning　on　the　throttle。
　
　R。　J。　Decker　had　been　born　in　Texas。　His　father　had　been　an　FBI　man；　and　the　family　had　lived　in　Dallas　until　December　of　1963。　Two　weeks　after　Kennedy　was　shot；　Decker's　father　was　transferred　to　Miami　and　assigned　to　a　crack　squad　whose　task　was　to　ensure　that　no　pals　of　Fidel　Castro　took　a　shot　at　LBJ。　It　was　a　tense　and　exciting　time；　but　it　passed。　Decker's　father　eventually　wound　up　in　a　typically　stupefying　FBI　desk　job；　got　fat；　and　died　of　clogged　arteries　at　age　forty…nine。　One　of　Decker's　older　brothers　grew　up　to　be　a　cop　in　Minneapolis。　The　other　sold　Porsches　to　cocaine　dealers　in　San　Francisco。
　A　good　athlete　and　a　fair　student　in　college；　R。　J。　Decker　surprised　all　his　classmates　by　being　a　professional　photographer。　Cameras　were　his　private　passion；　he　was　fascinated　with　the　art　of　freezing　time　in　the　eye。　He　never　told　anyone　but　it　was　the　Zapruder　film　that　had　done　it。　When　Life　magazine　had　e　out　with　those　grainy　movie　pictures　of　the　assassination；　R。　J。　Decker　was　only　eight　years　old。　Still　he　was　transfixed　by　the　frames　of　the　wounded　president　and　his　wife。　The　pink　of　her　dress；　the　black　blur　of　the　Lincoln…horrific　images；　yet　magnetic。　The　boy　never　imagined　such　a　moment　could　be　captured　and　kept　for　history。　Soon　afterward　he　got　his　first　camera。
　For　Decker；　photography　was　more　than　just　a　hobby；　it　was　a　way　of　looking　at　the　world。　He　had　been　cursed　with　a　short　temper　and　a　cynical　outlook；　so　the　darkroom　became　a　soothing　place；　and　the　ceremony　of　making　pictures　a　gentle　therapy。
　Much　to　his　frustration；　the　studio…photography　business　proved　unbearably　dull　and　profitable。　Decker　did　weddings；　bar　mitzvahs；　portraits；　and　mercial　jobs；　mostly　magazine　advertisements。　He　was　once　paid　nine　thousand　dollars　to　take　the　perfect　picture　of　a　bottle　of　Midol。　The　ad　showed　up　in　all　the　big　women's　magazines；　and　Decker　clipped　several　copies　to　send　to　his　friends；　as　a　joke　on　himself。
　And；　of　course；　there　were　the　fashion　layouts　with　professional　models。　The　first　year　Decker　fell　in　love　seventeen　times。　The　second　year　he　let　the　Hasselblad　do　the　falling　in　love。　His　pictures　were　very　good；　he　was　making　large　sums　of　money；　and　he　was　bored　out　of　his　skull。
　One　afternoon　on　Miami　Beach；　while　Decker　was　on　a　mercial　shoot　for　a　new　tequila…scented　suntan　oil；　a　young　tourist　suddenly　tore　off　her　clothes　and　jumped　into　the　Atlantic　and　tried　to　drown　herself。　The　lifeguards　reached　her　just　in　time；　and　Decker　snapped　a　couple　of　frames　as　they　carried　her　from　the　surf。　The　woman's　blond　hair　was　tangled　across　her　cheeks；　her　eyes　were　puffy　and　half…closed；　and　her　lips　were　grey。　What　really　made　the　photograph　was　the　face　of　one　of　the　lifeguards　who　had　rescued　the　young　woman。　He'd　carefully　wrapped　his　arms　around　her　bare　chest　to　shield　her　from　the　gawkers；　and　in　his　eyes　Decker's　lens　had　captured　both　panic　and　pity。
　For　the　hell　of　it　Decker　gave　the　roll　of　film　to　a　newspaper　reporter　who　had　followed　the　paramedics　to　the　scene。　The　next　day　the　Miami　Sun　published　Decker's　photograph　on　the　front　page；　and　paid　him　the　grand　sum　of　thirty　dollars。　The　day　after　that；　the　managing　editor　offered　him　a　full…time　job　and　Decker　said　yes。
　In　some　ways　it　was　the　best　move　he　ever　made。　In　some　ways　it　was　the　worst。　Decker　only　wished　he　would　have　lasted　longer。
　
　He　thought　of　this　as　he　drove　into　Harney　County；　starting　a　new　case；　working　for　a　man　he　didn't　like　at　all。
　Harney　was　Dickie　Lockhart's　hometown；　and　the　personal　headquarters　of　his　bass…fishing　empire。
　Upon　arrival　the　first　thing　Decker　did　was　to　find　Ott　Pickney；　which　was　easy。　Ott　was　not　a　man　on　the　move。
　He　wrote　obituaries　for　the　Harney　Sentinel；　which　published　two　times　a　week；　three　during　boar　season。　The　leisurely　pace　of　the　small　newspaper　suited　Ott　Pickney　perfectly　because　it　left　plenty　of　time　for　golf　and　gardening。　Before　moving　to　Central　Florida；　Pickney　had　worked　for　seventeen　years　at　the　Miami　Sun；　which　is　where　Decker　had　met　him。　At　first　Decker　had　assumed　from　Ott's　sluggish　behavior　that　here　was　a　once…solid　reporter　languishing　in　the　twilight　of　his　career；　it　soon　became　clear　that　Ott　Pickney's　career　had　begun　in　twilight　and　grown　only　dimmer。　That　he　had　lasted　so　long　in　Miami　was　the　result　of　a　dense　newsroom　bureaucracy　that　always　seemed　to　find　a　place　for　him；　no　matter　how　useless　he　was。　Ott　was　one　of　those　newspaper　characters　who　got　passed　from　one　department　to　another　until；　after　so　many　years；　he　had　bee　such　a　sad　fixture　that　no　editor　wished　to　be　remembered　as　the　one　who　fired　him。　Consequently；　Ott　didn't　get　fired。　He　retired　from　the　Sun　at　full　pension　and　moved　to　Harney　to　write　obits　and　grow　prizewinning　orchids。
　
　R。　J。　Decker　found　Pickney　in　the　Sentinel's　newsroom；　such　as　it　was。　There　were　three　typewriters；　five　desks；　and　four　telephones。　Ott　was　lounging　at　the　coffee　machine；　nothing　had　changed。
　He　grinned　when　Decker　walked　in。　〃R。J。！　God　Almighty；　what　brings　you　here？　Your　car　break　down　or　what？〃
　Decker　smiled　and　shook　Ott's　hand。　He　noticed　that　Ott　was　wearing　baggy　brown　trousers　and　a　blue　Banlon　shirt。　Probably　the　last　Banlon　shirt　in　America。　How　could　you　not　like　a　guy　who　wasn't　ashamed　to　dress　like　this？
　〃You　look　great；〃　Decker　said。
　〃And　I　feel　great；　R。J。；　I　really　do。　Hey；　I　know　it's　not　exactly　the　big　city；　but　I　had　my　fill　of　that；　didn't　I？〃　Ott　was　talking　a　little　too　loudly。　〃We　got　out　just　in　time；　R。J。；　you　and　me。　That　paper　would　have　killed　both　of　us　one　way　or　another。〃
　〃It　tried。〃
　〃Yeah；　boy；〃　Ott　said。　〃Sandy；　get　over　here！　I　want　you　to　meet　somebody。〃　A　wrenlike　man　with　thick　eyeglasses　walked　over　and　nodded　cautiously　at　Decker。　〃R。J。；　this　is　Sandy　Kilpatrick；　my　editor。　Sandy；　this　is　R。　J。　Decker。　R。J。　and　I　worked　together　down　in　the　Magic　City。　I　wrote　the　prose；　he　took　the　snapshots。　We　covered　that　big　voodoo　murder　together；　remember；　R。J。？〃
　Decker　remembered。　He　remembered　it　wasn't　exactly　a　big　voodoo　murder。　Some　redneck　mechanic　in　Hialeah　had　killed　his　wife　by　sticking　her　with　pins；　safety　pins；　hundreds　of　them。　The　mechanic　had　read　something　about　voodoo　in　Argosy　magazine　and　had　totally　confused　the　rituals。　He　loaded　his　wife　up　on　Barbancourt　rum　and　started　pricking　away　until　she　bled　to　death。　Then　he　pretended　to　e　home　from　work　and　find　her　dead。　He　blamed　the　crime　on　a　Haitian　couple　down　the　street；　claiming　they　had　put　a　hex　on　his　house　and　Oldsmobile。　The　cops　didn't　go　for　this　and　the　redneck　mechanic　wound　up　on　Death　Row。
　As　Ott　was　reinventing　this　story；　Sandy　Kilpatrick　stared　at　R。　J。　Decker　the　way　visitors　from　Miami　got　stared　at　in　this　part　of　Florida。　Like　they　were　trouble。　Kilpatrick　obviously　had　heard　Ott's　voodoo…murder　story　about　four　hundred　times　and　soon　started　to　shrink　away。
　〃Nice　meeting　you；〃　Decker　said。
　Kilpatrick　nodded　again　as　he　slipped　out　of　the　office。
　〃Good　kid；〃　Ott　Pickney　said　avuncularly。　〃He's　learning。〃
　Decker　helped　himself　to　a　cup　of　coffee。　His　legs　were　stiff　from　the　long　drive。
　〃What　the　hell　brings　you　here？〃　Ott　asked　amiably。
　〃Fish；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Didn't　know　you　were　a　basser。〃
　〃I　thought　I'd　give　it　a　try；〃　Decker　said。　〃They　say　Harney's　a　real　hotspot　for　the　big　ones。〃
　〃Lunkers；〃　Ott　said。
　Decker　looked　at　him　quizzically。
　〃In　these　parts；　they're　not　big　ones；　they're　lunkers；〃　Ott　explained。　〃The　most　mammoth　bass　in　the　hemisphere。〃
　〃Hawgs；〃　Decker　said；　remembering　one　of　Dennis　Gaulfs　phrases。
　〃Sure；　you　got　it！〃
　〃Where's　the　best　place　to　try；　this　time　of　year？〃
　Ott　Pickney　sat　down　at　his　desk。　〃Boy；　R。J。；　I　really　can't　help　you　much。　The　man　to　see　is　Jamie　Belliroso；　our　sports　guy。〃
　〃Where　can　I　find　him？〃
　〃Maui；〃　Ott　Pickney　said。
　Jamie　Belliroso；　it　turned　out；　was　one　of　a　vanishing　breed　of　sportswriters　who　would　accept　any　junket　tossed　their　way；　as　long　as　gourmet　food　and　extensive　travel　were　involved。　This　month　it　was　a　marlin…fishing　extravaganza　in　Hawaii；　sponsored　by　a　pany　that　manufactured　polyethylene　fish　baits。　Jamie　Belliroso's　air　fare；　room；　and　board　would　all　be　paid　for　with　the　quiet　understanding　that　the　name　of　the　bait　pany　would　be　mentioned　a　mere　eight　or　ten　times　in　his　feature　article；　and　that　the　name　of　the　pany　would　be　spelled　correctly…which；　in　Belliroso's　case；　was　never　a　sure　thing。　In　the　meantime；　the　blue　marlin　were　striking　and　Jamie　was　enjoying　the　hell　out　of　Maui。
　〃When　will　he　be　back？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃Who　knows；〃　Ott　said。　〃From　Hawaii　he's　off　to　Christmas　Island　for　bonefish。〃
　Decker　said；　〃Anyone　else　who　could　help　me？　Someone　mentioned　a　guide　named　Dickie　Lockhart。〃
　Ott　laughed。　〃A　guide？　My　friend；　Dickie's　not　a　guide；　he's　a　god。　A　big…time　bass　pro。　The　biggest。〃
　〃What　does　that　mean？〃
　〃It　means　he　wouldn't　be　seen　in　the　same　boat　with　a　greenhorn　putz　like　you。　Besides；　Dickie　doesn't　hire　out。〃
　Decker　decided　not　to　mention　Dennis　Gaulf's　grave　allegations。　Ott　was　obviously　a　huge　fan　of　Dickie　Lockhart's。　Decker　wondered　if　the　whole　town　was　as　starstruck。
　〃There's　a　couple　good　guides　work　out　on　the　lake；〃　Ott　suggested。　〃Think　they're　up　to　two　hundred　dollars　a　day。〃
　The　world　has　gone　mad；　Decker　thought。　〃That's　too　rich　for　my　blood；〃　he　said　to　Ott。
　〃Yeah；　it's　steep　all　right；　but　they　don't　give　the　tourist　much　choice。　See；　they　got　a　union。〃
　〃A　union？〃　It　was　all　too　much。
　〃The　Lake　Jesup　Bass　Captains　Union。　They　keep　the　charter　rates　fixed；　I'm　afraid。〃
　〃Christ；　Ott；　I　came　here　to　catch　a　fish　and　you're　telling　me　the　lake's　locked　up　by　the　fucking　Izaak　Walton　division　of　the　Teamsters。　What　a　swell　little　town　you've　got　here。〃
　〃It's　not　like　that；〃　Ott　Pickney　said　in　a　you…don't…understand　tone。　〃Besides；　there's　other　options。　One；　rent　yourself　a　skiff　and　give　it　a　shot　alone…〃
　〃I　wouldn't　know　where　to　start；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Or　two；　you　can　try　this　guy　who　lives　out　at　the　lake。〃
　〃Don't　tell　me　he's　not　in　the　union？〃
　〃He's　the　only　one；〃　Ott　said。　〃When　you　meet　him　you'll　know　why。〃　Ott　rolled　his　eyeballs　theatrically。
　Decker　said；　〃I　sense　you're　trying　to　tell　me　the　man　is　loony。〃
　〃They　say　he　knows　the　bass；〃　Ott　said。　〃They　also　say　he's　dangerous。〃
　Decker　was　in　the　market　for　a　renegade。　The　mystery　man　sounded　like　a　good　possibility。
　〃What　does　he　charge？〃　Decker　asked；　still　playing　the　rube。
　〃I　have　no　idea；〃　Ott　said。　〃After　you　see　him；　you　may　want　to　reconsider。　In　that　case　you　can　hook　up　with　one　of　the　regulars　out　of　Rundell's　marina。〃
　Decker　shook　his　head。　〃They　sound　like　hot　dogs；　Ott。　I　just　want　to　relax。〃
　Ott's　brow　wrinkled。　〃I　know　these　folks；　R。J。　I　like　'em；　too。　Now　I　won't　sit　here　and　tell　you　bassers　are　pletely　normal；　'cause　that's　not　true　either。　They're　slightly　manic。　They　got　boats　that'll　outrace　a　Corvette；　and　they're　fairly　crazy　out　on　the　water。　Just　th