ch.doublewhammy-第47章

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　Thomas　Curl　unplugged　the　phone　and　tucked　it　under　his　right　arm。　〃Don't　try　nuthin'　funny；〃　he　said　to　Catherine。
　〃Are　you　leaving？〃
　〃Lucas　has　to　go　for　a　walk。〃
　Catherine　nodded。
　〃I'm　taking　the　phone；〃　said　Curl。
　〃Could　you　pick　up　some　food？〃　she　asked。　〃I'm　starving。〃
　Thomas　Curl　threw　R。　J。　Decker's　coat　over　his　shoulders。　〃Burger　King'll　have　to　do；〃　he　said。
　〃Wendy's　has　a　salad　bar；〃　Catherine　suggested。
　〃All　right；〃　Curl　said；　〃Wendy's。〃
　
　He　wasn't　very　hungry。　He　picked　at　some　french　fries　while　Catherine　ate　her　salad　and　sipped　a　Diet　Coke。　Curl　had　had　so　much　trouble　untying　her　that　he'd　just　cut　the　linen　with　a　pocket…knife。
　〃Did　Lucas　enjoy　his　walk？〃　she　said。
　〃He　was　a　good　boy；〃　Curl　said；　patting　the　dog　head。　〃A　good　boy　for　daddy。〃
　He　put　the　phone　back　in　the　wall　and　told　Catherine　to　try　Montreal　again。　This　time　James　answered。
　〃How's　the　convention？〃　Catherine　said。　〃Lots　of　laughs？〃
　Thomas　Curl　moved　close　to　her　on　the　bed　and　took　out　the　gun；　as　a　reminder。
　Catherine　said　to　James：　〃Just　so　you　won't　worry；　I'm　going　up　to　my　sister's　in　Boca　for　a　few　days。　In　case　you　called　home　and　I　wasn't　there。〃　They　talked　for　a　few　minutes　about　the　weather　and　the　encouraging　advance　orders　for　the　electric　vibrating　chiropractic　couch；　and　then　Catherine　said　good…bye。
　〃That　was　good；〃　Thomas　Curl　said；　munching　a　cold　french　fry。　〃You　like　him　as　much　as　Decker？〃
　〃James　is　a　sweetheart；〃　Catherine　said。　〃If　it's　money　you're　after；　he'd　pay　anything　to　get　me　back。〃
　〃It's　not　money　I'm　after。〃
　〃I　know；〃　she　said。
　〃So　now　he　won't　be　worried；　your　doctor　won't？　When　you're　not　home？〃
　〃No；　he's　having　a　ball；〃　Catherine　said。　〃He　got　interviewed　for　Vertebrae　Today。〃
　Curl　burped。
　〃A　chiropractic　magazine；〃　Catherine　explained。　She　herself　was　not　overwhelmed　with　excitement。
　The　phone　rang。　Catherine　started　to　reach　for　it；　but　Curl　thwacked　her　arm　with　the　butt　of　the　gun。　When　he　answered；　a　man's　voice　said：　〃It's　me。　Decker。〃
　〃You　here　yet？〃
　〃On　the　way；〃　Decker　said。　He　was　at　a　service　plaza　in　Fort　Pierce；　gassing　up　Al　Garcia's　car。
　〃You　ready　to　trade？〃
　〃Absolutely；〃　Decker　said。　〃How's　Mrs。　Gomez？〃
　Curl　put　the　receiver　to　Catherine's　cheek。　〃Tell　him　you're　fine；〃　he　said。
　〃R。J。；　I'm　fine。〃
　〃Catherine；　I'm　sorry　about　this。〃
　〃It's　okay…〃
　Curl　snatched　the　phone　back　and　said：　〃This　is　the　way　we're　going　to　do　it：　a　straight…up　trade。〃
　〃Fair　enough；　but　I　choose　the　place。〃
　〃Fuck　you；　bubba。〃
　〃It's　the　only　way；　Tom。　It's　the　only　way　I　can　make　sure　the　lady　walks　free。〃
　Curl　rubbed　his　brow。　He　wanted　to　stand　firm；　but　his　mind　could　not　assemble　an　argument。　Every　thought　that　entered　his　head　seemed　to　sizzle　and　burn　up　in　the　fever。　As　Decker　instructed　him　when　and　where　to　go；　Thomas　Curl　repeated　everything　aloud　in　a　thick；　disconnected　voice。　Luckily　Catherine　jotted　the　directions　on　a　Holiday　Inn　notepad；　because　Curl　forgot　everything　the　instant　he　hung　up。
　〃Hungry；　Lucas？〃　He　opened　the　brown　grocery　bag。　He　had　stopped　at　the　store　and　bought　the　dog　a　little　treat。
　Catherine　eyed　the　package。　〃Gaines　Burgers？〃
　〃His　favorite；〃　Curl　said。　He　unwrapped　one　of　the　patties　and　mashed　it　between　the　dog's　jaws；　still　fixed　obdurately　to　his　own　arm。　The　red　meat　stuck　to　the　animal's　dried　yellow　fangs。　〃You　like　that；　dontcha；　boy？〃
　Catherine　said；　〃He's　not　hungry；　Tom。　I　can　tell。〃
　〃Guess　you're　right；〃　Curl　said。　〃Must　be　all　the　traveling。〃
　
　Deacon　Johnson　tapped　lightly　on　the　door。　For　once；　Reverend　Weeb　was　alone。
　〃Charles；　you'd　better　e　see。〃
　〃What　now？〃　the　preacher　said　irritably。
　He　followed　Deacon　Johnson　out　of　the　townhouse　office；　through　the　courtyard；　down　a　sloping　walk　to　a　boat　ramp　on　the　newly　sodded　shore　of　Lunker　Lake　Number　One。　Many　of　the　anglers　had　begun　to　arrive；　so　the　ramp　was　crowded　with　needle…shaped　bass　boats；　each　attached　to　a　big　candy…colored　Blazer；　Jeep；　or　Bronco。　In　the　midst　of　the　gleaming　congregation　was　an　immense　army…green　garbage　truck　with　a　warped　old　skiff　hitched　to　its　bumper。
　Two　men　leaned　impassively　against　the　truck；　one　was　tall　and　muscular　and　black；　the　other　roundish　and　Latin…looking。　The　rest　of　the　bass　fishermen　studied　the　unusual　newers　from　a　distance；　and　chuckled　in　low　tones。
　Charlie　Weeb　approached　the　men　and　said；　〃If　you're　looking　for　the　dump；　it's　out　Road　84。〃　He　pointed　west；　toward　the　dike。　〃That　way。〃
　Jim　Tile　said；　〃We're　here　for　the　bass　tournament。〃
　〃Is　that　right？〃　Weeb　eyed　the　rowboat　disdainfully。　〃Sorry；　son；　but　this　event's　not　open　to　the　general　public。〃
　Al　Garcia　said；　〃We're　not　the　general　public；　son。　We're　the　Tile　Brothers。〃　Coolly　he　handed　Charlie　Weeb　the　receipt　for　the　registration　fee。　Without　a　glance；　Weeb　passed　it　to　Deacon　Johnson。
　〃It's　them；　all　right；〃　Deacon　Johnson　reported。　〃Boat　number　fifty；　all　paid　up。〃
　〃You　don't　look　like　brothers；〃　Reverend　Weeb　said　accusingly。
　〃Si；　es　verdad；〃　Jim　Tile　said。
　〃Fo　sho；〃　added　Al　Garcia。　〃We　true　be　bros。〃
　They　had　practiced　the　routine　on　the　long　ride　down。　Jim　Tile　had　done　much　better　learning　Spanish　than　Al　Garcia　had　done　learning　jive。　Still；　it　achieved　the　desired　effect。
　Charlie　Weeb　puckered　his　cheeks　and　anxiously　ran　a　manicured　hand　through　his　perfect　blond　hair。　〃Gentlemen；　excuse　me　for　a　sec；〃　he　said；　and　took　Deacon　Johnson　aside。
　〃This　is　some　fucking　joke。〃
　〃It's　no　joke；　Charles。〃
　〃Spic　and　spade　brothers？　I'd　call　that　a　joke。〃　Weeb　was　spitting；　he　was　so　exasperated。　〃Izzy；　tonight　we're　flying　in　one　thousand　loyal　Christian　prospective　homesite　buyers。　I　promised　them　to　do　a　healing；　I　promised　them　to　have　some　world…class　bass　fishing；　and　I　promised　to　get　their　shining　faces　on　national　cable　TV。　All　this；　Izzy；　in　order　to　sell　some　fucking　lots。〃
　〃Keep　your　voice　down；　Charles。〃　Even　at　a　whisper；　Reverend　Weeb　could　rattle　the　china。
　Deacon　Johnson　took　him　by　the　arm　and　edged　away　from　the　newers。　Standing　in　the　rank　shadow　of　the　garbage　truck；　Deacon　Johnson　said；　〃We've　taken　their　money；　Charles；　we've　got　to　let　them　fish。〃
　〃Screw　the　entry　fee。　Give　it　back。〃
　〃Oh　fine；〃　Deacon　Johnson　said；　〃and　when　the　newspapers　call；　you　explain　why　you　did　it。〃
　The　thought　of　bad　publicity　sent　a　cold　razor　down　Charlie　Weeb's　spine。
　Almost　plaintively　he　said：　〃These　folks　I'm　bringing　down；　Izzy；　they　don't　want　to　see　a　spic　and　a　spade　in　this　family…oriented　development。　The　folks　at　home　who　watch　my　show；　they　don't　want　to　see　'em　either。　I'm　not　here　to　pass　judgment；　Izzy；　I'm　here　for　the　demographics。　Fact　is；　my　people　are　the　whitest　of　the　white。　Soon　as　they　spot　those　two　guys；　that's　the　ball　game。　They'll　think　everything　they　heard　about　South　Florida　is　true；　niggers　and　Cubans　everywhere。　Even　on　the　bass　lakes。〃
　Deacon　Johnson　said；　〃There's　forty…nine　other　boats　in　this　tournament；　Charles。　Just　tell　your　camermen　to　stay　off　the　little　wooden　one。　As　for　the　garbage　truck；　we'll　park　it　out　back　in　the　construction　lot。　Loan　these　guys　a　decent　rental　car　to　get　around　the　property。　Anyone　asks；　tell　'em　they　work　here。〃
　〃Good　idea；〃　Weeb　said。　〃Say　they　pour　asphalt　or　something。　Excellent。〃　Sometimes　he　didn't　know　what　he'd　do　without　Izzy。
　Deacon　Johnson　said；　〃Don't　worry；　Charles；　just　look　at　them…they　don't　have　a　chance。　It'll　be　a　holy　miracle　if　that　termite　bucket　doesn't　sink　at　the　dock。〃
　All　Charlie　Weeb　could　say　was：　〃Whoever　heard　of　a　spic　and　a　spade　in　a　pro　bass　tournament？〃
　But　the　mysterious　Tile　Brothers　were　already　putting　their　boat　in　the　water。
　
　The　next　day　was　practice　day；　and　in　keeping　with　tradition　the　anglers　gathered　early　at　the　boat　ramp　to　exchange　theories　and　cultivate　possible　excuses。　Because　no　one　had　fished　Lunker　Lakes　before；　the　talk　was　basically　bullshit　and　idle　speculation。　The　bass　would　be　schooled　by　the　culverts。　No；　they'd　be　holding　deep。　No；　they'd　be　bedded　in　the　shallows。
　Only　Charlie　Weeb　and　his　men　knew　the　truth：　there　were　no　bass　except　dead　ones。　The　new　ones　were　on　the　way。
　Eddie　Spurling　realized　that　something　was　terribly　wrong；　but　he　didn't　say　a　word。　Instead　of　mingling　with　his　pals　over　coffee　and　biscuits；　he　strolled　the　shore　alone　in　the　predawn　pitch。　A　couple　of　the　other　pros　sidled　up　to　make　conversation；　but　Eddie　was　unresponsive　and　gloomy。　He　didn't　show　the　least　interest　in　Duke　Puffin's　deep…sonic　crankbait　or　Tom　Jericho's　new　weedless　trolling　motor。
　While　the　mockingbirds　announced　sunrise；　Eddie　Spurling　just　stared　out　at　the　still　brown　canals　and　thought：　This　waters　no　damn　good。
　Al　Garcia　and　Jim　Tile　were　the　last　to　get　started。　They'd　been　briefly　delayed　when　Billie　Radcliffe；　a　very　white　young　man　from　Waycross；　Georgia；　said　to　Jim　Tile：　〃Where's　your　cane　pole；　Uncle　Remus？〃　Jim　Tile　had　felt　pelled　to　explain　the　importance　of　good　manners　to　Billie　Radcliffe；　by　way　of　breaking　every　single　fishing　rod　in　Billie　Radcliffe's　custom…made　bass　boat。　This　had　been　done　in　a　calm　and　methodical　way；　and　with　no　interference；　since　Al　Garcia　and　his　Colt　Python　had　supervised　the　brief　ceremony。　From　then　on；　the　other　fishermen　steered　clear　of　the　Tile　Brothers。
　It　was　just　as　well。　All　the　practice　at　Lake　Jesup　had　been　in　vain：　Al　Garcia　proved　to　be　the　world's　most　dangerous　bass　angler。　On　four　occasions　he　snagged　Jim　Tile's　scalp　with　errant　casts。　Three　other　times　he　hooked　himself；　once　so　severely　that　Jim　Tile　had　to　cut　the　barbs　off　the　hooks　just　to　remove　them　from　Garcia's　thigh。
　Casting　a　heavy　plug　rod　required　a　sensitive　thumb；　but　invariably　Garcia　would　release　the　spool　too　early　or　too　late。　Either　he　would　fire　the　lure　straight　into　the　bottom　of　the　boat；　where　it　shattered　like　a　bullet；　or　he　would　launch　it　straight　up　in　the　air；　so　it　could　plummet　dangerously　down　on　their　heads。　In　the　few　instances　when　the　detective　actually　managed　to　hit　the　water；　Jim　Tile　put　down　his　fishing　rod　and　applauded。　They　both　agreed　that　Al　Garcia　should　concentrate　on　steering　the　boat。
　With　the　puny　six…horse　outboard；　it　took　them　longer　to　get　around　the　canals；　but　by　midday　they　reached　the　spot　Skink　had　told　them　about；　at　the　far　western　terminus　of　Lunker　Lake　Number　Seven。　Charlie　Weeb's　landscapers　had　not　yet　reached　this　boundary　of　the　development；　so　the　shores　remained　as　barren　white　piles　of　dredged…up　fill。　The　canal　ended　at　the　old　earthen　dike　that　separated　the　lush　watery　Florida　Everglades　from　concrete　civilization。　Charlie　Weeb　had　pushed　it　to　the　brink。　This　was　the　final　barrier。
　Jim　Tile　and　Al　Garcia　had　the　Number　Seven　hole　to　themselves；　as　Skink　had　predicted　they　would。　It　was　too　sparse；　too　bright；　and　too　remote　for　the　other　bassers。
　Garcia　nudged　the　skiff　to　shore；　where　Jim　Tile　got　out　and　collected　several　armfuls　of　dead　holly　branches　from　a　heap　left　by　the　bulldozers。　Hidden　under　a　tarp　in　the　boat　were　three　wooden　orange　crates；　which　they　had　brought　from　Harney　in　the　bin　of　the　garbage　truck。　Garcia　tied　the　crates　together　w