ch.doublewhammy-第54章

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enough　to　be　the　shadow　of　something；　not　the　thing　itself。　For　the　first　time　Dennis　Gault　realized　its　true　dimensions　and　felt　a　hot　rush。　This　fish　was　undoubtedly　a　world　record；　already　he　could　see　his　name　on　the　plaque。　Already　he　could　picture　the　bass　mounted　on　the　wall　behind　his　desk；　the　taxidermist　would　brighten　its　flanks；　touch　up　the　gills；　put　some　fury　back　in　the　dull　purple　eyes。
　The　fury　was　there　now；　only　Dennis　Gault　couldn't　see　it。
　When　he　pulled　on　the　line；　the　bass　obligingly　swam　toward　the　boat。　〃Get　the　net；〃　he　shouted　at　his　sister。　〃Give　me　the　goddamn　net。〃
　Then；　with　a　kick　of　its　tail；　the　fish　sounded。
　〃Reverse！〃　Dennis　Gault　cried。
　Lame　jerked　on　the　throttle　as　hard　as　she　could；　and　the　big　outboard　cavitated　loudly　as　it　backed　up。　It　was　then；　with　the　boat　directly　overhead；　that　the　fish　exhibited　what　little　guile　nature　had　invested　in　her　pebble…sized　brain。　She　changed　direction。
　〃No…no…no…no！〃　Dennis　Gault　was　shrieking。
　The　boat　was　heading　one　way；　the　bass　was　going　the　other。　Gault　braced　his　knees　against　the　gunwale。　He　clutched　the　butt　of　the　rod　with　both　hands。
　
　The　line　came　tight。
　The　rod　doubled　until　the　tip　pricked　the　water。　〃Stop！〃　Dennis　Gault　grunted。　〃Stop；　you　sorry…dumb…dirty…fat…mother…〃
　The　great　fish　did　not　stop。
　With　the　drag　cranked　down；　Dennis　Gault　could　give　her　no　line。　All　he　could　do　was　hang　on。
　〃Let　go！〃　Lanie　pleaded。
　〃No　fucking　way；〃　said　Dennis。　〃This　fish　is　mine。〃
　Lanie　watched　helplessly　as　her　brother　pitched　over　the　transom。　The　last　she　saw　of　him　were　the　soles　of　his　Top…Siders。
　The　splash　was　followed　by　a　dreadful　low　whine；　but　it　was　not　Dennis'　scream。　His　scream　had　died　when　he　hit　the　propeller；　which　was　turning　（according　to　the　dash…mounted　tachometer）　at　precisely　four　thousand　revolutions　per　minute。　The　propeller　happened　to　be　a　brand…new　turbo　model　SST；　so　the　three　cupped　stainless　blades　were　as　sharp　as　sabers。　Dennis　Gault　might　as　well　have　fallen　facefirst　into　a　two…hundred…horsepower　garbage　disposal。　Grinding　was　the　sound　that　his　sister　had　heard。
　Lanie　cut　off　the　engine　and　stood　up　to　see　what　had　happened。
　〃Dennis？〃　Timorously　she　peered　into　the　cloudy　water；　darkening　from　tea　to　rust。
　A　rag…size　swatch　of　sky…blue　fabric　floated　up；　a　piece　of　Dennis　Gault's　official　Bass　Blasters　jumpsuit。　When　Lanie　saw　it；　she　knew　there　was　no　point　in　diving　in　after　her　brother。　She　held　on　to　the　side　of　the　boat　with　both　hands；　leaned　over；　and　daintily　tossed　her　croissants。
　A　hundred　yards　away；　at　the　point　where　Charlie　Weeb's　canal　met　the　dike；　the　great　fish　crashed　to　the　surface；　shook　its　head；　and　threw　the　hook。
　
　They　sat　on　the　hood　of　the　car；　parked　among　the　bass　trucks。　They　had　a　good　view　of　the　stage；　the　weigh…in　station；　the　ramp；　and　the　dock。　The　sun　was　starting　to　slip　behind　a　low　bank　of　copper　clouds；　and　some　of　the　boats　were　heading　in。
　〃You　all　right？〃　Catherine　asked。　She　had　showered　and　brushed　out　her　hair　and　changed　clothes。　Decker　had　stopped　at　a　shopping　mall　and　bought　her　some　slacks　and　a　kelly…green　blouse；　she'd　been　touched　that　he　still　remembered　her　size。
　〃I'm　fine；〃　Decker　said。　His　mental　lens　had　preserved　Thomas　Curl　in　three　frames；　none　of　them　pretty。
　Catherine　said；　〃James'll　never　believe　all　this。〃
　Decker　looked　at　her　in　an　odd　way。　Immediately　she　felt　rotten　about　mentioning　her　husband。
　Decker　said；　〃See　the　excitement　you're　missing；　not　being　married　to　me？〃
　〃I　don't　remember　it　quite　like　this。〃
　〃I　do；〃　Decker　said；　〃just　like　this。〃　He　smiled　and　gave　her　hand　a　little　squeeze。　Catherine　felt　relieved；　he'd　be　all　right。　She　slid　off　the　car　and　went　to　scout　the　food　at　the　buffet；　which　was　set　up　near　the　stage。
　From　out　of　somewhere　Skink　materialized　and　stole　Catherine's　place　on　the　hood。
　〃Nice　threads；〃　Decker　said。
　〃First　suit　I've　worn　in　years。〃
　〃The　hat's　a　treat　too。〃
　Skink　shrugged。　〃You　missed　the　show。〃
　〃What　happened？〃
　〃Preacher　tried　to　heal　me。〃
　Decker　laughed　a　little　as　Skink　told　the　story。
　〃That　explains　where　the　crowd　went；〃　he　said。
　〃Scattered　like　hamsters；〃　Skink　said。　〃Worst　part　is；　I　lost　the　damn　eye。　Just　kept　rolling。〃
　〃We'll　get　you　a　new　one。〃
　〃Not　an　owl　this　time；　either。　I'd　prefer　a　boar…one　of　those　big　nasty　bastards。〃
　Up　to　this　moment；　Decker　had　been　watching　the　boats　race　in。　Now　he　turned　to　Skink　and　in　a　quiet　voice　said；　〃I'm　in　some　trouble；　captain。〃
　Skink　clicked　his　tongue　against　his　teeth。
　〃I　killed　that　man；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Figured　as　much。〃
　〃There　was　no　other　way。〃
　Skink　asked　what　happened　to　the　body；　and　Decker　told　him。　〃Don't　worry　about　it；〃　he　said。　〃You　did　good。〃
　〃Don't　worry　about　it？〃
　〃You　heard　me。〃
　Decker　sighed。　He　felt　detached　and　fuzzy；　as　if　he　were　having　an　out…of…body　experience。　He　felt　as　if　he　were　in　a　tall　tree　looking　down　on　himself　and　this　hoary　character　in　a　straw　hat；　a　bad　suit；　and　sunglasses。　From　this　vantage　Skink　would　have　made　a　fine　photographic　portrait；　like　one　of　those　debauched…looking　acid　dealers　at　Woodstock。　Or　maybe　Altamont。　One　of　those　guys　who　looked　too　old　and　too　hard　for　the　crowd。
　Decker　decided　to　tell　Skink　why　he'd　e　back　to　Lunker　Lakes。　He　was　bound　to　ask；　anyway。
　〃When　I　found　Catherine；〃　Decker　said；　〃I　got　to　thinking　about　Dennis　Gault。〃
　〃He's　the　case　in　New　Orleans；　the　whole　thing；〃　Skink　repeated。　〃It's　a　joke；　so　forget　about　it。　You're　clear。〃
　Decker　said；　〃I　wasn't　thinking　about　New　Orleans；　captain。　I　was　thinking　about　Bobby　Clinch　and　Ott　Pickney　and　Dickie　Lockhart。　In　relation　to　Gault；　I　mean。〃
　〃And　Catherine。〃
　〃Yes。　Catherine　too。〃
　〃True；〃　Skink　said；　〃Mr。　Gault　is　not　a　very　nice　man。〃
　Decker　took　a　short　breath　and　said；　〃I　was　seriously　thinking　about　killing　him。〃
　〃Now　that　you　got　the　hang　of　it；　right？〃
　Decker　was　stung　by　Skink's　sarcasm。　And　a　sterling　example　you　are；　he　thought。　〃I　don't　know　what　I'll　do　when　I　see　him。　Could　be　I　won't　be　able　to　stop　myself。〃
　〃Don't　give　me　that　cuckoo's…nest　routine；〃　Skink　said。　〃Do　you　really　want　to　do　it？　Or　do　you　want　yourself　to　want　to？　Think　about　it。　Tom　Curl　was　a　different　story…your　girl　was　involved。　That　was　rescue；　this　is　revenge。　Even　a　one…eyed　basket　case　like　me　can　see　you　don't　have　the　stomach　for　it；　and　I'm　glad。〃
　Decker　turned　away。
　〃But　the　best　reason　not　to　kill　the　bastard；〃　Skink　added；　〃is　that　it's　simply　not　necessary。〃
　〃Maybe　you're　right。〃
　〃I　don't　think　you　understand。〃
　〃Doesn't　matter。〃　Decker　hopped　off　the　hood。　He　spotted　Catherine　on　her　way　back　with　a　couple　of　chili　dogs。　〃I　think　it's　best　if　we　take　off　before　the　festivities；〃　he　said　wearily。
　Skink　shook　his　head。　〃It's　best　if　you　stay；〃　he　said。　〃Besides；　I　need　a　favor。〃
　〃Naturally。〃
　〃You　know　how　to　work　one　of　these　damn　TV　cameras？〃
　
　Later；　when　The　Wall　Street　Journal　and　others　would　reconstruct　the　collapse　of　the　Outdoor　Christian　Network；　some　of　Charlie　Weeb's　colleagues　and　petitors　would　say　he　was　a　fool　not　to　pull　the　plug　on　the　Lunker　Lakes　show　the　instant　Skink　French…kissed　the　Minicam。　However；　such　a　judgment　failed　to　take　into　account　the　pressure　from　Weeb's　corporate　sponsors；　who　had　paid　extraordinary　sums　to　finance　the　bass　tournament　and　definitely　expected　to　see　it　（and　their　fishing　products）　on　national　television。　To　these　businessmen；　the　attempted　faith…healing　was　merely　a　gross　and　irritating　preamble　to　the　main　event。　The　weigh…in　itself　was　attended　by　no　less　than　the　entire　board　of　directors　of　the　Happy　Gland　fish…scent　pany；　who　had　flown　down　from　Elijay；　Georgia；　with　the　expectation　that　Eddie　Spurling；　their　new　spokesman；　would　win　the　Lockhart　Memorial　hands　down。　Charlie　Weeb　had　assured　them　of　this　in　the　most　positive　terms。
　So；　even　after　Skink's　performance；　little　thought　was　given　to　aborting　the　program。　In　fact；　there　was　no　time　between　the　church　show　and　the　tournament　for　Weeb　to　contemplate　the　scope　of　the　catastrophe；　broadcast…wise。　He　knew　it　was　bad；　very　bad。　Before　his　eyes　the　sea　of　faithful　Christian　faces　had　dissipated；　the　first　ten　rows　in　front　of　the　stage　now　were　empty；　with　some　of　the　chairs　overturned　by　hasty　departures。　A　few　people　milled　around　the　boat　docks　while　others　hovered　at　the　free　buffet。　Most　apparently　had　retreated　to　the　charter　buses；　where　they　huddled　in　their　seats　and　recited　appropriate　Bible　tracts。　They　couldn't　wait　to　get　out　of　Lunker　Lakes。
　As　soon　as　Skink　had　leapt　off　the　stage　in　pursuit　of　his　eyeball；　Charlie　Weeb　had　cut　to　a　mercial　and　gone　searching　for　Deacon　Johnson；　who　had　presciently　mandeered　the　limousine　and　struck　out　for　parts　unknown。　Weeb's　principal　inquiry…as　enunciated　in　a　gaseous　torrent　of　obscenities…concerned　the　selection　of　Mr。　Jeremiah　Skink　as　a　subject　worthy　of　healing。　It　was　Reverend　Weeb's　opinion　that　Skink　was　more　demented　than　disabled；　and　that　his　schizoid　tendency　toward　self…mutilation　should　have　been　evident　to　Deacon　Johnson　（who；　after　all；　was　being　paid　two　hundred　thou　a　year　to　prevent　such　embarrassments）。
　Failing　to　locate　Deacon　Johnson；　Charlie　Weeb　returned　to　the　stage　and　tried　to　make　the　best　of　things。　His　image　as　a　faith…healer　was　damaged；　perhaps　irreparably；　but　that　concerned　him　less　than　the　mounting　specter　of　financial　ruin。　Word　had　filtered　back　to　Weeb　that　many　of　the　pilgrims　who　had　signed　new　contracts　for　Lunker　Lakes　homesites　were　having　second　thoughts…a　half…dozen　had　even　demanded　their　deposits　back。　Weeb's　stomach　had　churned　sourly　at　the　news。
　What　he　now　needed…in　fact；　the　only　thing　that　would　save　the　project…was　a　big　warm　Southern　finish。　Specifically：　a　beaming；　tanned；　lovable；　good　ole　boy　in　the　person　of　Eddie　Spurling；　with　a　string　of　lunker　bass。　That　would　put　the　mood　right。
　So　Charlie　Weeb　seized　the　microphone　and　talked　a　blue　streak　as　the　boats　roared　in。　He　talked　about　sunshine；　balmy　climate；　calm　waters；　central　air；　adjustable　mortgages；　bike　paths；　rec　rooms；　low　maintenance　fees；　the　Olympic…size　swimming　pool；　everything　but　fish。
　Because　there　weren't　any。
　Every　boat　was　ing　back　empty。　The　OCN　sports　reporter　would　stick　a　mike　in　front　of　the　angler　and　the　angler　would　straighten　his　cap　and　spit　some　chaw　and　grumble　about　it　being　one　of　those　days；　and　then　the　sports　reporter　would　smile　lamely　and　say　better　luck　next　time。
　Those　gathered　dockside…primarily　the　sponsors　and　tackle　reps　and　devoted　relatives　of　the　contestants…could　not　recall　such　a　dismal　day　of　bass　fishing；　even　in　the　weeks　after　Hurricane　Camille　had　torn　up　the　South。
　Skink　himself　was　worried　by　what　he　saw；　but　there　was　nothing　to　do　but　wait。　Surely　somebody　had　caught　some　fish。
　As　the　pattern　became　clear　to　Charlie　Weeb；　he　found　it　increasingly　difficult　to　put　a　positive　spin　on　the　day's　events。　A　weigh…in　with　nothing　to　weigh　was　extremely　dull　television；　even　by　cable　standards。　To　fill　air　time　until　Fast　Eddie　Spurling　arrived；　Weeb　ordered　the　director　to　run　some　how…to　fishing　videos