ch.doublewhammy-第23部分

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　She　was　still　at　the　Days　Inn。　Room　135。　When　she　answered　the　door　she　wore　a　nightshirt。　One　of　those　expensive　silky　tops；　it　barely　came　down　far　enough　to　cover　her　pale　yellow　panties。　R。　J。　Decker　noticed　the　color　of　her　panties　when　she　reached　up　to　get　a　robe　from　a　hook　on　the　back　of　the　closet　door。　Decker　did　a　pitiful　job　of　trying　not　to　stare。
　Lanie　said；　〃What's　in　the　bag？〃
　〃A　change　of　clothes。〃
　〃You　going　somewhere？〃
　〃Tomorrow。〃
　〃Where？〃
　〃Up　north　a　ways。〃
　Lanie　sat　in　the　middle　of　the　bed　and　Decker　took　a　chair。　An　old　James　Bond　movie　was　on　television。
　〃Sean　Connery　was　the　best；〃　Lanie　remarked。　〃I've　seen　this　darn　thing　about　twenty　times。〃
　〃Why　are　you　still　in　town？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃I'm　going　tomorrow；　too。〃
　〃You　didn't　answer　the　question。　Why　are　you　still　here？　Why　didn't　you　go　home　after　Bobby's　funeral？〃
　Lanie　said；　〃I　went　out　to　the　cemetery　today。　And　yesterday。　I　haven't　felt　like　leaving　yet；　that's　all。　We　each　deal　with　grief　in　our　own　way…isn't　that　what　you　said？〃
　Very　sharp；　Decker　thought。　He　just　loved　it　when　they　filed　stuff　away。　〃Know　what　I　think？〃　he　said。　〃I　think　the　Gault　family　needs　to　be　tested。　Scientifically；　I　mean。　I　think　maybe　there's　a　genetic　deficiency　that　prevents　you　people　from　telling　the　truth。　I　think　the　Mayo　Clinic　might　be　very　interested。〃
　She　rolled　her　eyes；　a　little　ditty　right　out　of　high　school。　It　was　supposed　to　be　cool　but　it　came　off　as　nervous。
　〃I　won't　stay　long；〃　Decker　said；　〃but　we　need　to　talk。〃
　〃I　don't　feel　like　talking；〃　Lanie　said；　〃but　you're　wele　to　stay　as　long　as　you　like。　I'm　not　tired。〃
　She　crossed　her　legs　up　under　the　robe　and　glanced　over　at　him。　Something　in　the　stale　motel　room　smelled　fresh　and　wonderful；　and　it　definitely　wasn't　Parfum　de　Days　Inn。　It　was　Lanie；　she　was　one　of　those　women　who　just　naturally　smelled　like　a　spring　day。　Or　maybe　it　just　seemed　that　way　because　she　looked　so　good。　Whatever　the　phenomenon；　Decker　had　the　sense　to　realize　he　was　in　trouble；　that　by　walking　into　her　room　and　letting　her　hop　into　bed　he　had　lost　all　leverage；　all　hope　of　getting　any　answers。　He　knew　he　was　wasting　his　time；　but　he　didn't　feel　like　leaving。
　〃You　look　like　hell；〃　Lanie　said。
　〃Been　a　long　day。〃
　〃Hot　on　the　trail？〃
　〃Oh；　right。〃
　〃Anything　new　about　Bobby's　death？〃
　〃I　thought　you　didn't　feel　like　talking；〃　Decker　said。
　〃I'm　curious；　that's　all。　More　than　curious。　I　loved　him；　remember？〃
　〃You　keep　saying　that；〃　Decker　said；　〃like　you've　got　to　keep　reminding　yourself。〃
　〃Why　don't　you　believe　me？〃
　Lee　Strasberg　material。　Lanie　the　wounded　lover。　Her　tone　of　voice　was　exquisite…hurt　but　not　defensive。　And　not　a　flicker　of　doubt　in　those　beautiful　eyes；　in　fact；　she　looked　about　ready　to　cry。　It　was　such　a　splendid　performance　that　Decker　reconsidered　the　question：　Why　didn't　he　believe　her？
　〃Because　Bobby　Clinch　wasn't　your　type；〃　he　said。
　〃How　do　you　know？〃
　〃That　Corvette　parked　outside。　That's　you；　Lanie。　Bobby　was　pure　pickup　truck。　You　might've　liked　him；　laid　him；　maybe　even　given　him　that　blowjob　you're　so　proud　of；　but　you　didn't　love　him。〃
　〃You　can　tell　all　this　from　looking　at　a　damn　car！〃
　〃I'm　an　expert；〃　Decker　said；　〃it's　what　I　do。〃　It　was　true　about　cars：　there　was　no　better　clue　to　the　total　personality。　Any　good　cop　would　tell　you　so。　Decker　hadn't　thought　much　about　the　psychology　of　automobiles　until　he　became　a　private　investigator　and　had　to　spend　half　his　time　tracing；　following；　and　photographing　all　kinds。　On　long　surveillances　in　busy　parking　lots　he　made　a　game　of　matching　shoppers　to　their　cars；　and　had　gotten　good　at　it。　The　make；　model；　color；　everything　down　to　the　shine　on　the　hubcaps　was　a　clue　to　the　puzzle。　Decker's　own　car　was　a　plain　gray　1979　Plymouth　Volare；　stylistically　the　most　forgettable　automobile　Detroit　ever　produced。　Decker　knew　it　fit　him　perfectly。　It　fit　his　need　to　be　invisible。
　〃So　you　think　I　belong　back　in　Miami；〃　Lanie　was　saying　sarcastically。　〃Who　can　you　picture　me　with；　Decker？　I　know…a　young　Colombian　stud！　Rolex；　gold　necklace；　and　black　Ferrari。　Or　maybe　you　figure　I'm　too　old　for　a　coke　whore。　Maybe　you　see　me　on　the　arm　of　some　silver…haired　geezer　playing　the　ponies　out　at　Hialeah。〃
　〃Anybody　but　Bobby　Clinch；〃　Decker　said。　〃Steve　and　Eydie　you　weren't。〃
　Of　course　then　the　tears　came；　and　the　next　thing　Decker　knew　he　had　moved　to　the　bed　and　put　his　arms　around　Lanie　and　told　her　to　knock　off　the　crying。　Please。　In　his　mind's　eye　he　could　see　himself　in　this　cheesy　scene　out　of　a　cheap　detective　movie；　acting　like　the　gruff　cad；　awkwardly　consoling　the　weepy　long…legged　knockout；　knowing　deep　down　he　ought　to　play　it　as　the　tough　guy　but　feeling　pelled　to　show　this　warm　sensitive　side。　Decker　knew　he　was　a　fool　but　he　certainly　didn't　feel　like　letting　go　of　Lanie　Gault。　There　was　something　magnetic　and　forting　and　entirely　natural　about　holding　a　sweet…smelling　woman　in　a　silken　nightie　on　a　strange　bed　in　a　strange　motel　room　in　a　strange　town　where　neither　one　of　you　belonged。
　
　A　Bell　Jet…Ranger　helicopter　awaited　the　Reverend　Charles　Weeb　at　the　Fort　Lauderdale　Executive　Airport。　Weeb　wore　a　navy　pinstriped　suit；　designer　sunglasses；　and　lizard　boots。　He　was　traveling　with　a　vice…president　of　the　Outdoor　Christian　Network　and　a　young　brunette　woman　who　claimed　to　be　a　secretary；　and　who　managed　to　slip　her　phone　number　to　the　chopper　pilot　during　the　brief　flight。
　The　helicopter　carried　the　Reverend　Charles　Weeb　to　a　narrow　dike　on　the　edge　of　the　Florida　Everglades。　Looking　east　from　the　levee；　Weeb　and　his　associates　had　a　clear　view　of　a　massive　highway　construction　site。　The　land　had　been　bulldozed；　the　roadbed　had　been　poured；　the　pilings　had　been　driven　for　the　overpasses。　Dump　trucks　hauled　loose　fill　back　and　forth；　while　graders　crawled　in　dusty　clouds　along　the　medians。
　〃Show　me　again；〃　Weeb　said　to　the　vice…president。
　〃Our　property　starts　right　about　there；〃　the　vice…president　said；　pointing；　〃and　abuts　the　expressway　for　five　miles　to　the　south。　The　state　highway　board　has　generously　given　us　three　interchanges。〃
　Generously　my　ass；　thought　Weeb。　Twenty　thousand　in　bonds　to　each　of　the　greedy　fuckers。
　〃Give　me　the　binoculars；〃　Weeb　said。
　〃I'm　sorry；　sir；　but　I　left　them　at　the　airport。〃
　〃I'm　going　to　go　sit　in　the　helicopter；〃　the　brunette　woman　whined。
　〃Stay　right　here；〃　Weeb　growled。　〃How'm　I　supposed　to　see　the　lake　system　without　the　binoculars？〃
　〃We　can　fly　over　it　on　the　way　back；〃　the　vice…president　said。　〃The　canals　are　almost　done。〃
　Vigorously　Weeb　shook　his　head。　〃Dammit；　Billy；　you　did　it　again。　People　don't　buy　townhouses　on　canals。　'Canal'　is　a　dirty　word。　A　canal　is　where　raw　sewage　goes。　A　canal　is　where　ducks　fuck　and　cattle　piss。　Who　wants　to　live　on　a　damn　canal！　Would　you　pay　a　hundred…fifty　grand　to　do　that？　No；　you'd　want　to　live　on　a　lake；　a　cool　scenic　lake；　and　lakes　is　what　we're　selling　here。〃
　〃I　understand；〃　said　the　vice…president。　Lakes　it　is。　Straight；　narrow　lakes。　Lakes　you　could　toss　a　stone　across。　Lakes　of　identical　fingerlike　dimensions。
　The　pany　that　OCN　had　hired　was　a　marine　dredging　firm　whose　foremen　were；　basically；　linear…minded。　They　had　once　dredged　the　mouths　of　Port　Everglades　and　Government　Cut；　and　a　long　stretch　of　the　freighter　route　in　Tampa　Bay。　They　had　worked　with　impressive　speed　and　efficiency；　and　they　had　worked　in　a　perfectly　straight　line…which　is　desirable　if　you're　digging　a　ship　channel　but　rather　a　handicap　when　you're　digging　a　lake。　This　problem　had　been　mentioned　several　times　to　Reverend　Charles　Weeb；　who　had　merely　pointed　out　the　fiscal　foolishness　of　having　big　round　lakes。　The　bigger　the　lake；　the　more　water。　The　more　water；　the　less　land　to　sell。　The　less　land　to　sell；　the　fewer　townhouses　to　build。
　〃Lakes　don't　have　to　be　round；〃　the　Reverend　Weeb　said。　〃I'm　not　going　to　tell　you　again。〃
　〃Yes；　sir。〃
　Weeb　turned　to　the　west　and　stared　out　at　the　Glades。　〃Reminds　me　of　the　fucking　Sahara；〃　he　said；　〃except　with　muck。〃
　〃The　water　rises　in　late　spring　and　early　summer；〃　the　vice…president　reported。
　〃Dickie　prom