ch.doublewhammy-第32部分

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　script　along　the　side。　Decker　kept　the　camera　trained　on　the　fishermen。　His　forefinger　squeezed　the　shutter　button　while　his　thumb　levered　the　rewind。　He　had　snapped　six　frames　and　still　the　men　had　not　turned　around。
　It　was　maddening。　Decker　could　see　that　they　had　the　fish　cage　out　of　the　water。　'They　won't　turn　around；〃　he　whispered　to　Skink。　〃I　haven't　got　the　picture　yet。〃
　From　the　back　of　the　boat　Skink　acknowledged　with　a　grunt。　He　flipped　his　sunglasses　down。　〃Get　ready；〃　he　said。
　Then　he　screamed；　a　piercing　feral　cry　that　made　Decker　shiver。　The　unhuman　quavering　echo　jolted　both　fishermen　and　caused　them　to　drop　the　wire　cage　with　a　motion。　Clutching　their　precious　captive　bass；　they　wheeled　to　face　a　screeching　bobcat；　or　maybe　even　a　panther；　but　instead　saw　only　the　empty　mocking　glades。　Swiftly；　Decker　fired　away。　His　camera　captured　every　detail　of　bewilderment　in　the　two　men's　faces；　including　the　bolt　of　fear　in　their　eyes。
　Two　men　who　definitely　were　not　Dickie　Lockhart。
　
　〃So　what　now？〃
　〃Eat；〃　Skink　said　through　a　mouthful　of　fried　catfish。　They　sat　at　a　corner　table　in　Middendorf's。　No　one　seemed　to　notice　their　camouflage　suits。
　Decker　said；　〃Wait　till　Gault　hears　we　tailed　the　wrong　guys。〃
　Skink　had　momentarily　turned　his　attention　to　a　bowl　of　drippy　coleslaw。　〃Maybe　not；〃　he　said。　〃Maybe　they　work　for　Lockhart。〃
　Decker　had　considered　that　possibility。　Perhaps　Dickie　was　too　cautious　to　pull　the　fish　traps　himself。　All　he'd　have　to　do　was　recruit　some　pals　for　the　deed；　and　rendezvous　later　on　the　lake　to　pick　up　the　purloined　bass。　Some　of　those　boys　would　do　anything　Dickie　Lockhart　told　them；　as　long　as　he　promised　to　put　them　on　TV。
　The　other　possible　explanation　of　what　had　happened　that　morning　made　just　as　much　sense：　R。　J。　Decker　had　simply　photographed　the　wrong　gang　of　cheaters。
　Either　way；　the　faces　on　film　were　not　the　ones　Dennis　Gault　wanted　to　see。
　〃You　know　damn　well　Dickie's　got　the　tournament　rigged。〃
　〃Of　course；〃　Skink　said。　〃But　there's　a　billion　places　to　hide　the　bass　around　here。　Bayous　far　as　the　eye　can　see。　Shit；　he　could　sink　the　traps　out　on　Pontchartrain　and　we'd　grow　old　lookin'　in　that　soup。〃
　〃So　we　staked　out　the　obvious　place；〃　Decker　said　gloomily。
　〃And　got　ourselves　some　obvious　assholes。〃　Skink　signaled　a　waitress　for　more　catfish。　〃It'll　all　work　out；　Miami。　Go　to　the　weigh…in；　see　what　happens。　And　eat　your　goddamn　hush　puppies；　all　right？　Worse　es　to　worst；　I'll　just　shoot　the　motherfucker。〃
　〃Pardon？〃
　〃Lockhart；〃　Skink　said。
　〃e　on。〃　Decker　vainly　searched　Skink's　face　for　some　sign　that　he　was　joking。
　〃Gault　would　love　it；〃　Skink　said。　〃Damn；　I　got　a　mouthful　of　bones　here。　How　hard　is　it　to　properly　fillet　a　fish？　Doesn't　take　a　fucking　surgeon；　does　it？〃　A　waitress　warily　approached　the　table　but　Decker　motioned　her　away。
　〃We're　not　killing　Dickie；〃　he　whispered　to　Skink。
　〃I've　been　thinking　about　it；〃　Skink　said；　not　lowering　his　voice　even　a　little。　〃Who　gives　a　shit　if　Lockhart　croaks？　His　sponsors？　The　network？　Big　deal。〃　Skink　paused　to　chew。
　〃I'll　get　the　damn　photograph；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Be　lots　easier　just　to　shoot　his　ass。　Fella　I　know　in　Thibodaux；　he'd　lend　me　a　deer　rifle。〃
　〃No！〃　Decker　snapped；　but　he　saw　that　the　idea　had　already　lodged　itself　like　a　tick；　somewhere　behind　those　infernal　sunglasses。　〃It's　crazy；〃　Decker　said。　〃You　mention　it　again　and　I'm　gone；　captain。〃
　〃Oh；　relax；〃　Skink　said。
　〃I　mean　it！〃
　Skink　reached　over　and　speared　a　hush　puppy　from　Decker's　plate。　〃I　warned　you；〃　he　said　playfully。　〃You　had　your　chance。〃
　
　The　bass　boats　were　as　haphazard　in　their　return　as　they　had　been　regimented　in　departure。　The　weigh…in　was　set　for　four…thirty；　and　the　fishermen　cut　wild　vectors　across　Lake　Maurepas　to　beat　the　deadline。　They　came　from　all　directions；　wide　open　seemed　to　be　the　only　speed　they　knew。　The　ramp　at　Pass　Manchac　was　bustling　with　spectators；　sponsors；　and　even　a　local　television　crew。　A　monumental　glass　aquarium…a　grudging　concession　to　conservationists…had　been　erected　near　the　scoreboard；　ostensibly　to　keep　the　caught　bass　alive　so　they　could　be　freed　later。　As　the　catches　were　brought　in；　the　fish　were　weighed；　measured；　and　photographed　by　a　Louisiana　state　biologist。　Then　they　were　dropped　into　the　greenish　tank；　where　most　of　them　promptly　turned　belly…up　and　expired　in　deep　shock。
　The　all…important　weight　totals　went　up　on　the　big　scoreboard。　The　angler　with　the　biggest　fish　would　receive　ten　thousand　dollars；　heaviest　stringer　was　twenty　grand；　plus　a　new　bass　boat；　a　vacation　trailer；　and　a　Dodge　Ram　four…by…four；　which　would　most　likely　be　traded　back　for　cash。
　Decker　waited　alone　because　Skink　had　gone　back　to　the　motel。　He　had　mumbled　something　about　not　wanting　to　bump　into　the　Rundell　brothers…and　there　they　were；　slurping　beer　by　the　gas　pumps。　Ozzie　was　such　a　pitiable　dolt；　yet　it　was　he　who'd　driven　the　getaway　truck　from　the　scene　of　Ott　Pickney's　murder。　Decker　played　with　the　idea　of　sneaking　up　to　Ozzie　and　whispering　something　terrifying　into　his　ear；　just　to　get　a　reaction。　A　fatal　angina　attack；　maybe。
　But　Decker　decided　to　keep　a　safe　distance；　on　the　off…chance　Culver　might　remember　him　from　the　bait　shop。
　The　ritual　of　the　weigh…in…the　handshakes；　the　hushed　gathering　around　the　scales；　the　posting　of　the　results…held　Decker's　attention　at　first；　but　after　a　while　his　thoughts　drifted　back　to　Skink。　It　occurred　to　him　that　Skink　was　starting　to　unravel；　or　maybe　just　finishing　the　process；　and　that　for　all　his　backwoods　savvy　the　man　might　bee　a　serious　liability。　Decker　wished　Jim　Tile　were　around　to　settle　Skink　down；　or　at　least　advise　Decker　how　to　handle　him。
　A　burst　of　applause　sprang　from　around　the　stage　and　the　rest　of　the　crowd　rose　on　tiptoes；　straining　to　see。　A　lean；　tan；　and　apparently　well…known　fisherman　was　parading　a　stringer　of　three　immense　bass　the　way　a　triumphant　boxer　brandishes　the　championship　belt。　The　scorer　climbed　a　stepladder　and　wrote　〃21…7〃　in　chalk　next　to　the　name　of　Ed　Spurling。　By　four　pounds　he　had　bee　the　new　leader　of　the　Cajun　Invitational　Bass　Classic。
　Grinning　handsomely；　Fast　Eddie　Spurling　slipped　the　fat　fish　into　the　gigantic　aquarium　and　clasped　his　hands　over　his　head。　Reflexively；　and　without　purpose；　Decker　snapped　a　few　pictures。
　The　cheaters　in　the　green　boat　arrived　ten　minutes　before　the　deadline。　They　wore　no　smiles　for　the　fans。　Only　four　bass　hung　on　their　stringer；　including　the　two　wan　specimens　that　Skink　had　marked　the　previous　night　in　the　fish　trap。　Decker　got　off　four　frames　before　the　cheaters　slung　their　catch　onto　the　scale　and　trudged　off　in　a　sulk。　〃Eight…fourteen；〃　the　weighmaster　droned　through　a　megaphone。　Tenth　place；　Decker　noted；　it　wasn't　Lockhart；　but　it　still　felt　good。
　Dickie's　boat　was　the　last　one　to　reach　the　dock。　The　crowd　rustled　and　shifted；　some　of　the　other　anglers　craned　their　necks　and　muttered　nervously；　but　a　few　pretended　not　to　notice　the　champ's　arrival。　Ed　Spurling　popped　a　Budweiser　and　turned　his　back　on　the　scene。　He　was　talking　to　a　bigshot　from　the　Stren　line　pany。
　Dickie　Lockhart　pulled　off　his　goggles；　smoothed　his　jumpsuit；　and　ran　a　b　through　his　unnaturally　shiny　hair。　All　this；　before　bounding　out　of　the　boat。　〃Hey；〃　he　said　when　a　fan　called　out　his　name。　〃How　you？　Hey　there！　Nice　to　see　ya；〃　as　he　threaded　through　the　spectators。　A　crew　from　Fish　Fever　filmed　the　victory　march。
　Dickie's　driver；　a　local　boy；　remained　on　his　knees　in　the　back　of　the　bass　boat；　trying　to　grab　the　fish　out　of　the　livewell。　He　seemed　to　be　taking　a　long　time。　Eventually　even　Ed　Spurling　turned　to　watch。
　There　were　five　bass　in　all；　very　nice　ones。　Decker　figured　the　smallest　to　be　four　pounds；　the　biggest　was　simply　grotesque。　It　had　the　color　of　burnt　moss　and　the　shape　of　an　old　stump。　The　eyes　bulged。　The　mouth　was　as　wide　as　a　milkpail。
　Dickie　Lockhart's　helper　carried　the　stringer　of　fish　through　the　murmuring　throng　to　the　weighmaster；　who　dumped　them　in　a　plastic　laundry　basket。　The　hawg　went　on　the　scale　first：　twelve　pounds；　seven　ounces。　When　the　weight　flashed　on　the　official　Rolex　digit