ch.doublewhammy-第52部分

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ht　probably　he　had　been　hired　for　just　that　reason…to　fill　some　stupid　minority　handicap　quota。　Shawn　Curl　decided　he'd　better　be　civil；　or　else　the　big　spade　might　snitch　on　him　to　the　Fish　and　Game　Department　for　the　way　the　wild　animals　were　being　treated。
　〃What　ken　we　do　you　for；　officer？〃
　Jim　Tile　stood　at　the　counter　eyeing　a　display　of　bootleg　Mickey　Mouse　dolls。　Each　stuffed　Mickey　had　a　Confederate　flag　poking　out　of　its　paw。　Jim　Tile　picked　up　one　of　the　Mickeys　and　turned　it　over。
　〃　'Made　in　Thailand；'　〃　he　read　aloud。
　Shawn　Curl　coughed　nervously。
　〃Nine…fifty　for　one　of　these？〃　the　trooper　asked。
　Shawn　Curl　said；　〃Not　for　you。　For　you；　half…price。〃
　〃A　discount；〃　Jim　Tile　said。
　〃For　all　peace　officers；　yessir。　That's　our　standard　discount。〃
　Jim　Tile　put　the　mouse　doll　back　on　the　counter　and　said；　〃Does　Disney　know　you're　selling　this　crap？〃
　Shawn　Curl　worked　his　jaw　sideways。　〃Far　as　I　know　it's　all　legal；　officer。〃
　Jim　Tile　looked　around　the　gift　shop。　〃They　could　sue　you　for　everything；〃　he　said；　〃such　as　it　is。〃
　〃Hey；　I　ain't　dune　nuthin'　nobody　else　ain't　dune。〃
　After　scanning　the　shelves…cluttered　with　painted　coconut　heads；　rubber　alligators；　chipped　conch　shells；　bathtub　sharks；　and　other　made…for…Florida　rubbish…Jim　Tile's　disapproving　brown　eyes　settled　again　on　the　bogus　Mickey　Mouse　doll。　〃The　Disney　people；〃　he　said；　〃they　won't　go　for　this。　That　rebel　flag　is　enough　to　get　their　lawyers　all　excited。〃
　Exasperated；　Shawn　Curl　puffed　out　his　cheeks。　〃Who　sent　you　here；　anyway？〃
　〃I'm　looking　for　young　Thomas。〃
　〃He　ain't　here。〃
　The　trooper　said；　〃Tell　me　where　I　can　find　him。〃
　〃S'pose　you　got　a　warrant。〃
　〃What　I　got；〃　said　Jim　Tile；　〃is　his　uncle。　By　the　balls。〃
　A　family　of　tourists　walked　in；　the　kids　darting　underfoot　while　the　mother　eyed　the　merchandise　uneasily。　The　father　peered　tentatively　at　the　zoo　grounds　through　a　window　behind　the　cash　register。　Jim　Tile　guessed　they　wouldn't　stay　long。　They　didn't。　〃Raccoons；　that's　all；〃　the　father　had　reported　back　to　his　wife。　〃We've　got　zillions　of　raccoons　back　in　Michigan。〃
　When　they　were　alone　again；　Jim　Tile　said；　〃Shawn；　give　me　your　nephew's　address　in　New　Orleans。　Right　now。〃
　〃I'll　give　it　to　you；〃　Shawn　Curl　said；　scribbling　on　the　back　of　a　postcard；　〃but　he　ain't　there。〃
　〃Where　can　I　find　him？〃
　〃Last　time　he　e　through　he　was　on　his　way　to　Miami。〃
　〃When　was　that？〃
　〃Few　days　ago；〃　said　Shawn　Curl。
　〃Where's　he　staying？〃
　〃Some　big　hotel。〃
　〃You're　a　big　help；　Shawn。　I　guess　I'll　have　to　call　Disney　headquarters　after　all。〃
　Shawn　Curl　didn't　like　that　word。　Headquarters。　In　a　sulky　voice　he　said；　〃The　hotel　is　the　Grand　Biscayne　Something。　I　don't　remember　the　whole　name。〃
　〃Why　was　Thomas　going　down　to　Miami？〃
　〃Business；　he　said。〃
　〃What　business　is　he　in？〃
　Shawn　Curl　shrugged。　〃Promotion　is　what　he　calls　it。〃
　Jim　Tile　said；　〃I　couldn't　help　but　notice　that　big　Oldsmobile　out　front；　the　blue　Niney…Eight。　It　looks　brand…new。〃
　Warily　Shawn　Curl　looked　at　the　trooper。　〃No；　I　had　it　awhile。〃
　〃Still　got　the　sticker　in　the　window；〃　Jim　Tile　remarked；　〃and　the　paper　license　tag　from　the　dealer。〃
　〃So？〃
　〃Did　Thomas　give　you　that　new　car？〃
　Shawn　Curl　drew　a　deep　breath。　What　was　the　world　ing　to；　that　a　nigger　could　talk　to　him　like　this？　〃Maybe　he　did　give　it　to　me；〃　Shawn　Curl　said。　〃There's　no　law　'ginst　it。〃
　〃No；　there　isn't；〃　Jim　Tile　said。　He　thanked　Shawn　Curl　for　his　time；　and　walked　toward　the　door。　〃By　the　way；〃　the　trooper　said；　〃that　lion's　humping　one　of　your　llamas。〃
　〃Shit；〃　said　Shawn　Curl；　scrambling　to　find　his　pitchfork。
　
　The　three　boys　went　to　the　high…school　basketball　game　but　they　didn't　stay　long。　Kyle；　the　one　with　the　phony　drivers　license；　had　three　six…packs　in　the　trunk；　along　with　his　stepfather's　。22…caliber　rifle。　Jeff　and　Cole；　both　of　whom　were　on　the　verge　of　flunking　out　anyway；　cared　even　less　about　high…school　basketball　than　Kyle。　The　game　was　just　their　excuse　to　get　out　of　the　house；　something　to　tell　the　parents。　The　teenagers　left　before　the　first　half　was　over。　Kyle　drove　to　the　usual　spot；　a　county　dumpsite　miles　west　of　the　city；　and　there　they　gulped　down　the　six…packs　while　plinking　bottles；　soda　cans；　and　the　occasional　hapless　rat。　Once　the　beer　and　ammunition　were　used　up；　there　was　only　one　thing　left　to　do。　Jeff　and　Cole　called　it　〃bum…bashing；〃　though　it　was　Kyle；　the　biggest　one；　who　claimed　to　have　invented　both　the　phrase　and　the　sport。　That's　what　everyone　at　the　high　school　said；　anyway：　It　must　have　been　Kyle's　idea。
　Every　winter　transients　flock　to　Florida　as　sure　as　the　tourists　and　turkey　buzzards。　Their　numbers　are　not　so　great；　but　often　they　are　more　visible；　sleeping　in　the　parks　and　public　libraries；　panhandling　the　street　corners。　The　weather　is　so　mild　that　there　is　almost　no　outdoor　place　that　a　bum　would　find　uninhabitable　in　southern　Florida。　Paradise　is　how　many　of　them　would　describe　it。　Some　towns　address　the　problem　with　less　tolerance　than　others　（Palm　Beach；　for　example；　where　loitering　is　treated　the　same　as　ax…murder）；　but　usually　the　bums　get　by　with　little　fear　of　incarceration。　The　reason　is　simple；　and　in　it　lies　another　prime　attraction　for　the　nation's　wandering　winos：　there　is　no　room　for　them　in　South　Florida's　jails　because　the　jails　already　are　too　crowded　with　dangerous　criminals。
　Beginning　in　late　December；　then；　the　transients　start　appearing　on　the　streets。　Rootless；　solitary；　and　unwele；　they　are　ideal　victims　for　the　randomly　violent。　Kyle　and　his　high…school　friends　discovered　this　the　very　first　time。　On　a　five…dollar　bet　from　Cole；　Kyle　slugged　a　wino　under　a　bridge。　The　boys　ran　away；　but　nothing　happened。　Of　course　the　transient　never　reported　the　attack…the　local　cops　would　have　laughed　in　his　face。　A　week　later　the　teenagers　tried　it　again　when　they　discovered　an　old　longhair　sleeping　on　a　golf　course　in　Boca　Raton。　This　time　Jeff　and　Cole　pitched　in；　while　Kyle　added　a　few　whacks　with　his　stepfather's　four…iron。　This　time　when　they　ran　away；　the　kids　were　laughing。
　Soon　bum…bashing　became　part　of　the　weekly　recreation；　a　thrill；　something　to　do。　The　boys　were　easily　bored　and　not　all　that　popular　at　school；　shunned　by　the　jocks；　dopers；　and　surfers　alike。　So　whenever　Kyle　could　get　the　car　and　swipe　some　beer　money；　Jeff　and　Cole　were　raring　to　go。　Shooting　the　rifle　always　seemed　to　put　them　in　the　right　mood。
　As　soon　as　they　left　the　dump　they　started　scouting　for　bums　to　bash。　It　was　Jeff　who　spotted　the　guy　curled　up　beneath　the　Turnpike　overpass。　Kyle　drove　by　once；　turned　the　car　around；　and　drove　past　again。　This　time　he　parked　fifty　yards　down　the　road。　The　three　teenagers　got　out　and　walked　back。　Kyle　liked　the　way　it　was　shaping　up…a　dark　stretch　of　highway　with　practically　no　traffic。
　Skink　was　nearly　asleep；　stretched　out　halfway　up　the　concrete　embankment　and　faced　away　from　the　road。　He　heard　someone　ing；　but　assumed　it　was　only　Decker　and　the　Cuban　detective。　As　the　men　got　closer；　their　footsteps　did　not　alarm　Skink　nearly　so　much　as　their　whispering。　He　was　turning　over　to　take　a　look　just　as　Kyle　ran　up　and　kicked　him　brutally　in　the　head。
　Skink　rolled　down　the　embankment　and　lay　still；　facedown　on　the　flat　ground。
　〃Hey；　Mr。　Hobo；〃　said　Kyle；　〃sorry　I　busted　your　shades。〃　He　held　up　the　broken　sunglasses　for　the　others　to　see。
　Jeff　and　Cole　each　took　a　turn　kicking　Skink　in　the　ribs。　〃I　like　his　outfit；〃　Jeff　said。　He　was　a　bony　kid　with　volcanic　pustular　acne。　〃This'd　be　great　for　hunting；〃　he　said；　fingering　the　rainsuit。
　〃Then　take　it；〃　Kyle　said。
　〃Yeah；　go　ahead；〃　Cole　said；　〃even　though　it's　about　ten　sizes　too　big。〃
　〃You'll　look　like　an　orange　tepee；〃　Kyle　teased。
　Jeff　knelt　and　tried　to　roll　Skink　on　his　back。　〃He's　a　big　sumbitch；〃　he　said。　〃Gimme　a　hand。〃
　They　turned　Skink　over　and　stripped　him。
　〃He　looks　dead；〃　Cole　remarked。
　〃Check　out　the　ponytail；〃　Jeff　said。　He　had　climbed　into　Skink's　enormous　rainsuit。　The　hood　flopped　down　over　his　eyes；　and　the　legs　and　arms　were　way　too　long。　The　other　boys　laughed　as　Jeff　did　a　little　jig　under　the　highway　bridge。　〃I'm　Mr。　Ho