chiaasen.stormyweather-第16部分

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　was…half　their　agents　are　home　cleaning　up　storm　damage。〃
　
　She　said；　angrily；　〃The　world　doesn't　stop　for　a　hurricane。〃
　
　〃No；〃　Augustine　said；　〃but　it　wobbles　like　a　sonofa…bitch。　I'm　having　the　shrimp；　how　about　you？〃
　
　Mrs。　Lamb　didn't　speak　again　until　they　were　in　the　pickup　truck；　heading　south　to　the　hurricane　zone。　She　asked　Augustine　to　stop　at　the　county　morgue。
　
　He　thought：　She　couldn't　have　gotten　this　brainstorm　before　lunch。
　
　Snapper　had　neither　the　ambition　nor　the　energy　to　be　a　predator　in　the　classic　criminal　mold。　He　saw　himself　strictly　as　a　canny　opportunist。　He　wouldn't　endeavor　to　mit　a　first…degree　felony　unless　the　moment　presented　itself。　He　believed　in　serendipity；　because　it　suited　his　style　of　minimal　exertion。
　
　He　heard　the　kids　ing　long　before　he　saw　them。　The　souped…up　Cherokee　blasted　Snoop　Doggy　Dogg　through　the　neighborhood；　rattling　the　few　windows　that　the　hurricane　had　not　broken。　The　kids　drove　by　once；　circled　the　block；　and　cruised　past　again。
　
　Snapper　smiled　to　himself；　thinking：　It's　the　damn　pinstripes。　They　think　I'm　carrying　money。
　
　He　kept　walking。　When　the　Cherokee　came　around　a　third　time；　the　rap　music　had　been　turned　off。　Stupid；　Snapper　thought。　Why　not　take　out　a　billboard：　Watch　us　mug　this　guy！
　
　As　the　Jeep　rolled　up　behind　him；　Snapper　stepped　to　the　side　and　slowed　his　pace。　He　slipped　Tony　Torres's　garden　hose　off　his　shoulder　and　carried　it　coiled　in　front　of　him。　The　Cherokee　came　alongside。　One　of　the　kids　was　hanging　out　the　passenger　window。　He　waved　a　chrome…plated　pistol　at　Snapper。
　
　〃Hey；　mud…fuckah；〃　the　kid　said。
　
　〃Good　mornin'；〃　said　Snapper。　He　deftly　looped　a　coil　of　the　garden　hose　around　the　kid's　head　and　jerked　him　out　of　the　truck。　When　the　kid　hit　the　pavement；　hedropped　the　gun。　Snapper　picked　it　up。　He　stepped　on　the　kid's　chest　and　began　twisting　the　hose　tightly　on　the　kid's　throat。
　
　The　other　muggers　piled　out　of　the　Cherokee　with　the　intention　of　rescuing　their　friend　and　killing　the　butt…ugly　geek　in　the　shiny　suit；　but　the　plan　changed　when　they　saw　who　had　the　pistol。　Then　they　ran。
　
　Snapper　waited　until　the　kid　on　the　ground　was　almost　unconscious　before　loosening　the　hose。　〃I　need　to　borrow　some　gas；〃　said　Snapper；　〃to　watch　Sally　Jessy。〃
　
　The　kid　sat　up　slowly　and　rubbed　his　neck；　which　bled　from　the　place　where　his　three　gold　chains　had　cut　into　his　flesh。　He　wore　a　tank　top　to　show　off　the　tattoos　on　his　left　biceps…a　gang　insignia　and　the　nickname　〃BabyRaper。〃
　
　Snapper　said；　〃Baby；　you　got　a　gas　can？〃
　
　〃Fuck　no。〃　The　kid　answered　in　a　raw　whisper。
　
　〃Too　bad。　I'll　have　to　take　the　whole　truck。〃
　
　〃I　don't　care。　Ain't　mine。〃
　
　〃Yeah；　that　was　my　hunch。〃
　
　The　kid　said；　〃Man；　wus　wrong　wid　yo　face？〃
　
　〃Excuse　me？〃
　
　〃I　axed　what's　wrong　wid　yo　mud…fuckin　face。〃
　
　Snapper　went　in　the　Cherokee　and　removed　the　Snoop　Doggy　Dogg　pact　disc　from　the　stereo。　He　used　the　shiny　side　of　the　CD　like　a　small　mirror；　pretending　to　admire　himself　in　it。
　
　〃Looks　fine　to　me；〃　he　said；　after　several　moments。
　
　The　kid　smirked。　〃Sheeeiiit。〃
　
　Snapper　put　the　pistol　to　the　kid's　temple　and　ordered　him　to　get　on　his　belly。　Then　he　yanked　the　mugger's　pants　down　to　his　ankles。
　
　A　Florida　Power　and　Light　cherry　picker　came　steaming　down　the　street。　The　kid　shouted　for　help；　but　the　driver　kept　going。
　
　Twisting　to　look　over　his　shoulder；　Baby　Raper　saw　Snapper　hold　the　CD　up　to　the　sky；　like　a　chrome　munion　wafer。
　
　Snapper　said：　〃Worst　fuckin'　excuse　for　music　I　ever　heard。〃
　
　〃Man；　whatcha　gone　do　wid　dat？〃
　
　〃Guess。〃
　
　Ira　Jackson　stood　with　his　back　to　the　sun。　Tony　Torres　squinted；　shielding　his　brow　with　one　hand。
　
　The　salesman　said：　〃Do　I　remember　you？　Course　I　remember　you。〃
　
　〃My　mother　was　Beatrice　Jackson。〃
　
　〃I　said　I　remember。〃
　
　〃She's　dead。〃
　
　〃So　I　heard。　I'm　very　sorry。〃　Stretched　in　the　chaise；　Tony　Torres　felt　vulnerable。　He　raised　both　knees　to　give　himself　a　brace　for　the　shotgun。
　
　Ira　Jackson　asked　Tony　if　he　remembered　anything　else。　〃Such　as　what　you　promised　my　mother　about　the　double…wide　being　as　safe　as　a　regular　CBS　house？〃
　
　〃Whoa；　sport；　I　said　no　such　thing。〃　Tony　Torres　was　itching　to　get　to　his　feet；　but　that　was　a　major　project。　One　wrong　move；　and　the　flimsy　patio　chair　could　collapse　under　his　weight。　〃'Government　approved；'　is　what　I　told　you；　Mister　Jackson。　Those　were　my　exact　words。〃
　
　〃My　mother's　dead。　The　double…wide　went　to　pieces。〃
　
　〃Well；　it　was　one　hellacious　hurricane。　The　Storm　of　the　Century；　they　said　on　TV。〃　Tony　was　beginning　to　wonder　if　this　dumb　ape　didn't　see　the　Remington　aimed　at　his　dick。　〃We're　talking　about　a　major　natural　disaster；　sport。　Look　how　it　wrecked　these　houses。　My　house。　Hell；　it　blew　down　the　entire　goddamn　Homestead　Air　Force　Base！　There's　no　hiding　from　something　like　that。　I'm　sorry　about　your　mother；　Mister　Jackson；　but　a　trailer's　a　trailer。〃
　
　〃What　happened　to　the　tie…downs？〃
　
　Oh　Christ；　Tony　thought。　Who　knew　enough　to　look　at　the　fucking　tie…downs？　He　struggled　to　appear　indignant。　〃I've　got　no　idea　what　you're　talking　about。〃
　
　Ira　Jackson　said；　〃I　found　two　of　'em　hanging　off　a　piece　of　the　double…wide。　Straps　were　rotted。　Augers　cut　off　short。　No　anchor　disks…this　shit　I　saw　for　myself。〃
　
　〃I'm　sure　you're　mistaken。　They　passed　inspection；　Mister　Jackson。　Every　home　we　sold　passed　inspection。〃　The　confidence　was　gone　from　the　salesman's　tone。　He　was　uneasy；　arguing　with　a　faceless　silhouette。
　
　〃Admit　it；〃　Ira　Jackson　said。　〃Somebody　cut　the　damn　augers　to　save　a　few　bucks　on　installation。〃
　
　〃Keep　talkin'　that　way；〃　warned　Tony　Torres；　〃and　I'll　sue　your　ass　for　slander。〃
　
　Even　before　it　was　made　a　specified　condition　of　his　parole；　Ira　Jackson　had　never　possessed　a　firearm。　In　his　many　years　as　a　professional　goon；　it　had　been　his　experience　that　men　who　brandished　guns　invariably　got　shot　with　one。　Ira　Jackson　favored　the　more　personal　touch　afforded　by　crowbars；　aluminum　softball　bats；　nunchaku　sticks；　piano　wire；　cutlery；　or　gym　socks　filled　with　lead　fishing　sinkers。　Any　would　have　done　the　job　nicely　on　Tony　Torres；　but　Ira　Jackson　had　brought　nothing　but　his　bare　fists　to　the　salesman's　house。
　
　〃What　is　it　you　want？〃　Tony　Torres　demanded。
　
　〃An　explanation。〃
　
　〃Which　I　just　gave　you。〃　Tony's　eyes　watered　from　peering　into　the　sun's　glare；　and　he　was　growing　worried。　Edie　the　Ice　Maiden　had　disappeared　with　Ira　Jackson's　dogs…what　the　hell　was　that　all　about？　Were　they　in　on　something？　And　where　was　the　freak　in　the　bad　suit；　his　so…called　bodyguard？
　
　Tony　said　to　Ira　Jackson：　〃I　think　it's　time　for　you　to　go。〃　He　motioned　with　the　shotgun　toward　the　street。
　
　〃This　is　how　you　treat　dissatisfied　customers？〃
　
　A　jittery　laugh　burst　from　the　salesman。　〃Sport；　you　ain't　here　for　no　refund。〃
　
　〃You're　right。〃　Ira　Jackson　was　pleased　by　the　din　of　the　neighborhood…hammers；　drills；　saws；　electric　generators。　All　the　folks　preoccupied　with　putting　their　homes　back　together。　The　noise　would　make　it　easier　to　cover　the　ruckus；　if　the　mobile…home　salesman　tried　to　put　up　a　struggle。
　
　Tony　Torres　said；　〃You　think　I　don't　know　to　use　this　twelve…gauge；　you're　makin'　a　big　mistake。　Check　out　the　hole　in　that　garage　door。〃
　
　Ira　Jackson　whistled。　〃I'm　impressed；　Mister　Torres。　You　shot　a　house。〃
　
　Tony's　expression　hardened。　〃I'm　counting　to　three。〃
　
　〃My　mother　was　hit　by　a　damn　barbecue。〃
　
　〃One！〃　the　salesman　said。　〃Every　second　you　look　more　like　a　looter；　mister。〃
　
　〃You　promised　her　the　place　was　safe。　All　those　poor　people…how　the　hell　do　you　sleep　nights？〃
　
　〃Two！〃
　
　〃Relax；　you　fat　fuck。　I'm　on　my　way。〃　Ira　Jackson　turned　and　walked　slowly　toward　the　street。
　
　Tony　Torres　took　a　deep　breath；　his　tongue　felt　like　sandpaper。　He　lowered　the　Remington　until　it　rested　on　one　of　his　kneecaps。　He　watched　Beatrice　Jackson's　son　pause　in　the　driveway　and　kneel　as　if　tying　a　shoe。
　
　Craning　to　see；　Tony　shouted：　〃Move　it；　sport！〃
　
　The　cinder