chiaasen.stormyweather-第23部分

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from　the　Ocala　National　Forest。　The　thing　that　he　now　thought　he　was　seeing　stood　seven　feet　at　the　shoulders。
　
　Cain　Darby　closed　his　eyes　tightly　to　clear　the　sleep。　Then　he　opened　them　again；　very　slowly。　The　huge　shape　was　still　there；　a　motionless　phantasm。　mon　sense　told　him　he　was　mistaken…they　don't　grow　thousand…pound　bears　in　Florida！　But　that's　sure　what　it　looked　like。。。。
　
　So　he　raised　his　rifle。
　
　Then；　from　the　corner　of　his　eye；　he　spotted　headlights　barreling　down　Quail　Roost　Drive。　He　turned　to　see。　Somebody　was　driving　toward　the　roadblock　like　a　bat　out　of　hell。　Judging　by　the　rising　chorus　of　sirens；　half　the　Metro　police　force　was　on　the　chase。
　
　When　Cain　Darby　spun　back　toward　the　bear；　or　the　shape　that　looked　like　a　bear；　it　was　gone。　He　lowered　the　gun　and　directed　his　attention　to　the　maniac　in　the　oning　truck。　Cain　Darby　struck　an　erect　military　pose　in　front　of　the　candy…striped　barricades…spine　straight；　legs　apart；　the　rifle　held　at　a　ready　angle　across　the　chest。
　
　A　half　mile　behind　the　truck　was　a　stream　of　flashing　blue　and　red　lights。　The　fugitive　driver　seemed　undaunted。　As　the　headlights　drew　closer；　Sergeant　Darby　hurriedly　weighed　his　options。　The　asshole　wasn't　going　to　stop；　that　much　was　clear。　By　now　the　man　had　（unless　he　was　blind；　drunk　or　both）　seen　the　soldier　standing　in　his　path。
　
　Yet　the　vehicle　was　not　decelerating。　If　anything；　it　was　gaining　speed。　Cain　Darby　cursed　as　he　dashed　out　of　the　way。　If　there　was　one　thing　he　found　intolerable；　it　was　disrespect　for　a　uniform；　whether　it　belonged　to　the　Department　of　Corrections　or　the　National　Guard。
　
　So　he　indignantly　cranked　off　a　few　rounds　as　the　idiot　driver　smashed　through　the　barricade。
　
　No　one　was　more　stunned　than　Cain　Darby　to　see　the　speeding　truck　overshoot　the　Turnpike　ramp　and　plunge　full　speed　into　a　drainage　canal；　no　one　except　the　driver；　Gil　Peck。　The　sound　of　gunfire　had　destroyed　his　ragged　reflexes；　particularly　his　ability　to　locate　the　brake　pedal。　He　couldn't　believe　some　peckerwood　Guardsman　was　shooting　at　him。
　
　What　did　not　surprise　Gil　Peck；　considering　his　heavy　cargo　of　stolen　bricks；　was　how　swiftly　the　flatbed　sunk　in　the　warm　brown　water。　He　squeezed　through　the　window；　swam　to　shore　and　began　weeping　at　his　own　foul　luck。　All　his　hurricane　booty　was　lost；　except　for　the　package　of　hash；　which　bobbed　to　the　surface　at　the　precise　moment　the　first　police　car　arrived。
　
　Yet　the　drugs　weren't　the　most　serious　of　Gil　Peck's　legal　concerns。　As　he　was　being　handcuffed；　he　declared：　〃I　didn't　kill　him！〃
　
　〃Kill　who？〃　the　officer　asked。
　
　〃The　guy；　you　know。　The　guy　at　the　trailer　park。〃　Gil　Peck　assumed　that's　why　the　cops　were　chasing　him…they'd　found　the　body'of　the　crucified　man。
　
　But　they　hadn't。　Gil　Peck's　nausea　worsened。　He　should've　kept　his　damn　mouth　shut。　Now　it　was　too　late。　Pink　and　blue　bikini　panties　began　to　float　up；　like　pale　jellyfish；　from　the　bed　of　the　sunken　truck。
　
　The　officer　said：　〃What　guy　at　what　trailer　park？〃
　
　Gil　Peck　told　him　about　the　dead　man　impaled　in　the　TV　dish。　As　other　policemen　arrived；　Gil　Peck　repeated　the　story；　and　also　his　impassioned　denials　of　guilt。　One　of　the　officers　asked　Gil　Peck　if　he　would　take　them　to　the　body；　and　he　agreed。
　
　After　the　paramedics　checked　him　for　broken　bones；　the　thief　was　toweled　off　and　deposited　in　the　back…seat　cage　of　a　Highway　Patrol　car。　The　trooper　at　the　wheel　was　a　large　black　man　in　a　Stetson。　On　the　way　to　the　trailer　court；　Gil　Peck　delivered　yet　another　excited　monologue　about　his　innocence。
　
　〃If　you　didn't　do　it；〃　the　trooper　cut　in；　〃why'd　you　run？〃
　
　〃Scared；　man。〃　Gil　Peck　shivered。　〃You　should　see。〃
　
　〃Oh；　I　can't　wait；〃　the　trooper　said。
　
　〃You　a　Christian；　sir？〃
　
　It　was　amazing；　thought　the　trooper；　how　quickly　the　handcuffs　induced　spiritual　devoutness。　〃Anyone　read　you　your　rights？〃　he　asked　the　truck　driver。
　
　Gil　Peck　thrust　his　face　to　the　mesh　of　the　cage。　〃If　you're　a　Christian；　you　gotta　believe　what　I'm　sayin'。　It　wasn't　me　that　crucified　the　poor　fucker。〃
　
　But　Jim　Tile　hoped　with　all　his　Christian　heart　that　it　was。　Because　the　other　prime　suspect　was　someone　he　didn't　want　to　arrest；　unless　there　was　no　choice。
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　NINE
　
　
　Skink　eavesdropped　leisurely　while　Max　Lamb　made　two　calls。　The　phone　booth　was　at　a　truck　stop　on　Krome　Avenue；　the　fringe　of　the　Everglades。　Longbeds　overloaded　with　lumber；　sheet　glass　and　tar　paper　streamed　south　in　ragged　convoys　to　the　hurricane　zone。　Nobody　glanced　twice　at　the　unshaven　man　on　the　phone；　despite　the　collar　around　his　neck。
　
　When　Max　Lamb　hung　up；　Skink　grabbed　his　arm　and　led　him　to　the　airboat；　beached　on　the　bank　of　a　muddy　canal。　Skink　ordered　him　to　lie　in　the　bow；　and　there　he　remained　for　two　hours；　his　cheekbone　vibrating　against　the　hull。　The　howl　of　the　aviation　engine　filled　his　ears。　Skink　was　no　longer　singing　harmony。　Max　Lamb　wondered　what　he'd　done　to　further　annoy　his　abductor。
　
　They　stopped　once。　Skink　left　the　airboat　briefly　and　returned　with　a　large　cardboard　box；　which　he　set　in　the　bow　next　to　Max。　They　traveled　until　dusk。　When　Skink　finally　lifted　him　to　his　knees；　Max　was　surprised　to　see　the　Indian　village。　They　didn't　stay　long　enough　for　Max　to　negotiate　the　return　of　his　video　camera。　Skink　borrowed　a　station　wagon；　put　the　box　in　the　back；　and　buckled　his　prisoner　on　the　passenger　side。　There　was　no　sign　of　the　monkey；　and　for　that　Max　Lamb　was　grateful。
　
　Skink　put　on　the　shower　cap　and　started　the　car。　Max　needed　to　pee　but　was　afraid　to　ask。　He　was　no　longer　confident　that　he　could　talk　his　way　out　of　the　kidnapping。
　
　〃Is　something　wrong？〃　he　asked。
　
　Skink　shot　him　a　stony　look。　〃I　remember　your　wife　from　the　hurricane　video。　Hugging　two　little　Cuban　girls。〃
　
　〃Yes；　that　was　Bonnie。〃
　
　〃Beautiful　woman。　You　zoomed　in　on　her　face。〃
　
　〃Can　we　stop　the　car；〃　Max　interrupted；　squirming；　〃just　for　a　minute？〃
　
　Skink　kept　his　eyes　on　the　road。　〃Your　bride's　got　a　good　heart。　That　much　is　obvious　from　the　video。〃
　
　〃A　saint；〃　Max　agreed。　He　jammed　both　hands　between　his　legs；　he'd　tie　his　dick　in　a　Windsor　before　he'd　wet　himself　in　front　of　the　governor。
　
　〃Why　she's　with　you；　I　can't　figure。　It's　a　real　puzzler；〃　Skink　said。　He　braked　the　car　sharply。　〃Why　didn't　you　try　to　phone　her　tonight？　You　call　your　buddy　in　New　York。　You　call　your　folks　in　Milan…fucking…Italy。　Why　not　Bonnie？〃
　
　〃I　don't　know　where　she　is。　That　damn　answering　machine…〃
　
　〃And　the　crap　about　you　and　her　having　a　fight…〃
　
　〃I　didn't　want　Peter　to　worry；〃　Max　said。
　
　〃Well；　God　forbid。〃　Skink　jammed　the　transmission　into　Park　and　flung　himself　out　the　door。　He　reappeared　in　the　beam　of　the　headlights；　a　hoary　apparition　crouched　on　the　pavement。　Max　Lamb　craned　to　see　what　he　was　doing。
　
　Skink　strolled　back　to　the　station　wagon　and　tossed　a　dead　opossum　on　the　seat　next　to　Max；　who　gasped　and　recoiled。　A　few　miles　later；　Skink　added　a　truck…flattened　coachwhip　snake　to　the　evening's　menu。　Max　forgot　about　his　bladder　until　they　made　camp　at　an　abandoned　horse　barn　west　of　Krome。
　
　The　horses　were　gone；　scattered　by　the　storm；　the　owners　had　e　by　to　retrieve　the　saddles　and　tack；　and　to　scatter　feed　in　case　any　of　the　animals　returned。　Max　Lamb　stood　alone　in　the　musky　darkness　and　relieved　himself　torrentially。　He　considered　running；　but　feared　he　wouldn't　survive　a　single　night　alone　in　nature。　In　Max's　mind；　all　Florida　south　of　Orlando　was　an　immense　swamp；　humidly　teeming　with　feral　beasts。　Some　had　claws　and　poisonous　fangs；　some　drove　air…boats　and　feasted　on　roadkill。　They　were　all　the　same　to　Max。
　
　Skink　appeared　at　his　side　to　announce　that　dinner　soon　would　be　served。　Max　followed　him　into　the　stables。　He　asked　if　it　was　wise　to　make　a　campfire　inside　a　barn。　Skink　replied　that　it　was　extremely　dangerous；　but　cozy。
　
　Max　Lamb　was　impressed　that　the　odor　of　horseshit　could　not　be　vanquished　by　a　mere　Force　Four　hurricane。　On　a　positive　note；　the　fragrance　of　dung　pletely　neutralized　the　aroma　of　boiled　op