chiaasen.stormyweather-第46部分

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　God　to　Thee。〃　That's　how　the　manager　of　the　Ramada　found　them；　fifteen　minutes　later；　when　he　came　to　apologize。
　
　〃Some　asshole　downstairs　shot　off　a　。357；〃　he　announced。
　
　All　singing　ceased。　The　motel　manager　pushed　the　broken　television　away　from　the　wall　and　pointed　to　a　ragged　hole　in　the　carpet。　〃From　the　bullet；〃　he　explained。　〃Don't　worry。　I　kicked　'em　out。〃
　
　〃A　gun？〃　cried　a　Ruminator　elder；　springing　to　his　feet。
　
　〃That　ain't　the　worst　of　it；〃　the　motel　manager　said。　〃They　had　dogs　in　the　room！　You　believe　that？　Chewin'　up　the　bedspreads　and　God　knows　what。〃　He　promised　to　bring　the　Ruminators　another　TV　set；　but　warned　them　to　keep　their　hymn　singing　at　a　low　volume；　so　as　not　to　disturb　other　guests。
　
　〃Everybody's　on　edge；〃　the　manager　added；　unnecessarily。
　
　After　he　left；　the　missionaries　locked　the　door　and　held　a　solemn　meeting。　They　agreed　they'd　done　all　they　could　for　the　good　people　of　South　Florida；　and　quickly　packed　their　bags。
　
　〃Well；　that　was　brilliant。〃
　
　Snapper　told　Edie　Marsh　to　shut　up　and　quit　beating　it　to　death。　What's　done　is　done。
　
　〃No；　really；〃　she　said；　〃getting　us　thrown　out　of　the　only　hotel　room　between　here　and　Daytona　Beach。　Absolute　genius。〃
　
　With　a　gaseous　hiss；　Snapper　sagged　into　the　Barca…Lounger。　She　had　some　nerve　giving　him　shit；　after　the　way　she'd　fucked　up　his　leg　with　that　crowbar。　Who　wouldn't　be　in　a　lousy　mood；　their　goddamn　knee　all　swollen　up　like　a　Georgia　ham。
　
　He　said；　〃It's　your　fault；　you　and　them　dogs。　Hey；　get　me　a　Coors。〃
　
　On　the　drive　back　to　the　Torres　house；　they　had　stopped　at　a　7…Eleven　for　gas；　ice　and　supplies。　Fred　Dove　had　purchased　Tylenol　and　peppermint　Tic　Tacs　before　lugubriously　departing　for　a　busy　afternoon　of　storm…damage　estimates。　He　drove　off　with　the　hollow　stare　of　a　man　whose　life　had　abruptly　gone　to　ruin。
　
　Edie　Marsh　pulled　a　beer　from　the　cooler　and　tossed　it　underhanded　at　Snapper。　〃We're　lucky　we're　not　in　jail；〃　she　said　for　the　fifth　time。
　
　〃Dogs　wouldn't　shut　up。〃
　
　〃So　you　shot　a　hole　in　the　ceiling。〃
　
　〃Damn　straight。〃　Snapper　arranged　his　lower　jaw　to　acmodate　the　stream　of　Coors。　He　reminded　Edie　of　Popeye　in　the　old　Saturday　cartoons。
　
　〃I'm　gonna　do　them　fuckin'　mutts；〃　he　said。　〃Tonight　when　you're　sleeping。　That'll　leave　me　three　bullets；　too；　so　don't　get　no　ideas。〃
　
　〃Wow；　a　math　whiz；〃　said　Edie；　〃on　top　of　all　your　other　talents。〃
　
　〃You　don't　believe　me？〃
　
　〃The　dogs　are　tied　outside。　They're　not　bothering　anybody。〃
　
　When　Snapper　finished　the　beer；　he　crumpled　the　can　and　tossed　it　on　the　carpet。　Then　he　took　out　the　pistol　and　started　spinning　the　cylinder；　something　he'd　obviously　picked　up　from　a　movie。　Edie　Marsh　ignored　him。　She　went　to　the　garage　to　put　more　gasoline　in　the　generator…they　needed　electricity　to　run　the　TV；　without　which　Snapper　would　bee　unmanageable。
　
　Sure　enough；　by　the　time　she　returned　to　the　living　room；　he　was　contentedly　camped　out　in　front　of　Oprah。
　
　〃Hookers；〃　he　reported；　riveted　to　the　screen。
　
　〃Your　lucky　day。〃
　
　Edie　Marsh　felt　gummy　with　perspiration。　The　hurricane　had　eviscerated　the　elaborate　ductwork　of　Tony　Torres's　air…conditioning　system。　Even　if　the　unit　had　worked；　there　were　no　doors；　windows　or　roof　to　keep　cooled　air　in　the　house。　Edie　went　to　the　bedroom　and　changed　from　her　banking　dress　to　a　pair　of　Mrs。　Torres's　expensive　white　linen　shorts　and　a　beige　short…sleeved　pullover。　She　would　have　been　inconsolable　if　the　borrowed　clothes　had　fit　her；　but　thank　God　they　didn't；　Mrs。　Torres　was　easily　three　sizes　larger。　The　bagginess　provided　weled　ventilation　in　the　tropical　humidity；　and　was　not　entirely　unattractive。
　
　Edie　Marsh　was　appraising　her　new　look　in　the　mirror　when　the　phone　started　ringing。　Snapper　hollered　for　her　to　pick　up；　goddammit！
　
　Not　given　to　premonitions；　Edie　experienced　a　powerful　one　that　proved　true。　When　she　answered　the　telephone；　a　long…distance　operator　asked　if　she　would　accept　collect　charges　from　a　〃Neria　in　Memphis。〃
　
　Memphis。　The　witch　was　heading　south！
　
　〃I　don't　know　anybody　named　Neria；〃　Edie　said；　straining　to　stay　calm。
　
　〃Is　this　305…443…1676？〃
　
　〃I'm　not　sure。　See；　I　don't　live　here…I　was　walking　past　the　house　when　I　noticed　the　phone。〃
　
　〃Ma'am；　please…〃
　
　〃Operator；　in　case　you　haven't　heard；　we　had　a　terrible　hurricane　down　here！〃
　
　Neria's　voice：　〃I　want　to　speak　to　my　husband。　Ask　her　if　Antonio　Torres　is　around。〃
　
　Edie　Marsh　said；　〃Look；　the　house　is　empty。　I　was　walking　past　and　I　thought　it　might　be　somebody's　relative　calling。　An　emergency　maybe。　The　man　who　stayed　here；　he's　gone。　Loaded　his　stuff　in　a　Ryder　truck　and　moved　out　Friday。　Up　to　New　York；　is　what　he　said。〃
　
　〃Thank　you；〃　said　the　operator。
　
　〃What！　What's　your　name；　lady？〃　Neria　asked　excitedly。
　
　〃Thank　you；〃　the　operator　repeated；　trying　to　cut　the　conversation　short。
　
　But　Edie　was　rolling。　〃Him　and　some　young　lady　had　a　rental　truck。　Maybe　his　wife。　She　looked　twenty…three；　twenty…four。　Long　blond　hair。〃
　
　Neria；　exploding：　〃No；　I'm　the　wife！　That's　my　house！〃
　
　Sure；　thought　Edie；　now　that　insurance　money　is　in　the　air。　Dump　the　granola…head　professor　and　e　running　back　to　blimpy　old　Tony。
　
　〃Brooklyn；〃　Edie　embellished。　〃I　think　he　said　Brooklyn。〃
　
　〃Sonofabitch；〃　Neria　moaned。
　
　Curtly　the　operator　asked　Mrs。　Torres　if　she　wished　to　try　another　telephone　number。　No　reply。　She'd　hung　up。　Edie　Marsh　did；　too。
　
　Her　heart　drummed　against　her　ribs。　Unconsciously　she　rubbed　her　damp　palms　on　the　rump　of　Mrs。　Torres's　lovely　linen　shorts。　Then　she　hurried　to　the　garage　and　located　a　pair　of　small　green…handled　wire　cutters。
　
　From　the　living　room；　Snapper　called：　〃Who　the　hell　was　that？　The　wife　again？〃　When　he　heard　the　garage　door；　he　yelled；　〃Hey；　I'm　talkin'　to　you！〃
　
　Edie　Marsh　didn't　hear　him。　She　was　sneaking　next　door　to　clip　the　telephone　lines；　so　that　Neria　Torres　could　not　call　Mr。　Varga　to　check　out　the　wild　story　about　Tony　and　the　young　blonde　and　the　Ryder　truck。
　
　The　license　tag　on　the　black　Cherokee　was　stolen　from　a　Camaro　on　the　morning　after　the　hurricane；　in　a　subdivision　called　Turtle　Meadow。　That's　where　Augustine　was　headed　when　Skink　directed　him　to　stop　at　a　makeshift　tent　city；　which　the　National　Guard　had　erected　for　those　made　homeless　by　the　hurricane。
　
　Skink　bounded　from　the　truck　and　stalked　through　rows　of　open　tents。　Bonnie　and　Augustine　kept　a　few　steps　behind；　taking　in　the　sobering　scene。　Dazed　eyes　followed　them。　Men　and　women　sprawled　listlessly　on　army　cots；　dull…eyed　teenagers　waded　barefoot　through　milky　puddles；　children　clung　fiercely　to　new　dolls　handed　out　by　the　Red　Cross。
　
　〃All　these　souls！〃　Skink　cried；　simian　arms　waving　in　agitation。
　
　The　soldiers　assumed　he　was　shell…shocked　from　the　storm。　They　let　him　alone。
　
　At　the　front　of　a　ragged　line；　Guardsmen　gave　out　plastic　bottles　of　Evian。　Skink　kept　marching。　A　small　boy　in　a　muddy　diaper　scurried　across　his　path。　With　one　hand　he　scooped　the　child　to　eye　level。
　
　Bonnie　Lamb　nudged　Augustine。　〃What　do　we　do？〃
　
　When　they　reached　Skink's　side；　they　heard　him　singing　in　a　voice　that　was　startlingly　high　and　tender：　〃It's　just　a　box　of　rain；　I　don't　know　who　put　it　here。　Believe　it　if　you　need　it；　Or　leave　it　if　you　dare。〃
　
　The　little　boy…scarcely　two　years　old；　Bonnie　guessed…had　chubby　cheeks；　curly　brown　hair　and　a　scrape　healing　on　his　brow。　He　wore　a　sleeveless　cotton　shirt　with　a　Batman　logo。　He　smiled　at　the　song　and　tugged　curiously　on　a　silver　sprout　of　the　stranger's　beard。　A　light　mist　fell　from　scuffed　clouds。
　
　Augustine　reached　for　Skink's　shoulder。　〃Captain？〃
　
　Skink；　to　the　boy：　〃What's　your　name？〃
　
　The　reply　was　a　bashful　giggle。　Skink　peered　at　the　child。　〃You　won't　ever　forget；　will　you？　Hurricanes　are　an　eviction　notice　from　God。　Go　tell　your　people。〃
　
　He　resumed　singing；　in　a　nasal　pitch　imposed　by　tiny　fingers　pinching　his　nostrils。
　
　And　it's　fust　a　box　of　rain；　Or　a　ribbon　in　your　hair。　Such　a　long；　long　time　to　be　gone