chiaasen.stormyweather-第53部分

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　Augustine　said；　〃What　now；　captain？〃
　
　Skink　settled　his　bristly　chin　on　the　windowsill。　〃We　wait。〃
　
　Two　hours　later；　the　old　man　still　hasn't　e　out　of　the　house　at　15600　Calusa　Drive。　Bonnie's　worried。
　
　Then　another　car　pulls　up。
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　TWENTY
　
　
　Neria　Torres　had　no　desire　to　drive　all　the　way　to　Brooklyn　in　search　of　a　thieving　husband。
　
　〃Then　fly；〃　suggested　Celeste；　the　graduate　student　who　shared　the　Volkswagen　van　with　Neria　and　Neria's　lover；　the　professor。
　
　The　professor's　name　was　Charles　Gabler。　His　field　of　interest　was　parapsychology。　〃Neria　won't　fly；〃　he　said。　〃She's　afraid　to　death　of　airplanes。〃
　
　〃Wow；〃　said　Celeste；　cooking　on　a　portable　stove　in　the　back　of　the　van。　She　was　in　charge　of　the　macrobiotic　menu。
　
　Neria　said；　〃It's　not　just　the　flying；　it's　Brooklyn。　How　would　I　find　Tony　in　a　place　like　that？〃
　
　〃I　know　how；〃　Celeste　piped。　〃Hire　a　psychic。〃
　
　〃Great　idea。　We'll　call　Kreskin。〃
　
　The　professor　said；　〃Neria；　there's　no　need　to　be　snide。〃
　
　〃Oh　yes；　there　is。〃
　
　She　and　Dr　Gabler　had　been　sorely　low　of　funds　when　he'd　proposed　that　young　Celeste　join　them　a　week　earlier　as　they　prepared　to　depart　Eugene；　Oregon；　for　Miami。　Young　Celeste　had　been　blessed　with　a　fortable　trust　fund；　a　generous　heart　and　handsome　gravity…defying　breasts。　Neria　was　under　no　illusions　about　the　professor's　motives；　but　she　tried　to　put　aside　her　concerns。　They　needed　gas　money；　and　young　Celeste　kept　a　world　of　credit　cards　in　her　purse。　Somewhere　near　Salina；　Kansas；　Neria　felt　the　need　to　inform　Dr　Gabler　that　he　was　paying　too　much　attention　to　their　travel　panion；　that　his　behavior　was　not　only　rude　but　disrespectful；　and　that　the　Great　Plains　in　the　heat　of　summer　was　no　place　to　relearn　the　basics　of　hitchhiking。　The　professor　seemed　to　take　the　warning　to　heart。
　
　In　truth；　Neria　was　growing　bored　with　Dr　Gabler　and　his　absurd　blue　and　red　crystals。　Mystic　healing；　my　ass…a　box　of　Milk　Duds　starts　to　look　pretty　mystical；　you　smoke　enough　dope。　Which　was　how　the　professor　spent　most　of　his　waking　hours；　sluggishly　bequeathing　the　driving　duties　to　Neria　and　Celeste。
　
　〃I'd　rather　go　to　Miami　anyway；〃　Celeste　said；　measuring　out　two　cups　of　brown　rice。　〃I'd　like　to　work　in　one　of　those　tent　cities。　Cook　for　the　homeless；　if　they　need　me。〃
　
　The　professor　regarded　Neria　Torres　through　bloodshot　hound…dog　eyes。　〃Darling；　it's　entirely　up　to　you。　We'll　go　wherever　you　wish。〃
　
　〃Wow；〃　said　Neria。　The　mockery　was　lost　on　Celeste；　who　was　immersed　in　a　plex　recipe。　Neria　declared　she　was　going　for　a　walk；　and　exited　the　van。
　
　They　had　parked　at　a　public　campground　off　Interstate　20；　outside　Atlanta；　to　discuss　which　way　to　go…　New　York　or　Miami；　north　or　south。　Neria　Torres　replayed　in　her　mind　the　upsetting　conversation　with　the　stranger　who'd　answered　Tony's　telephone。　The　more　Neria　thought　about　it；　the　more　doubts　she　had。　Not　that　her　piggy　husband　wasn't　capable　of　falling　for　a　twenty…four…year…old　blonde；　rather；　it　was　highly　implausible　that　one　would　fall　for　him。　And　Brooklyn？　Hardly　a　boomtown　for　the　mobile…home　trade。　The　stranger's　story　didn't　add　up。
　
　Neria　Torres　had　tried　to　confirm　the　lurid　details　with　Varga；　the　nosy　next…door　neighbor；　but　his　telephone　was　out　of　order。　Neria　was　certain　about　two　things：　She　was　entitled　to　half　the　hurricane　money　for　the　house　in　Miami。　And　her　estranged　husband　was　dodging　her。
　
　New　York　was　an　astronomic　long　shot。　At　least　in　Florida　there'd　be　a　trail。　Neria　decided　they　should　head　for　Miami；　as　originally　planned。
　
　She　thought　of　a　way　to　widen　the　net：　Why　not　let　the　cops　search　for　Tony；　too？　They　were　the　pros；　after　all。　Neria　backtracked　through　the　campground　to　a　phone　booth；　where　she　used　her　husband's　PIN　number　to　call　the　Metro…Dade　police　and　make　a　missing…person　report。
　
　After　a　desk　officer　took　the　information；　he　put　Neria　Torres　on　hold。　She　waited　several　minutes；　growing　increasingly　impatient。　The　sky　began　to　drizzle。　Neria　fumed。　She　thought　of　Dr　Gabler　and　young　Celeste；　together　in　the　back　of　the　Volkswagen　van。　She　wondered　if　the　professor　was　demonstrating　his　〃human　Ouija　board〃　exercise；　the　one　he'd　worked　so　charmingly　on　Neria　herself。
　
　Around　Neria's　neck　hung　a　polished　stalk　of　rose　quartz；　which　Dr　Gabler　had　given　her　to　help　channel　untapped　torrents　of　〃unconditional　love。〃　Dickhead！　thought　Neria。　At　that　very　moment　he　was　probably　tuning　young　Celeste's　inner　chakras。　Until　she'd　met　the　professor；　Neria　Torres　hadn't　known　what　a　chakra　was。　Celeste　undoubtedly　did。　She　and　Dr　Gabler　seemed　to　operate　on　the　same　wavelength。
　
　The　drizzle　turned　to　a　hard　rain。　Under　Neria's　feet；　the　red　Georgia　clay　turned　to　slop。　A　man　with　a　newspaper　over　his　head　came　up　behind　her　and　stood　unfortably　close。　He　employed　noisy；　urgent　breathing　to　emphasize　his　need　for　the　telephone。　Neria　cursed　aloud　and　slammed　down　the　receiver。
　
　On　the　other　end；　at　Metro　police　headquarters　in　Miami；　the　desk　officer　had　been　diligently　crosschecking　the　missing　husband　against　a　list　of　unclaimed　bodies　in　the　morgue。　He　was　surprised　to　get　a　possible　hit：　One　dead　man　had　the　same　name；　same　date　of　birth；　same　extravagant　brand　of　wristwatch。
　
　The　offider　immediately　had　transferred　Mrs。　Torres's　phone　call　to　the　Homicide　division。　By　the　time　a　detective　picked　up；　nobody　was　on　the　line。
　
　Max　Lamb　flew　from　New　York　to　San　Diego　to　Guadalajara；　where　he　slept　for　eleven　hours。　He　woke　up　and　called　the　airport　hotel　in　Miami。　Bonnie　hadn't　checked　in。　Max　lit　a　Bronco　cigaret　and　fell　back　on　the　pillow。
　
　He　chewed　over　a　scenario　in　which　his　new　wife　might　be　cheating　on　him　with　one　of　two　certifiable　lunatics；　or　both。　He　couldn't　conceive　of　it。　The　Bonnie　Brooks　he　knew　wasn't　a　free　spirit…that　was　one　of　the　things　he　loved　about　her。　Steady　and　predictable；　that　was　Bonnie。　To　Max's　knowledge；　the　most　impulsive　thing　she'd　ever　done　was　to　hurl　a　stale　pizza；　Frisbee　style；　out　the　apartment　window　in　Manhattan。　When　it　came　to　sex；　she　was　practically　old…fashioned。　She　hadn't　slept　with　him　until　their　seventh　date。
　
　So　it　took　only　minutes　for　Max　Lamb　to　dismiss　his　worries　about　Bonnie's　fidelity。　The　ability　to　delude　oneself　on　such　matters　was　a　benefit　of　owning　a　grossly　inflated　ego。　Bottom　line：　Max　couldn't　imagine　that　Bonnie　would　desire　another　man。　Especially　those　types　of　men：　outlaws　and　psychos。　Impossible！　He　snickered；　blowing　smoke　at　the　notion。　She　was　punishing　him；　that　was　all；　obviously　she　was　still　ticked　off　about　the　hurricane　excursion。
　
　Scrubbing　in　the　shower；　Max　Lamb　refocused　on　the　task　at　hand：　the　obstreperous　Clyde　Nottage　Jr；　ailing　chairman　of　Durham　Gas　Meat　8c　Tobacco。　Max's　orders　were　to　talk　some　sense　into　the　old　fart；　make　him　understand　the　grievous　consequences　of　withdrawing　all　those　expensive　advertisements　from　print。　Before　Max　Lamb　had　left　New　York；　four　Rodale　&　Burns　executive　vice　presidents　had　individually　briefed　him　on　the　importance　of　the　Guadalajara　mission。　Success；　Max　knew；　would　guarantee　a　long　and　lucrative　career　at　the　agency。　A　home　run；　is　how　one　of　the　honchos　had　put　it。　Turning　the　old　man　around　would　be　a　grand…slam　homer　in　the　bottom　of　the　ninth。　Clyde　Nottage　was　one　crusty　old　prick。
　
　A　cab　took　Max　Lamb　to　the　Aragon　Clinic；　a　two…story　stucco　building；　freshly　painted　and　lushly　landscaped；　in　a　residential　sub…division　of　the　city。　The　lobby　of　the　clinic　showed　evidence　of　recent　remodeling；　which　unfortunately　had　not　included　central　air。　Max　loosened　his　necktie　and　took　a　seat。　On　a　glass　table　was　a　stack　of　informational　pamphlets　printed　in　Spanish。　Curious；　Max　picked　one　up。　On　the　first　page　was　a　drawing　of　a　male　sheep　with　an　arrow　pointing　between　its　hind　legs。
　
　Max　returned　the　pamphlet　to　the　table。　He　wanted　a　smoke；　but　a　sign　on　the　wall　said　〃No　Fumar。〃　A　drop　of　sweat　rolled　down　his　jawline。　Max　dabbed　it　away　with　a　handkerchief。
　
　A　man　wearing　a　white　medical　coat　came　out；　a　pale…eyed　Am