chiaasen.stormyweather-第69部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


two　handfuls　of　cubes　and　pressed　them　to　her　cheeks。
　
　The　one…eyed　man　helped　the　prostitutes　lift　Levon　Stichler　to　his　feet。　Snapper　poked　the　old　man's　Adam's　apple　with　the　barrel　of　the　gun。　〃Don't　try　nuthin'　stupid；〃　he　said。　〃These　young　girls　can　crack　coconuts　in　their　legs。　Killing　a　skinny　old　fart　like　you　is　no　problem　whassoever。〃
　
　Levon　Stichler　didn't　doubt　it　for　a　moment。　〃Don't　worry；　mister。　I'm　no　hero。〃
　
　The　redhead　pinched　his　butt　playfully。　〃We'll　see　about　that。〃
　
　Augustine　was　hiding　behind　a　Dumpster　when　the　black　Cherokee　with　the　cheesy　mud　flaps　arrived　at　the　Paradise　Palms。　His　spirits　leaped　when　he　saw　Bonnie　Lamb　get　out；　followed　by　the　governor。　The　driver　was　a　brown…haired　woman　in　a　lavender　top；　probably　the　one　from　the　driver's　license　photo；　Edith　Deborah　Marsh；　age　twenty…nine。　She　was　the　next　to　get　out　of　the　Jeep。　From　the　passenger　side：　a　lanky　sallow　man　in　a　rumpled　suit；　no　necktie。　He　carried　a　gun　and　a　bottle；　and　seemed　unsteady。　His　crooked　jaw　was　made　conspicuous　by　a　street　light。　Augustine　had　no　doubt。　It　was　him；　the　one　who'd　attacked　Brenda　Rourke；　the　one　the　prostitutes　had　told　him　about。　Snapper　in　real　life；　〃Lester　Parsons〃　on　the　motel　register。
　
　The　man　opened　the　hatch　of　the　Cherokee　and　barked　something　at　Skink；　who　removed　a　long　lumpy　bundle　and　hoisted　it　across　his　back。　Once　the　procession　disappeared　into　the　motel；　Augustine　ran　to　the　Jeep；　climbed　in　the　cargo　well　and　quietly　closed　the　hatch。　He　flattened　himself　below　the　rear　window；　placing　the　。38　at　his　right　side。　With　both　hands　he　held　the　dart　rifle　across　his　chest。
　
　This；　he　thought；　would　be　something　to　tell　the　old　man。　Make　those　fat　wormy　veins　in　his　temples　pop　up。
　
　Dad　wouldn't　dream　of　risking　his　neck　unless　vast　sums　of　money　were　at　stake。　Love；　loyalty　and　honor　weren't　part　of　the　dope　smuggler's　creed。　Augustine　could　hear　the　incredulity：　A。G。；　why　the　hell　would　you　do　such　a　crazy　thing？
　
　Because　the　man　deserved　it。　He　beat　up　a　lady　cop　and　stole　her　mother's　wedding　ring。　He　was　scum。
　
　Don't　be　an　idiot。　You　could've　been　killed。
　
　He　kidnapped　the　woman　I　love。
　
　I　raised　an　idiot！
　
　No　you　didn't。　You　didn't　raise　anybody。
　
　Whenever　Augustine　wrote　his　father；　he　made　a　point　of　mentioning　how　much　money　he'd　given　away　to　ex…girlfriends；　obscure　charities　and　ultraliberal　political　causes。　He　imagined　his　father's　face　turning　gray　with　dismay。
　
　You　disappoint　me；　A。G。
　
　This　from　a　dumb　shit　who　ran　aground　at　full　throttle　with　thirty…three　kilos　in　the　bilge　and　the　entire　Bahamian　National　Defense　Force　in　pursuit。
　
　〃You　disappoint　me。〃
　
　Right。　Augustine　listened　to　the　rain　thrumming　against　the　roof　of　the　truck。　It　made　him　drowsy。
　
　He　hadn't　expected　to　see　his　father　waiting　when　he　awoke　from　the　a；　so　he　wasn't　disappointed。　Predominantly　he　was　thrilled　to　be　alive。　The　person　at　his　bedside　was　a　middle…aged　Haitian　nurse　named　Lucy。　She　told　him　about　the　plane　crash；　the　months　of　slumber。　Augustine　hugged　her　tearfully。　Lucy　showed　him　a　letter　from　his　father；　sent　from　the　prison　in　Talladega；　she'd　read　the　letter　aloud　to　Augustine　when　he　was　unconscious。　She　volunteered　to　read　it　again。
　
　Son；　I　hope　you　are　alive　to　read　these　words。　I'm　sorry　the　way　things　turned　out。　Dad　should've　signed　off　right　there；　but　grace　and　decency　were　never　his　strong　suits。
　
　Everything　I　did　was　for　you；　he　wrote。　Every　move　I　made；　right　or　wrong。
　
　Which　was　crap；　an　unnecessary　lie。　It　mildly　saddened　Augustine　but　didn't　embitter　him。　He　was　beyond　all　that。　The　airplane　accident　had　pruned　his　emotions　down　to　the　roots。　Nothing　affected　him　the　way　it　had　before；　which　was　fine。　He　decided　everyone　could　benefit　from　a　short　a。　Wipe　the　slate　clean。
　
　So　what　if　it　took　him　years　to　e　up　with　a　new　agenda？　Here　it　was。　Here　she　was。
　
　Dad　would　not　approve。　Fortunately；　Dad　was　not　a　factor。
　
　Augustine　heard　the　closing　of　a　door；　footsteps　slapping　in　the　puddles；　voices　advancing　across　the　motel　parking　lot。　He　took　three　deep　breaths。　Checked　the　safety　on　the　dart　rifle。
　
　He　was　glad　for　the　weather；　which　misted　the　Jeep's　windows　and　made　him　invisible　from　the　outside。　The　voices　grew　sharper…two　men　arguing。　Augustine　didn't　recognize　them。　Perhaps　Snapper　and　somebody　else；　but　who？
　
　Loud　words　broke　through　the　whisper　of　the　rain。　Augustine　decided　not　to　give　himself　away　unless　Bonnie　Lamb　was　in　trouble。　The　argument　moved　closer。　Then　came　a　deep　huff；　the　sounds　of　a　clumsy　struggle；　a　bottle　shattering　on　the　pavement。
　
　One　of　the　men　blurted：　〃Hold　the　damn　gun　while　I　strangle　this　fucker。〃
　
　Snapper's　consternation　about　the　two　remaining　bullets　in　the　。357　was　well　founded。　A　crack　marksman　he　was　not。
　
　A　police　report　dated　July　7；　1989；　showed　that　one　Lester　Maddox　Parsons　was　arrested　for　shooting　Theodore　〃Sunny〃　Shea　outside　the　Satellite　Grille　in　Dania；　Florida。　The　victim　was　not　just　a　garden…variety　crack　dealer；　as　Snapper　claimed　after　the　incident。　In　truth；　Sunny　Shea　was　his　longtime　business　partner。　The　scope　of　their　enterprises　extended　beyond　drugs　to　stolen　guns；　jewelry；　clothing；　patio　furniture；　stereos；　even　a　shipment　of　baby　food　on　one　occasion。　Eventually　Sunny　Shea　came　to　suspect　Snapper　of　cheating　him　on　the　proceeds；　and　confronted　him　with　the　accusation　one　humid　summer　night　in　the　doorway　of　the　Satellite　Grille；　before　sixteen　eyewitnesses。
　
　Snapper's　indignant　response　was　to　display　a　9mm　Clock　（swiped　from　the　glove　box　of　an　unmarked　Coral　Springs　police　car）　and　attempt　to　empty　said　weapon　into　Sunny　Shea。　In　all；　Snapper　fired　eleven　times　from　a　distance　of　eight　feet。　Only　six　rounds　struck　Sunny　Shea；　and　not　one　nicked　a　vital　organ…quite　a　feat；　considering　that　Sunny　Shea　weighed　only　one　hundred　thirty　pounds　and　hadn't　an　ounce　of　fat　on　his　body。　The　hapless　shooting　exhibition　was　even　more　remarkable　because　Snapper　was　stone　sober　at　the　time。
　
　Sunny　Shea　never　lost　consciousness；　and　was　extremely　cooperative　when　police　inquired　about　the　identity　of　his　assailant。　The　two　detectives　who　hauled　Lester　Maddox　Parsons　to　the　Broward　County　Jail　ridiculed　him　mercilessly　about　his　lousy　aim。
　
　The　next　morning；　when　they　came　to　his　cell　to　inform　him　that　the　charge　of　attempted　first…degree　murder　had　been　upgraded；　Snapper　glowed　with　vindication。　Then　he　learned　it　wasn't　one　of　his　shots　that　had　killed　his　scrawny；　obnoxious　partner…some　bone…head　in　the　emergency　room　had　injected　Theodore　〃Sunny〃　Shea　with　an　antibiotic　to　which　he　was　virulently；　and　fatally；　allergic。
　
　Snapper　pleaded　out　to　a　chickenshit　manslaughter　and　got　easy　time；　but　his　confidence　in　the　efficacy　of　handguns　was　ruined　forever。　Two　bullets　in　a　。357　was　scarcely　better　than　no　bullets　at　all。
　
　Which　was　why　he　didn't　want　to　waste　them　on　Avila；　the　whiny　spic。　He　was　the　last　guy　on　earth　that　Snapper　expected　to　see　at　Paradise　Palms。　He'd　materialized　like　a　drowned　ghost　out　of　the　rainstorm；　bitching　about　the　roofing　deposit　that　Snapper　had　ripped　off　from　Mrs。　Whitmark。
　
　〃You　know　who　she　is？　You　know　who　she's　married　to？〃　Avila　was　screeching。　Skink　and　the　two　women　retreated　to　a　dry　vantage；　under　the　eaves　of　the　motel；　while　Avila　chased　Snapper　around　the　parking　lot　like　a　terrier。　Their　conversation　was　difficult　to　follow；　but　Edie　Marsh　got　the　substance　of　it：　Snapper　had　made　a　seven…thousand…dollar　score。
　
　Funny　how　he'd　forgotten　to　tell　her　about　it。　Same　as　the　wedding　ring。
　
　The　pistol　in　Snapper's　possession　worried　Avila　but　didn't　deter　him。　For　eighty　miles　he'd　been　praying　for　Change's　protection；　and　felt　moderately　imbued。　Snapper　appeared　frazzled　and　shaky；　possibly　visited　by　black　spirits。
　
　Avila　said；　〃Gimme　the　money。〃
　
　〃Eat　shit；〃　Snapper　growled。
　
　When　he　turned　away；　Avila　hopped　on　his　back。
　
　Snapper　shook　him　off。　Avila　pounced　again；　ripping　Snapper's　suit　and　knocking　the　Johnnie　Walker　from　his　hand。　T