chiaasen.stormyweather-第16部分

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re　goes：　〃'I　have　nothing　to　do　with　the　creaking　machinery　of　humanity…I　belong　to　the　earth！　I　say　that　lying　on　my　pillow　and　I　can　feel　the　horns　sprouting　from　my　temples。'〃
　
　After　a　scratchy　pause：　〃Bonnie；　honey；　it　sounds　worse　than　it　is。　Please　don't　tell　my　folks　a　thing…I　don't　want　Dad　all　worked　up　for　no　reason。　And　please　call　Pete　and；　uh；　ask　him　to　put　me　down　for　sick　leave；　just　in　case　this　situation　drags　out。　And　tell　him　to　stall　the　sixth　floor　on　the　Bronco　meeting　next　week。　Don't　forget；　OK？　Tell　him　under　no　circumstances　should　Bill　Knapp　be　brought　in。　It's　still　my　account。。。。〃
　
　Max　Lamb's　voice　dissolved　into　fuzzy　pops　and　echoes。　Augustine　hung　up。　He　walked　Bonnie　back　to　the　pickup。
　
　She　got　in　and　said；　〃This　is　making　me　crazy。〃
　
　〃We'll　call　again　from　my　house　and　get　it　on　tape。〃
　
　〃Oh；　I'm　sure　it'll　jolt　the　FBI　into　action。　Especially　the　poetry。〃
　
　〃Actually　I　think　it's　from　a　book。〃
　
　〃What　does　it　mean？〃　she　asked。
　
　Augustine　reached　across　her　lap　and　placed　the　。38　Special　in　the　glove　partment。　〃It　means；〃　he　said；　〃your　husband　probably　isn't　as　safe　as　he　thinks。〃
　
　By　and　large；　the　Highway　Patrol　troopers　based　in　northern　Florida　were　not　overjoyed　to　learn　of　their　temporary　reassignment　to　southern　Florida。　Many　would　have　preferred　Beirut　or　Somalia。　The　exception　was　Jim　Tile。　A　trip　to　Miami　meant　precious　time　with　Brenda　Rourke；　although　working　double　shifts　in　the　hurricane　zone　left　them　scarcely　enough　energy　to　collapse　in　each　other's　arms。
　
　Jim　Tile　hadn't　counted　on　an　intrusion　by　the　governor；　but　it　wasn't　totally　surprising。　The　man　worshipped　hurricanes。　Ignoring　his　presence　would　have　been　selfish　and　irresponsible；　the　trooper　didn't　take　the　friendship　that　lightly；　nor　Skink's　capacity　for　outstandingly　rash　behavior。　Jim　Tile　had　no　choice　but　to　try　to　stay　close。
　
　In　the　age　of　political　correctness；　a　large　black　man　in　a　crisply　pressed　police　uniform　could　move　at　will　through　the　corridors　of　white…cracker　bureaucracy　and　never　once　be　questioned。　Jim　Tile　took　full　advantage　in　the　days　following　the　big　storm。　He　mingled　authoritatively　with　Dade　County　deputies；　Homestead　police；　firelighters；　Red　Cross　volunteers；　National　Guardsmen；　the　Army　mand　and　antsy　emissaries　of　the　Federal　Emergency　Management　Agency。　Between　patrol　shifts；　Jim　Tile　helped　himself　to　coffee　and　A…forms；　911　logs；　puter　printouts　and　handwritten　incident　reports…　he　scanned　for　nothing　in　particular；　just　a　sign。
　
　As　it　happened；　though；　madness　flowed　rampant　in　the　storm's　wake。　Jim　Tile　leafed　through　the　paperwork；　and　thought：　My　Lord；　people　are　cracking　up　all　over　town。
　
　The　machinery　of　rebuilding　doubled　as　novel　weapons　for　domestic　violence。　Thousands　of　hurricane　victims　had　stampeded　to　purchase　chain　saws　for　clearing　debris；　and　now　the　dangerous　power　tools　were　being　employed　to　vent　rage。　A　gentleman　with　a　Black　8c　Decker　attempted　to　truncate　a　stubborn　insurance　adjuster　in　Homestead。　An　old　woman　in　Florida　City　used　a　lightweight　Sears　to　silence　a　neighbor's　garrulous　pet　cockatoo。　And　in　Sweetwater；　two　teen…aged　gang　members　successfully　detached　each　other's　arms　（one　left；　one　right）　in　a　brief　but　spectacular　duel　of　stolen　Homelites。
　
　If　chain　saws　ruled　the　day；　firearms　ruled　the　night。　Fearful　of　looters；　vigilant　home　owners　unloaded　high…caliber　semiautomatics　at　every　rustle；　scrape　and　scuff　in　the　darkness。　Preliminary　casualties　included　seven　cats；　thirteen　stray　dogs；　two　opossums　and　a　garbage　truck；　but　no　actual　thieves。　Residents　of　one　rural　neighborhood　wildly　fired　dozens　of　rounds　to　repel　what　they　described　as　a　troop　of　marauding　monkeys…　an　episode　that　Jim　Tile　dismissed　as　mass　hallucination。　He　resolved　to　limit　his　investigative　activities　to　daytime　hours；　whenever　possible。
　
　Nearly　all　the　missing　persons　reported　to　authorities　were　locals　who　had　fled　the　storm　and　lost　contact　with　concerned　relatives　up　North。　Most　turned　up　safe　at　shelters　or　in　the　homes　of　neighbors。　But　one　case　caught　Jim　Tile's　attention：　a　man　named　Max　Lamb。
　
　According　to　the　information　filed　by　his　wife；　the　Lambs　drove　to　Miami　on　the　morning　after　the　hurricane　struck。　Mrs。　Lamb　told　police　that　her　husband　wanted　to　see　the　storm　damage。　The　trooper　wasn't　surprised…the　streets　were　clogged　with　out…of…towners　who　treated　the　hurricane　zone　as　a　tourist　attraction。
　
　Mr。　Max　Lamb　had　left　his　rental　car；　in　pursuit　of　video。　It　seemed　improbable　to　Jim　Tile　that　anybody　from　Manhattan　could　get　lost　on　foot　in　the　flat　simple　grid　of　a　Florida　subdivision。　The　trooper's　suspicions　were　heightened　by　another　incident；　lost　deep　in　the　stack　of　files。
　
　A　seventy…four…year…old　woman　had　called　to　say　she　had　witnessed　a　possible　assault。　It　was　summarized　in　two　short　paragraphs；　taken　over　the　telephone　by　a　dispatcher：
　
　〃Caller　reports　suspicious　subject　running　along　10700　block　of　Quail　Roost　Drive；　carrying　another　subject　over　his　shoulder。　Subject　One　is　described　as　w/m；　height　and　weight　unknown。　Subject　Two　is　w/m；　height　and　weight　unknown。
　
　〃Caller　reports　Subject　B　appeared　to　be　resisting；　and　was　possibly　nude。　Subject　A　reported　to　be　carrying　a　handgun　with　a　flashing　red　light　（？？）。　Search　of　area　by　Units　2334　and　4511　proved　negative。〃
　
　Jim　Tile　knew　of　no　pistols　with　blinking　red　lights；　but　most　hand…held　video　cameras　had　one。　From　a　distance；　a　frightened　elderly　person　might　mistake　a　Sony　for　a　Smith　&　Wesson。
　
　Maybe　the　old　woman　had　witnessed　the　abduction　of　Mr。　Max　Lamb。　Jim　Tile　hoped　not。　He　hoped　the　Quail　Roost　sighting　was　just　another　weird　Dade　County　roadside　altercation　and　not　the　act　of　his　volatile　swamp…dwelling　friend；　who　was　known　to　hold　ill…mannered　tourists　in　low　esteem。
　
　The　trooper　made　a　copy　of　Mrs。　Lamb's　report　and　slipped　it　in　his　briefcase　along　with　several　others。　When　he　had　some　free　time；　he'd　try　to　interview　her。
　
　There　was　only　twenty　minutes　left　for　lunch　with　Brenda；　before　both　of　them　had　to　start　another　shift。　Being　able　to　see　her；　even　briefly；　was　well　worth　the　ordeal　of　working　the　batty　streets　of　South　Florida。
　
　Jim　Tile　was　most　displeased；　therefore；　to　personally　witness　the　hijacking　of　a　Salvation　Army　truck　while　he　was　driving　to　the　Red　Lobster　restaurant　where　Brenda　waited。　The　trooper　was　obliged　to　give　chase；　and　by　the　time　it　was　over　he'd　missed　his　luncheon　date。
　
　As　he　disarmed　and　handcuffed　the　truck　hijacker；　Jim　Tile　wondered　aloud　why　anybody　with　half　a　brain　would　use　a　MAC…10　to　steal　a　truck　full　of　secondhand　clothes。　The　young　man　said　his　original　intention　was　to　spray…paint　a　gang　insignia　on　the　side　of　the　Salvation　Army　truck；　but　before　he　could　finish　his　tagging　the　driver　took　off。　The　young　man　explained　that　he'd　had　no　choice；　as　a　matter　of　self…respect；　but　to　pull　his　submachine　gun　and；　yo；　steal　the　motherfucking　truck。
　
　As　Trooper　Jim　Tile　assisted　the　talkative　hijacker　into　the　cage　of　his　patrol　car；　he　silently　vowed　to　redouble　his　efforts　to　persuade　Brenda　Rourke　to　transfer　out　of　this　hellhole　called　Miami；　to　a　more　civilized　hellhole　where　they　could　work　together。
　
　Snapper　was　proud　of　how　he'd　acquired　the　Jeep　Cherokee；　but　Edie　Marsh　showed　no　interest　in　his　conquest。
　
　〃What's　the　story？〃　Snapper　pointed　at　the　dachshunds。
　
　〃Donald　and　Maria；〃　Edie　said；　annoyed。　The　animals　were　pulling　her　back　and　forth　across　Tony　Torres's　front　yard　and　peeing　with　wild　abandon。　Edie　was　amazed　at　the　power　in　their　stubby　Vienna…sausage　legs。
　
　〃By　the　way；〃　she　said；　straining　against　the　leashes；　〃it　took　that　asshole　all　of　three　minutes　before　he　grabbed　my　tits。〃
　
　〃Big　deal；　so　you　win　the　bet。〃
　
　〃Take　these　damn　dogs！〃
　
　Snapper　backed　away。　Numerous　encounters　with　police　German　shepherds　had　left　him　with　permanent　scars；　physical　and　mental。　Over　the　years；　Snapper　had　bee　a　cat　person。
　
　〃Just　let　'em　go；〃　he　said　to　Edie。
　
　The　moment　she　dropped　the　leashes；　the　two　dachshunds　curled　up　at　her　feet。
　
　〃Beautiful；〃　Snapper　said　with　a　grunt。　〃Hey；　look　what　I　found。〃　He　flashed　the　chrome…plated　pistol　he'd　taken　from　the　gangsters。　Palming　the　cheap　gun；　he　noticed　the　chambers　were　empty。　〃Damn　spades；〃　he　said；　heaving　it　into　the　murky　swimming　pool。
　
　Edie　Marsh　told　Snapper　about　the　tough　guy　with　the　New　York　accent　who　came　for　Tony　Torres。　〃You　picked　a　peachy　time　to　disappear；〃　she　added。
　
　〃Shut　the　fuck　up。〃
　
　〃Well；　Tony's　gone。　Even　his　damn　beach　chair。　Figure　it　out　yourself。〃
　
　〃Shit。〃
　
　〃He　won't　be　back；〃　Edie　said　gravely。　〃Not　in　one　piece；　anyway。〃
　
　A　concrete　block　occupied　the　spot　where　Tony's　chaise　had　been。　Snapper　cursed　his　rotten　timing。　The　ten　grand　was　history。　Even　in　the　unlikely　event　that　the　salesman　returned；　he'd　never　pay。　Snapper　had　fucked　up　big…time；　he　wasn't　cut　out　to　be　a　bodyguard。
　
　He　said；　〃I　don't　guess　you　got　a　new　plan。〃
　
　A　siren　drowned　Edie's　reply；　which　she　punctuated　with　a　f