chiaasen.stormyweather-第22部分

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　〃No。　It's　just…well；　you　got　up　in　the　middle　of　the　night　to　put　them　on。　It　was　a　sweet　gesture。〃
　
　〃Actually；　it　was　more　of　a　precaution。〃　The　eggs　sizzled　when　Augustine　dropped　them　into　the　hot　pan。　〃I'm　surprised　you　even　noticed；〃　he　said；　causing　Bonnie　to　redden　once　more。
　
　In　the　middle　of　breakfast；　the　phone　rang。　It　was　the　Medical　Examiner's　Office…another　John　Doe　was　being　hauled　to　the　county　morgue。　The　coroner　on　duty　wanted　Bonnie　to　stop　by　for　a　look。　Augustine　said　she'd　call　him　back。　He　put　the　phone　down　and　told　her。
　
　〃Can　they　make　me　go？〃
　
　〃I　don't　think　so。〃
　
　〃Because　it's　not　Max；〃　Bonnie　said。　〃Max　is　too　busy　talking　to　Rodale　and　Burns。〃
　
　〃A　white　male　is　all　they　said。　Apparent　homicide。〃
　
　The　last　word　hung　in　the　air　like　sulfur。　Bonnie　put　down　her　fork。　〃It　can't　be　him。〃
　
　〃Probably　not；〃　Augustine　agreed。　〃We　don't　have　to　go。〃
　
　She　got　up　and　went　to　the　bathroom。　Soon　Augustine　heard　the　shower　running。　He　was　washing　the　dishes　when　she　came　out。　She　was　dressed。　Her　wet　hair　was　brushed　back；　and　she'd　found　the　intern's　rose　lipstick　in　the　medicine　chest。
　
　〃I　guess　I　need　to　be　sure；〃　she　said。
　
　Augustine　nodded。　〃You'll　feel　better。〃
　
　Snapper's　real　name　was　Lester　Maddox　Parsons。　His　mother　named　him　after　a　Georgia　politician　best　known　for　scaring　off　black　restaurant　customers　with　an　ax　handle。　Snapper's　mother　believed　Lester　Maddox　should　be　President　of　the　United　States　and　the　whole　white　world；　Snapper's　father　leaned　toward　James　Earl　Ray。　When　Snapper　was　barely　seven　years　old；　his　parents　took　him　to　his　first　Ku　Klux　Klan　rally；　for　the　occasion；　Mrs。　Parsons　dressed　her　son　in　a　costume　sewn　from　white　muslin　pillowcases；　she　was　especially　proud　of　the　pointy　little　hood。　The　other　Klansmen　and　their　wives　fawned　over　Lester；　remarking　on　the　youngster's　handsome　Southern　features…baffling　praise；　because　all　that　was　visible　of　young　Lester　were　his　beady　brown　eyes；　peeping　through　the　slits　of　his　sheet。　He　thought：　I　could　be　a　Negro；　for　all　they　know！
　
　Still；　the　boy　enjoyed　Klan　rallies　because　there　was　great　barbecue　and　towering　bonfires。　He　was　disappointed　when　his　family　stopped　attending；　but　he　couldn't　argue　with　his　parents'　reason　for　quitting。　They　referred　to　it　as　The　Accident；　and　Lester　would　never　forget　the　night。　His　father　had　gotten　customarily　shitfaced　and；　when　the　climactic　moment　came　to　light　the　cross；　accidentally　ignited　the　local　Grand　Kleagle　instead。　In　the　absence　of　a　fire　hose；　the　frantic　Klansmen　were　forced　to　save　their　blazing　rade　by　spritzing　him　with　well…shaken　cans　of　Schlitz　beer。　Once　the　fire　was　extinguished；　they　placed　the　charred　Kleagle　in　the　bed　of　Lester's　father's　pickup　and　drove　to　the　hospital。　Although　the　man　survived；　his　precious　anonymity　was　lost　forever。　A　local　television　crew　happened　to　be　outside　the　emergency　room　when　the　Kleagle…hoodless；　his　sheet　in　scorched　tatters…　arrived。　Once　his　involvement　in　the　Klan　was　exposed　on　TV；　the　man　resigned　as　district　attorney　and　moved　upstate　to　Macon。　Lester's　father　blamed　himself；　a　sentiment　echoed　in　harsher　terms　by　the　other　Klansmen。　Morale　in　the　local　chapter　further　deteriorated　when　a　newspaper　revealed　that　the　young　doctor　who　had　revived　the　dying　Kleagle　was　a　black　man；　possibly　from　Savannah。
　
　The　Parsonses　decided　to　leave　the　Klan　while　it　was　still　their　choice　to　do　so。　Lester's　father　joined　a　segregated　bowling　league；　while　his　mother　mailed　out　flyers　for　J。　B。　Stoner；　another　famous　racist　who　periodically　ran　for　office。　Politics　bored　young　Lester；　who　turned　his　pubescent　energies　to　crime。　He　dropped　out　of　school　on　his　fourteenth　birthday；　although　his　preoccupied　parents　didn't　find　out　for　nearly　two　years。　By　then　the　boy's　ine　from　stealing　backhoes　and　bulldozers　was　twice　his　father's　ine　from　repairing　them。　The　Parsonses　strove　not　to　know　what　their　son　was　up　to；　even　when　it　landed　him　in　trouble。　Lester's　mother　worried　that　the　boy　had　a　mean　streak；　his　father　said　all　boys　do。　Can't　get　by　otherwise　in　this　godforsaken　world。
　
　Lester　Maddox　Parsons　was　seventeen　when　he　got　his　nickname。　He　was　hot…wiring　a　farmer's　tractor　in　a　peanut　field　when　a　game　warden　snuck　up　behind　him。　Lester　dove　from　the　cab　and　took　a　punch　at　the　man；　who　calmly　reconfigured　Lester's　face　with　the　butt　of　an　Ithaca　shotgun。　He　sat　in　the　county　jail　for　three　days　before　a　doctor　came　to　examine　his　jaw；　which　was　approximately　thirty…six　degrees　out　of　alignment。
　
　That　it　healed　at　all　was　a　minor　miracle；　Snapper　was　spitting　out　snips　of　piano　wire　until　he　was　twenty…two　years　old。
　
　The　Georgia　prison　system　taught　the　young　man　an　important　lesson：　It　was　best　to　keep　one's　opinions　about　race　mingling　to　oneself。　So　when　Avila　introduced　Snapper　to　the　roofing　crew；　Snapper　noted　（but　did　not　plain）　that　two　of　the　four　workers　were　as　black　as　the　tar　they'd　be　mixing。　The　third　roofer　was　a　muscular　young　Marielito　with　the　number　〃69〃　tattooed　elegantly　inside　his　lower　lip。　The　fourth　roofer　was　a　white　crackhead　from　Santa　Rosa　County　who　spoke　a　version　of　the　English　language　that　was　utterly　inprehensible　to　Snapper　and　the　others。　Although　each　of　the　roofers　owned　long　felony　rap　sheets；　Snapper　couldn't　say　that　his　feelings　toward　the　crew　approached　anything　close　to　kinship。
　
　Avila　sat　the　men　down　for　a　pep　talk。
　
　〃Thanks　to　the　hurricane；　there's　a　hundred　fifty　thousand　houses　in　Dade　County　need　new　roofs；〃　he　began。　〃Only　a　damn　fool　couldn't　make　money　off　these　poor　bastards。〃
　
　The　plan　was　to　line　up　the　maximum　number　of　buyers　and　perform　the　minimum　amount　of　actual　roofing。　By　virtue　of　owning　a　suit　and　tie；　Snapper　was　assigned　the　task　of　bullshitting　potential　customers　through　the　fine　print　of　the　〃contract；〃　then　collecting　deposits。
　
　〃People　are　fucking　desperate　for　new　roofs；〃　Avila　said　buoyantly。　〃They're　getting　rained　on。　Fried　from　the　sun。　Eat　up　by　bugs。　Faster　they　get　a　roof　on　their　heads；　the　more　they'll　pay。〃　He　raised　his　palms　to　the　sky。　〃Hey；　do　they　really　care　about　price？　It's　insurance　money；　for　Christ's　sake。〃
　
　One　of　the　roofers　inquired　how　much　manual　labor　would　be　involved。　Avila　said　they　should　repair　a　small　section　on　every　house。　〃To　put　the　people's　minds　at　ease；〃　he　explained。
　
　〃What's　a　'small'　section？〃　the　roofer　demanded。
　
　Another　said；　〃It's　fucking　August　out　here；　boss。　I　know　guys　that　dropped　dead　of　heatstroke。〃
　
　Avila　reassured　the　men　they　could　get　by　with　doing　a　square；　maybe　less；　on　each　roof。　〃Then　you　can　split。　Time　they　figure　out　you　won't　be　back；　it's　too　late。〃
　
　The　crackhead　mumbled　something　about　contracting　licenses。　Avila　turned　to　Snapper　and　said；　〃They　ask　about　our　license；　you　know　what　to　do。〃
　
　〃Run？〃
　
　〃Exactamente！〃
　
　Snapper　wasn't　pleased　with　his　door…to…door　role　in　the　operation；　particularly　the　odds　of　encountering　large　pet　dogs。　He　said　to　Avila：　〃Sounds　like　too　much　talking　to　strangers。　I　hate　that　shit。　Why　don't　you　do　the　contracts？〃
　
　〃Because　I　inspected　some　of　these　goddamn　houses　when　I　was　with　building…and…zoning。〃
　
　〃The　owners　don't　know　that。〃
　
　Chango　had　warned　Avila　to　be　careful。　Chango　was　Avila's　personal　santeria　deity。　Avila　had　thanked　him　with　a　turtle　and　two　rabbits。
　
　〃I'm　keeping　low；〃　Avila　told　Snapper。　〃B…and…Z's　got　snitches　all　over　the　damn　county。　Somebody　recognizes　my　face；　we're　screwed。〃
　
　Snapper　wasn't　sure　if　Avila　was　paranoid　or　purely　lazy。　〃So　where　will　you　be　exactly；〃　he　said；　〃when　we're　out　on　a　job？　Maybe　some　air…conditioned　office。〃　He　heard　the　roofers　snicker；　a　hopeful　sign　of　solidarity。
　
　But　Avila　was　quick　to　assert　his　authority。　〃Job？　This　isn't　no　'job；'　it's　an　act。　You　boys　aren't　here　'cause　you　can　mop　tar。　You're　here　'cause　you　look　like　you　can。〃
　
　〃What　about　me？〃　Snapper　goaded。　〃How　e　I　was　hired？〃
　
　〃Because　we　couldn't　get　Robert　Redford。〃　Avila　stood　up　to　signal　the　end　of　the　meeting。　〃Snap；　why　the　hell　you　think　you　got　hired？　So　people　would　be　sure　to　pay。　prende？　One　look　at　that　fucked…up　face；　and　they　know　you　mean　business。〃
　
　Maybe　an　ordinary　criminal　would've　taken　it　as　a　pliment。　Snapper　did　not。
　
　All　the　mattresses　in　Tony　Torres's　house　were　soaked　from　the　storm；　so　Edie　Marsh　had　sex　with　the　insurance　man　on　the　BarcaLounger。　It　was　a　noisy　and　precarious　endeavor。　Fred　Dove　was　nervous；　so　Edie　had　to　assist　him　each　step　of　the　way。　Afterwards　he　said　he　must've　slipped　a　disk。　Edie　was　tempted　to　remark　that　he　hadn't　moved　enough　muscles　to　slip　anything；　instead　she　told　him　he　was　a　stallion　in　technique　and　proportion。　It　was　a　strategy　that　seldom　failed。　Fred　Dove　contentedly　fell　asleep　with　his　head　on　her　shoulder　and　his　legs　snagged　in　the　footrest；　but　not　before　promising　to　submit　a　boldly　fraudulent　damage　claim　for　the　Torres　house　and　split　the　check　with　Edie　Marsh。
　
　An　hour　before　dawn；　Edie　heard　a　terrible　motion　in　the　backyard。　She　couldn't　rise