chiaasen.stormyweather-第37部分

快捷操作: 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! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

　
　Avila　kept　his　eyes　ahead。　〃This　ain't　New　York；〃　he　said。　Finally　the　traffic　started　to　move。
　
　The　customer　said　a　trailer　park　not　far　from　his　neighborhood　got　blown　to　smithereens。　〃Old　lady　was　killed；〃　he　said。
　
　〃Man；　that's　rough。〃
　
　〃Wonderful　old　lady。　But　every　single　trailer　got　destroyed；　every　damn　one。〃
　
　Avila　said；　〃Storm　of　the　century。〃
　
　〃No；　but　here's　the　thing。　The　tie…downs　on　those　mobile　homes　was　rotted　out。　The　augers　was　sawed　off。　Anchor　disks　missing。　Now　you　tell　me　some　inspector　didn't　get　greased。〃。
　
　Avila　shifted　unfortably。　〃Straps　rot　fast　in　this　heat。　How　much　farther？〃
　
　〃Not　long。〃
　
　The　customer　picked　up　Krome　Avenue　to　168th　Street。　There　he　turned　back　east　and　drove　for　a　mile　to　a　subdivision　called　Fox　Hollow；　which　had　eroded　to　more　or　less　bare　foundations　in　the　hurricane。　The　man　parked　in　front　of　the　skeletal　remains　of　a　small　tract　home。
　
　Avila　got　out　of　the　Cadillac　and　said；　〃God；　you　weren't　kidding。〃
　
　The　roof　of　the　house　was　totally　blown　away；　gables；　beams；　trusses；　everything。　Avila　was　stunned　that　Mr。　Reynolds　was　allowing　his　family　to　remain　in　such　an　unprotected　structure。　Avila　followed　him　inside；　stepping　over　the　wind…flattened　doors。　The　place　looked　abandoned　except　for　the　kitchen；　where　a　pack　of　stray　dogs　fought　over　rancid　hamburger　in　the　overturned　refrigerator。　Avila's　customer　grabbed　an　aluminum　baseball　bat　and　chased　the　mongrels　off。
　
　Peeking　into　the　flooded　bedrooms；　Avila　saw　no　sign　of　the　customer's　family。　Immediately　he　felt　the　whole　day　go　sour。　Just　to　be　sure；　he　said；　〃So　where's　your　ninety…year…old　grandmother？〃
　
　〃Dead　and　buried；〃　Ira　Jackson　replied；　slapping　the　bat　in　the　palm　of　one　hand；　〃on　beautiful　Staten　Island。〃
　
　As　the　man　from　New　York　prepared　to　nail　him　to　a　pine　tree；　Avila　concluded　that　Snapper　was　responsible　for　hiring　the　attacker。
　
　Clearly　the　plan　was　to　murder　Avila　and　take　control　of　his　crooked　roofers。　Where　was　the　mighty　fist　of　Chango？　Avila　wondered　grimly。　Had　the　double…chicken　sacrifice　misfired？
　
　Then　the　man　from　New　York　explained　himself…　who　he　was；　what　had　happened　to　his　mother；　and　why　Avila　must　die　a　horrible　drawn…out　death。　At　first　Avila　pleaded　innocence；　feigning　outrage　at　the　fate　of　Beatrice　Jackson。　Soon　he　realized　that　the　survival　skills　so　essential　to　a　county　bureaucrat…the　ability　on　a　moment's　notice　to　shift　blame；　dodge　responsibility　and　misplace　crucial　paperwork…were　of　no　use　to　him　now。
　
　Avila　reasoned　it　was　better　to　tell　the　truth　than　to　have　it　tortured　out　of　him。　So；　out　of　sheer　bladder…shriveling　fear；　he　confessed　to　Ira　Jackson。
　
　Yes；　it　was　he　who'd　been　assigned　to　approve　the　mobile　homes　at　Suncoast　Leisure　Village。　And　yes；　he'd　failed　to　perform　thorough　and　timely　inspections。　And…yes；　yes！　God　forgive　me！…he'd　taken　bribes　to　overlook　code　violations。
　
　〃Didn't　you　see　those　goddamn　rotten　straps？〃　demanded　Ira　Jackson；　who　was　making　a　crucifix　with　fallen　roof　beams。
　
　〃No；〃　Avila　admitted。
　
　〃The　augers？〃
　
　〃No；　I　swear。〃
　
　〃Never　even　checked？〃　Ira　Jackson　pounded　ferociously　with　a　hammer。
　
　〃I　didn't　see　them；〃　Avila　said　morosely；　〃because　I　never　drove　out　there。〃
　
　Ira　Jackson's　hammer　halted　in　midair。　Avila；　who　was　lashed　to　a　broken　mode　in　a　bathroom；　lowered　his　eyes　in　a　pantomime　of　shame。　That's　when　he　saw　that　the　toilet　bowl　was　alive　with　bright…green　frogs　and　mottled　brown　snakes；　splashing　beneath　him　in　fetid　water。
　
　With　a　shiver　he　said；　〃I　never　went　to　the　trailer　park。　The　guy　sent　me　the　money…〃
　
　〃How　much？〃
　
　〃Fifty　bucks　a　unit。　He　sent　it　to　the　office；　so　I　figured　what　the　hell；　why　waste　gas？　Instead　of　driving　all　the　way　down　there；　I。。。〃　Here　Avila　caught　himself。　It　seemed　unnecessary　to　reveal　that　he'd　played　golf　on　the　afternoon　he　was　supposed　to　inspect　Suncoast　Leisure　Village。
　
　〃。。。I　didn't　go。〃
　
　〃You're　shittin'me。〃
　
　〃No。　I'm　very；　very　sorry。〃
　
　The　expression　on　Ira　Jackson's　face　caused　Avila　to　reevaluate　his　decision　to　be　candid。　Evidently　the　doughnut　man　intended　to　torture　him；　no　matter　what。　Ira　Jackson　bent　over　the　crucifix　and　went　back　to　work。
　
　Raising　his　voice　over　the　racket；　Avila　said；　〃Christ；　if　I　knew　what　he　was　doing　with　those　trailers；　he　never　woulda　got　permits。　You　gotta　believe　me；　there's　no　amount　of　money　would　make　me　take　a　pass　on　cut　augers。　No　way！〃
　
　〃Shut　up。〃　Ira　Jackson　carried　the　cross　to　the　backyard　and　began　nailing　it　to　the　trunk　of　a　pine。　It　had　been　a　tall　lush　tree　until　the　hurricane　sheared　off　the　top　thirty　feet；　now　it　was　merely　a　bark…covered　pole。
　
　With　each　plonk　of　the　hammer；　Avila's　spirits　sank。　He　said　a　prayer　to　Change；　then　tried　a　〃Hail　Mary〃　in　the　wan　hope　that　traditional　Catholic　entreaty　would　be　more　potent　in　staving　off　a　crucifixion。
　
　As　the　man　from　New　York　dragged　him　to　the　tree；　Avila　cried；　〃Please；　I'll　do　anything　you　want！〃
　
　〃OK；〃　said　Ira　Jackson；　〃I　want　you　to　die。〃
　
　He　positioned　Avila　upright　against　the　cross　and　wrapped　duct　tape　around　his　ankles　and　wrists　to　minimize　the　squirming。　Avila　shut　his　eyes　when　he　saw　the　doughnut　man　snatch　up　the　hammer。　The　moment　the　cold　point　of　the　nail　punctured　his　palm；　Avila　emitted　a　puppy　yelp　and　fainted。
　
　When　he　awoke；　he　saw　that　Chango　had　answered　his　prayers　with　a　fury。
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　SIXTEEN
　
　
　At　nine　sharp　on　the　morning　of　August　31；　an　attractive　brunette　woman　carrying　two　miniature　dachshunds　walked　into　a　Hialeah　branch　of　the　Barnett　Bank　and　opened　an　account　under　the　name　of　〃Neria　G。　Torres。〃
　
　For　identification；　the　woman　provided　an　expired　automobile　registration　and　a　handful　of　soggy　mail。　The　bank　officer　politely　requested　a　driver's　license　or　passport；　any　document　bearing　a　photograph。　The　woman　said　her　most　personal　papers；　including　driver's　license；　were　washed　away　by　the　hurricane。　As　the　bank　officer　questioned　her　more　closely；　the　woman　became　distraught。　Soon　her　little　dogs　began　to　bark　plangently；　one　of　them　squirted　from　her　arms　and　dashed　in　circles　around　the　lobby；　nipping　at　other　customers。　To　quiet　the　scene；　the　banker　agreed　to　accept　the　woman's　auto　registration　as　identification。　His　own　aunt　had　lost　all　her　immigration　papers　in　the　storm；　so　Mrs。　Torres's　excuse　seemed　plausible。　To　open　the　account　she　gave　him　one　hundred　dollars　cash；　and　said　she'd　be　back　in　a　few　days　to　deposit　a　large　insurance　check。
　
　〃You're　lucky　they　settled　so　fast；〃　the　banker　remarked。　〃My　aunt's　having　a　terrible　time　with　her　pany。〃
　
　The　woman　said　her　homeowner　policy　was　with　Midwest　Casualty。　〃I've　got　a　great　insurance　man；〃　she　added。
　
　Later；　when　Edie　Marsh　told　the　story　to　Fred　Dove；　he　reacted　with　the　weakest　twitch　of　an　ironic　smile。　Under　the　woeful　circumstances；　it　was　as　good　as　a　cartwheel。
　
　Edie；　Snapper　and　the　two　noisy　wiener　dogs　had　moved　into　his　room　at　the　Ramada。　No　other　acmodations　were　available　for　a　radius　of　sixty　miles；　because　the　hotels　were　jammed　full　of　displaced　families；　relief　volunteers；　journalists；　construction　workers　and　insurance　adjusters。　Fred　Dove　felt　trapped。　His　fear　of　getting　arrested　for　fraud　was　now　pounded　by　a　fear　that　his　wife　would　call　the　motel　room；　then　Edie　Marsh　or　Snapper　would　answer　the　phone　and　the　wiener　dogs　would　start　howling；　leaving　Fred　Dove　to　invent　an　explanation　that　no　sensible　woman　in　Omaha；　Nebraska；　would　ever　accept。
　
　〃Cheer　up；〃　Edie　told　him。　〃We're　all　set　at　the　bank。〃
　
　〃Good；〃　he　said　in　a　brittle　tone。
　
　The　long　tense　weekend　had　abraded　the　insurance　man's　nerves…Snapper；　gimping　irritably　around　the　small　motel　room；　slugging　down　vodka；　threatening　to　blast　the　yappy　dachshunds　with　a　massive　black　handgun　he　claimed　to　have　stolen　from　a　police　officer。
　
　No　wonder　I'm　edgy；　thought　Fred　Dove。
　
　To　deepen　the　gloom；　sharing　the　cramped　room　with　Snapper　and　the　dogs　left　the　insurance　man　no　opportunity　for　intimacy　with　Edie　Marsh。　Not　that　he　could　have　availed　himself　of　a　sexual　invitation；　the　withering　effect　of　Snapper's　previous　coital　interruption　endured；　as　Snapper　continued　to　tease　Fred　Dove　about　the　red　condom。
　
　Also　looming　large　was　the　question　of　Edie's　aptitude　for　violence…a　disconcerting　vision　of　the　crowbar　episode　was　scorched　into　Fred　Dove's　memory。　He　worried　that　she　or　Snapper　might　endeavor　to　murder　each　other　at　any　moment。
　
　Edie　stretched　out　next　to　him　on　the　bed。　〃You're　miserable；〃　she　observed。
　
　〃Yes　indeed；〃　said　the　insurance　man。
　
　With　his　bum　leg　elevated；　Snapper　was　stationed　in　an　armchair　three　and　one　half　feet　from　the　television　screen。　Every　so　often　he　would　take　a　futile　swipe　at　Donald　or　Maria；　and　tell　them　to　shut　the　holy　fuck　up。
　
　〃Sally　Jessy；〃　Edie　whispered。　Fred　Dove　sighed。
　
　On　the　TV；　a　woman　in　a　dreadful　yellow　wig　was　accusing　her　gap…toothed　white…trash　husband　of　screwing　her　younger　sister。　Instead　of　denying　it；　the　hu