chiaasen.stormyweather-第54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！

　
　Even　if　the　professor　harbored　no　selfish　designs　on　the　hurricane　booty；　Neria　had　a　pragmatic　reason　to　dump　him：　His　appearance　in　Miami　would　plicate　the　duel　with　her　estranged　husband　over　the　insurance　settlement。　Considering　the　tainted　circumstance　of　her　departure　from　the　household；　Neria　doubted　that　Tony　would　be　in　a　mood　to　forgive　and　forget。　Her　inability　to　make　contact　in　the　days　following　the　storm　was　foreboding…the　vindictive　bastard　obviously　intended　to　pocket　her　half　of　the　windfall。　If　the　battle　went　to　court；　Dr　Gabler's　bleary　presence　during　the　proceedings　would　not；　Neria　Torres　knew；　work　in　her　favor。
　
　These　were　the　thoughts　she　carried　into　sleep　at　the　motel　in　Bonifay。　Had　it　been　a　deeper　sleep；　or　had　the　room's　Eisenhower…vintage　cooling　unit　been　a　few　decibels　louder；　Neria　Torres　might　not　have　been　awakened　by　the　muffled　suckling　and　amorous　hmmm…hmmms　from　the　nearby　bed。　But　awakened　she　was。
　
　Except　for　cracking　her　eyelids；　Neria　didn't　move　a　muscle　at　first。　Instead　she　lay　listening　in　disgusted　fascination；　struggling　to　arrange　her　emotions。　On　the　one　hand；　she　was　vastly　relieved　to　have　found　a　solid　excuse　for　jettisoning　the　professor。　On　the　other　hand；　she　was　furious　that　the　sneaky　little　shit　would　be　so　crude　and　thoughtless。　Over　the　years；　Tony　Torres　undoubtedly　had　cheated　on　her　now　and　again…but　never　while　she　was　sleeping　in　the　same　room！
　
　Eventually；　it　was　the　immodest　giggling　of　young　Celeste　that　galvanized　Neria　Torres。　She　sprang　from　the　bed；　turned　on　all　the　lights；　snatched　up　the　velvet　satchel　containing　Dr　Gabler's　special　healing　crystals　and　began　whaling　deliriously　on　the　writhing　mound　of　bedsheets。　The　satchel　was　heavy　and　the　stones　were　sharp；　taking　a　toll　on　the　professor's　unfirm　flesh。　With　an　effeminate　cry；　he　scuttled　to　the　bathroom　and　chained　the　door。　Meanwhile　the　graduate　student　cowered　nude　and　tearful　on　the　mattress。　The　stubble　on　Dr　Gabler's　chin　had　left　a　telltale　path　of　abraded；　roseate　blotches　from　her　neck　to　her　quivering　belly。　Neria　Torres　noticed；　with　fierce　satisfaction；　a　faint　ma　of　a　scar　beneath　each　of　young　Celeste's　perfect　breasts；　an　Earth　Mother　with　implants！
　
　Repeatedly　she　gasped；　〃I'm　sorry；　Neria；　please　don't　kill　me！　Please　don't。。。〃
　
　Neria　threw　the　satchel　of　crystals　to　the　floor。　〃Celeste；　you　know　what　I　hope　for　you？　I　hope　that　asshole　hiding　in　the　John　is　the　highlight　of　your　entire　goddamn　life。　Now　where's　the　keys　to　the　van？〃
　
　Hours　later；　at　a　busy　truck　stop　in　Gainesville；　Neria　tried　another　call　to　Mr。　Varga；　her　former　neighbor　in　Miami。　This　time　his　phone　was　working；　Varga　answered　on　the　third　ring。　He　insisted　he　knew　nothing　about　Neria's　husband　and　a　young　blond　hussy　loading　up　a　rental　truck。
　
　〃Fact；　I　haven't　seen　Tony　since　maybe　two　days　after　the　hurricane。〃
　
　〃Are　there　still　strangers　at　the　house？〃　Neria　asked。
　
　〃All　the　time；　people　e　and　go。　But　no　blondes。〃
　
　〃Who　are　they；　Leon？〃
　
　〃I　don't　know。　Friends　and　cousins　of　Tony；　I　heard。　They　got　two　dogs　bark　half　the　night。　I　figured　Tony's　letting　'em　watch　the　place。〃
　
　Varga　shared　his　theory：　Neria's　husband　was　lying　low；　due　to　adverse　publicity　about　the　mobile…home　industry。　〃Every　damn　one　blew　to　smithereens　in　the　storm；〃　Varga　related。　〃The　papers　and　TV　are　making　a　big　stink。　Supposedly　there's　going　to　be　an　investigation。　The　FBI　is　what　they　say。〃
　
　〃Oh；　e　off　it。〃
　
　〃That's　the　rumor；〃　Varga　said。　〃Your　Tony；　he's　no　fool。　I　think　he's　making　himself　invisible　till　all　this　cools　down；　these　people　e　to　their　senses。　I　mean；　it's　not　his　fault　those　trailers　fell　apart。　God's　will　is　what　it　was。　He's　testing　us；　same　as　He　did　with　Noah。〃
　
　〃Except　Noah　wasn't　insured；〃　said　Neria　Torres。
　
　Mr。　Varga　was　right　about　one　thing：　Tony　wouldn't　stick　around　if　there　was　heat。　His　style　was　to　take　a　nice　hotel　room　and　ride　things　out。　In　the　meantime；　he'd　have　some　of　his　deadbeat　relatives　or　white…trash　salesmen　pals　stay　with　their　bimbos　in　the　house　on　Calusa。　Tony　wouldn't　be　far　away；　never　would　he　skip　town　without　getting　his　paws　on　the　Midwest　Casualty　money。
　
　Neria　was　buoyed。　The　story　about　the　young　blonde　and　Brooklyn　obviously　was　bullshit；　a　ruse　cooked　up　by　her　husband。　Wishful　thinking；　too；　Neria　mused。　Talking　to　Mr。　Varga　validated　her　decision　to　return　to　Miami。
　
　〃Are　you　really　heading　home？〃　he　asked。　〃You　and　the　mister　give　it　one　more　try？〃
　
　〃Stranger　things　have　happened；〃　said　Neria　Torres。　She　made　Mr。　Varga　swear　on　a　stack　of　Holy　Bibles　not　to　breathe　a　word。　She　said　it　would　ruin　everything　if　Tony　found　out　she　was　ing。
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　TWENTY…THREE
　
　
　Snapper　instructed　Edie　Marsh　to　take　the　Turnpike；　and　watch　the　damn　speedometer。　He　was　pressed　against　the　passenger…side　door；　keeping　the　stolen　。357　pointed　at　the　freak　in　the　army　greens。　The　young　woman　was　no　immediate　threat。
　
　The　stranger　blinked　like　a　craggy　tortoise。　He　said：　〃How　much　you　get　for　her　ring？〃
　
　Snapper　frowned。　The　fucker　knew…but　how？　Edie　Marsh　didn't　take　her　eyes　off　the　road。　〃What's　he　talking　about？　Whose　ring？〃
　
　Snapper　spied；　in　the　lower　margin　of　his　vision；　the　wandering　prow　of　his　jawbone。　He　said；　〃Everybody　shut　the　fuck　up！〃
　
　Leaning　forward；　the　longhair　said　to　Edie：　〃Your　rough…tough　boyfriend　beat　up　a　policewoman。　Ripped　off　her　gun　and　her　mother's　wedding　band…he　didn't　tell　you？〃
　
　Edie　shivered。　Maybe　it　was　his　breath　on　the　nape　of　her　neck；　or　the　slow　rumble　of　his　voice；　or　what　he　was　saying。　Meanwhile　Snapper　waved　the　police　pistol　and　hollered　for　the　whole　world　to　shut　up　or　fucking　die！
　
　He　jammed　a　CD　into　the　dashboard　stereo：　ninety…five　decibels　of　country　heartache。　Within　minutes　his　fury　passed；　soothed　by　Reba's　crooning　or　possibly　the　five　white　pills　Edie　had　given　him　back　at　the　house。　OK；　boy；　now　think。
　
　The　original　plan　was　to　waylay　the　nutty　old　man　with　the　hookers。　No　problem　there。　A　guy　Snapper　knew　from　his　Lauderdale　days；　Johnny　Horn；　had　a　small　motel　down　in　the　Keys。　Ideal　spot　for　Levon　Stichler　to　take　a　short　vacation。　Snapper's　idea　was　to　get　one　a　them　cheap　disposable　cameras；　so　the　hookers　could　take　some　pictures；　the　kind　a　respectable　man　wouldn't　want　his　grandkiddies　to　see。　Two　or　three　days　tied　naked　to　a　motel　bed；　the　old　fart　wouldn't　care　to　recall　he'd　ever　set　foot　at　15600　Calusa　Drive。　If　he　promised　to　behave；　then　possibly　the　disposable　camera　would　get　disposed　of。　The　old　man　could　make　his　way　back　to　Miami　with　nothing　but　a　bed　rash　and　a　sore　cock　to　show　for　the　experience。
　
　Best　of　all；　Snapper　wouldn't　have　to　pay　for　the　motel　room　in　the　Keys；　because　Johnny　Horn　owed　him　a　favor。　Two　years　back；　Snapper　had　more　or　less　repossessed　a　Corvette　convertible　from　the　freeloading　boyfriend　of　one　of　Johnny　Horn's　ex…wives。　Snapper　had　driven　the　Corvette　straight　to　the　Port　of　Miami　and；　in　broad　daylight；　parked　it　on　a　container　ship　bound　for　Cartagena。　It　was　a　high…risk　deal；　and　Johnny　said　for　Snapper　to　call　the　Paradise　Palms　anytime　he　needed　a　place　to　crash　or　hide　out　or　take　some　girl。
　
　Snapper　had　dreamed　up　the　plan　for　old　man　Stichler　all　by　himself；　without　Edie's　input。　He　surely　didn't　want　to　throw　all　that　cleverness　out　the　window；　but　he　couldn't　conceive　of　how　to　fit　the　new　intruders　into　his　scheme；　and　he　was　too　fogged　from　the　pills　to　improvise。　It　seemed　easier　to　kill　the　one…eyed　freak　and　his　woman　panion…and　as　long　as　Snapper　was　being　so　bold；　why　not　do　loony　old　Levon　as　well？　That　way；　Snapper　reasoned；　he　wouldn't　have　to　pay　the　two　whores　anything；　except　for　gas　money　and　possibly　a　seafood　dinner。
　
　On　the　downside：　How　to　get　rid　of　three　dead　bodies？　The　logistics　were　daunting。　Snapper　suspected　that　his　droopy　brain　wasn't　up　to　the　challenge。　Killing　took　energy；　and　Snapper　all　of　a　sudden　felt　like　sleeping　for　three　weeks　solid。
　
　He　worked　up　a　pep　talk　for　himself；　recalling　what　a　wise　guy　once　told　him　in　prison：　Dumping　bodies　is　like　buying　real　estate…location；　location；　location。　Snapper　thought：　Look　around；　boy。　You　got　your　mangrove　islands；　your　Everglades；　your　Atlantic…mother…fucking…Ocean。　What　more　you　want？　A　fast　shot　to　the　head；　then　let　the　sharks　or　the　gators　or　the　crabs　finish　the　job。　What's　so　damn　difficult　about　that？
　
　But　Jesus；　the　stakes　were　high；　one　measly　fuckup　and　it's　back　to　Raiford　for　the　rest　of　my　life。　Probably　locked　in　a　ten…by…ten　with　some　humongous　horny　black　faggot　weight　lifter。　Clean　and　jerk　my　skinny　ass　till　I　walk　like　Julia　Roberts。
　
　And　shooting　people　is　awful　noisy。　Edie　Marsh　wouldn't　go　for　it；　Snapper　knew　for　a　fact。　She'd　make　quite　a　stink。　And　killing　Edie　with　the　others　was　impractical　because　（a）　he　didn't　have　enough　bullets　and　（b）　he　couldn't　cash　the　insurance　checks　without　her。　Damn。
　
　〃What　is　it？〃　Edie　shouted　over　Reba。
　
　Snapper　made　a　sarcastic　zipper　motion　across　his　lips。　He　thought：　I'm　so　goddamn　tired。　If　only　I　could