chiaasen.stormyweather-第67部分

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　make　it　fast。　It　went　like　this：
　
　〃Mom；　something's　happened。〃
　
　〃I　guessed　as　much。〃
　
　〃Between　Max　and　me。〃
　
　〃Oh　no。〃　Bonnie's　mother；　laboring　to　sound　properly　dismayed；　when　Bonnie　knew　how　she　truly　felt。
　
　〃What'd　he　do；　sweetie？〃
　
　〃Nothing；　Mom。　It's　all　me。〃
　
　〃Did　you　have　a　fight？〃　her　mother　asked。
　
　〃Listen；　I've　met　two　unusual　men。　I　believe　I've　fallen　in　love　with　one　of　them。〃
　
　〃On　your　honeymoon；　Bonnie？〃
　
　〃I'm　afraid　so。〃
　
　〃What　does　he　do？〃
　
　〃He's　not　certain；〃　Bonnie　said。
　
　〃These　men；　are　they　dangerous？〃
　
　〃Not　to　me。　Mom；　they're　totally　different　from　anyone　I've　ever　known。　It's　a　very　。。。　primitive　charisma。〃
　
　〃Let's　not　mention　that　last　part　to　your　father。〃
　
　Next　Bonnie　phoned　the　apartment　in　New　York。　When　she　got　back　to　the　Seville；　she　told　Skink　to　go　on　without　her。
　
　〃Max　left　a　message　on　the　machine。〃　She　didn't　look　at　Augustine　when　she　said　it。　Couldn't　look　at　him。
　
　Bonnie　repeated　her　husband's　message。　〃He　says　it's　over　if　I　don't　meet　with　him。〃
　
　〃It's　over　regardless；〃　Skink　said。
　
　〃Please。〃
　
　〃Call　back　and　leave　your　own　message。〃　The　governor　gave　her　the　details…the　place；　the　time；　who　would　be　there。
　
　After　Bonnie　finished　with　the　phone；　Skink　made　another　call　himself。　When　they　got　back　in　the　car；　Augustine　punched　the　accelerator　and　peeled　rubber。　Bonnie　put　her　hand　on　his　arm。　He　gave　a　tight；　rueful　smile。
　
　They　made　the　905　turnoff　in　the　nick　of　time。　Already　the　northbound　traffic　was　stacked　past　Lake　Surprise；　Skink　surmised　that　the　police　had　raised　the　Jewfish　Creek　drawbridge　for　their　roadblock。　He　predicted　they'd　set　up　another　one　at　Card　Sound；　as　soon　as　more　patrol　cars　arrived　from　the　mainland。
　
　Edie　Marsh　said；　〃So　where　are　we　going？〃
　
　〃Patience。〃
　
　The　two　of　them　sat　together　in　the　back　seat。　On　the　governor's　lap　was　a　Bill　Blass　suitcase；　removed　from　the　Cadillac's　trunk　to　make　space　for　the　blacked　out　Snapper。
　
　Skink　said；　〃Driver；　dome　light！　Por　favor。〃　Augustine　began　pushing　dashboard　buttons　until　the　ceiling　lights　came　on。　Skink　broke　the　locks　off　the　suitcase　and　opened　it。
　
　〃What　have　we　here！〃　he　said。
　
　The　troopers　waited　all　night　at　Jewfish　Creek。　As　Jim　Tile　predicted　the　black　Jeep　Cherokee　never　appeared；　nor　did　the　silver　Cadillac　stolen　from　a　customer　at　a　Key　Largo　convenience　store。　The　French　victim　had　dryly　described　the　armed　carjacker　as　〃a　poster　boy　for　TMJ。〃
　
　At　daybreak　the　cops　gave　up　the　roadblock　and　fanned　through　the　Upper　Keys。　It　would　take　three　days　to　locate　the　Seville；　abandoned　on　a　disused　smugglers'　trail　off　County　Road　905；　only　a　few　miles　from　the　exclusive　Ocean　Reef　Club。　The　police　would　wait　another　forty…eight　hours　before　announcing　the　discovery　of　the　vehicle。　They　omitted　mention　of　the　bullet　hole　in　its　dashboard；　as　they　didn't　wish　to　unduly　alarm　Ocean　Reef's　residents　and　guests；　which　included　some　of　the　most　socially　prominent；　politically　influential　and　chronically　impatient　taxpayers　in　the　eastern　United　States。　Many　were　already　in　a　cranky　mood；　due　to　the　inconvenient　damaging　of　their　vacation　homes　by　the　hurricane。　News　that　a　murderous　criminal　might　be　lurking　in　the　mangroves　would　touch　off　heated　high…level　muniques　with　Tallahassee　and　Washington；　D。C。　The　Ocean　Reef　crowd　didn't　mess　around。
　
　As　it　turned　out；　there　was　no　danger　whatsoever。
　
　Most　newly　married　men；　faced　with　unexpected　desertion；　would　have　been　manic　with　grief；　jealousy　and　anger。　Max　Lamb；　however；　was　blessed　by　a　hearty；　blinding　preoccupation　with　his　career。
　
　A　nettlesome　thought　kept　scrolling　across　his　mind；　and　it　had　nothing　to　do　with　his　runaway　wife。　It　was　something　the　nutty　kidnapper　had　told　him：　You　need　a　legacy。
　
　They'd　been　riding　in　the　back　of　a　U…Haul　truck；　discussing　unforgettable　advertising　slogans。　Max　hadn't　anything　zippy　to　brag　about　except　the　short…lived　Plum　Crunchies　ditty。　Since　the　failure　of　the　cereal　campaign；　the　sixth　floor　had　deployed　him　more　often　for　billboard　concepts　and　print　graphics；　and　not　as　much　on　the　verbally　creative　side。
　
　Which　stung；　because　Max　considered　himself　a　genuinely　glib　and　talented　wordsmith。　He　believed　it　was　well　within　his　reach　to　write　an　advertising　catchphrase　that　would　embed　itself　in　the　national　lexicon…one　of　those　classics　the　kidnapper　had　mentioned。　A　legacy；　if　you　will。
　
　Now　that　Bronco　cigarets　were　history；　Max　was　left　to　review　the　potential　of　his　other　accounts。　The　hypercarbonated　soda　served　on　the　plane　to　Miami　put　him　in　mind　of　Old　Faithful　Root　Beer。　Old　Faithful's　popularity　had　peaked　in　the　summer　of　1962；　and　since　then　its　share　of　the　global　soft…drink　market　had　fizzled　to　a　microscopic　sliver。　Rodale's　mission　was　to　revive　Old　Faithful　in　the　consciousness　of　the　consumer；　and　to　that　end　the　eccentric　Mormon　family　that　owned　the　pany　was　willing　to　spend　a　respectable　seven…figure　sum。
　
　Around　Rodale　&　Burns；　the　Old　Faithful　Root　Beer　account　was　regarded　as　a　lucrative　but　hopeless　loser。　Nobody　liked　the　stuff　because　one　sixteen…ounce　bottle　induced　thunderous　belching　that　often　lasted　for　days。　At　a　party；　Pete　Archibald　drunkenly　offered　a　joke　slogan：　〃The　root　beer　you'll　never　forget…because　it　won't　let　you！〃
　
　Lying　there　alone　in　Augustine's　house；　Max　Lamb　savored　the　prospect　of　single…handedly　resuscitating　Old　Faithful。　It　was　the　sort　of　coup　that　could　make　him　a　legend　on　Madison　Avenue。　For　inspiration　he　turned　on　the　Home　Shopping　Network。　Into　the　wee　hours　he　tinkered　determinedly　with　beverage…related　alliterations；　allusions；　puns；　verses　and　metaphors。　Bonnie　didn't　cross　his　mind。
　
　Eventually　Max　struck　on　a　winner；　something　that　sounded　like　good　silly　fun　to　kids；　and　at　the　same　time　titillating　to　teens　and　young　adults：　〃Old　Faithful　Root　Beer…Makes　You　Tingle　in　Places　You　Didn't　Know　You　Had　Places！〃
　
　Max　Lamb　was　so　excited　he　couldn't　sleep。　Once　more　he　tried　calling　the　apartment　in　New　York。　No　Bonnie；　but　the　answering　machine　emitted　a　telltale　beep。　He　punched　the　three…digit　code　and　waited。
　
　Bonnie　had　gotten　his　message…and　left　him　a　reply　that　caused　him　to　forget　temporarily　about　the　Old　Faithful　account。　The　flesh　under　Max's　shirt　collar　prickled　and　perspired；　and　stayed　feverish　until　dawn。
　
　He　wasn't　surprised　by　the　symptoms。　The　downside　of　seeing　his　wife　would　be　seeing　the　deranged　kidnapper　again。　Only　an　idiot　wouldn't　be　scared　shitless。
　
　
　
　CHAPTER　TWENTY…NINE
　
　
　Snapper　regained　consciousness　with　the　dreamy　impression　of　being　someplace　he　hadn't　been　in　twenty…two　years…a　dentist's　chair。　He　sensed　the　dentist　hovering；　and　felt　large　deft　hands　working　inside　his　mouth。　The　last　time　Snapper　had　a　cavity　filled；　he'd　reflexively　chomped　off　the　top　joint　of　the　dentist's　right　thumb。　This　time　he　was　becalmed　by　the　ejaculate　of　the　dart　rifle。
　
　〃Lester　Maddox　Parsons！〃　The　dentist；　attempting　to　wake　him。
　
　Snapper　opened　his　eyes　in　a　fog　bank。　Looming　out　of　the　psychedelic　mist　was　a　silvery…bearded　grin。　A　dentist　in　a　plastic　shower　cap？　Snapper　squirmed。
　
　〃Whhaannffrr？〃　he　inquired。
　
　〃Relax；　chief。〃
　
　The　dentist's　basso　chuckle　rolled　like　a　freight　train　through　Snapper's　cranium。　His　jaws　were　wedged　wide；　as　if　awaiting　the　drill。　e　on；　he　thought；　get　it　over　with。
　
　He　heard　buzzing。　Good！
　
　But　the　buzzing　wasn't　in　his　mouth；　it　was　in　his　ears。　Bugs。　Fucking　bugs　flying　in　his　ears！
　
　〃Hrrrnnnff！〃　Snapper　shook　his　head　violently。　It　hurt。　All　of　a　sudden　he　was　drenched　by　a　wave　of　salty　water。　What　he　didn't　cough　up　settled　as　a　lukewarm　puddle　in　his　protruded　mandible；　which　functioned　as　a　natural　cistern。
　
　Now　he　was　pletely　awake。　Now　he　remembered。　The　fog　cleared　from　his　mind。　He　saw　a　campfire。　Edie；　sweaty　and　barefoot。　And　the　young　broad；　Bonnie；　with　her　arms　around　the　asshole　punk　who'd　shot　him。
　
　〃Yo；　Lester。〃　It　was　the　giant　one…eyed　fruitcake；　holding　an　empty　bucket。　There　was　no　dentist。
　
　But　Snapper　definitely　felt　a　cold　steel　object　bracing　his　jaws　open；　digging　into　the　roof　of　his　mouth；　pinching　the　tender　web　of　flesh　beneath　his　tongue；　something　so　heavy　that　it　caused　his　head　to　nod　forward；　something　that　extended　diagonally　upward　from　his　chin　to　beyond　his　forehead。
　
　A　heavy　bar　of　some　type。　Snapper　crossed　his　eyes　to　put　it　in　focus。　The　bar　was　red。
　
　Oh　fuck。
　
　He　wailed；　trying　to　rise。　His　legs　tangled。　With　rubbery　arms　he　flailed　uselessly　at　the　thing　locked　in　his　mouth。
　
　Skink　held　up　a　small　chrome　key　and　said；　〃Accept　no　imitations。〃
　
　〃Nnnnngggggoooo！！〃
　
　〃You　shot　my　friend。　You　called　him　a　nigger。〃　Skink　shrugged　in　resignation。　〃You　beat　up　a　lady；　stole　her　momma's　wedding　ring；　dumped　her　on　the　roadside。　What　choice　have　you　left　me？〃
　
　He　took　Snapper　by　the　hair　and　dragged　him；　blubbering；　to　the　shore　of　a　broad　milky…green　creek。
　
　〃What　choice？〃　Skink　repeated；　so