ch.nativetongue-第61节

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！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　Bud　Schwartz　drove　by　slowly。　〃Look　at　this　shit；〃　he　muttered。　Once　they　had　passed　the　house；　he　put　some　muscle　into　the　accelerator。
　〃An　army；〃　Lou　said；　〃that's　what　it　was。〃
　Danny　Pogue　sank　low　in　the　back　seat。　With　both　hands　he　clutched　the　Macy's　bag　to　his　chest。　〃Let's　just　go；〃　he　said。　〃Bud；　let's　just　haul　ass。〃
　
　TWENTY…NINE
　On　the　morning　of　August　2；　Jake　Harp　crawled　into　the　back　of　a　white　limousine　and　rode　in　a　dismal　gin…soaked　stupor　to　the　construction　site　on　North　Key　Largo。　There　he　was　met　by　Charles　Chelsea；　Francis　X。　Kingsbury　and　a　phalanx　of　armed　security　men　whose　crisp　blue　uniforms　failed　to　mitigate　their　shifty　felonious　smirks。　The　entourage　moved　briskly　across　a　recently　bulldozed　plateau；　barren　except　for　a　bright　green　hillock　that　was　cordoned　with　rope　and　ringed　by　reporters；　photographers　and　television　cameramen。　Kingsbury　took　Jake　Harp　by　the　elbow　and；　ascending　the　grassy　knob；　waved　mechanically；　it　reminded　Charles　Chelsea　of　the　rigidly　determined　way　that　Richard　Nixon　had　saluted　before　boarding　the　presidential　chopper　for　the　final　time。　Except　that；　pared　to　Francis　Kingsbury；　Nixon　was　about　as　tense　as　Pee　Wee　Herman。
　Jake　Harp　heard　himself　pleading　for　coffee；　please　God；　even　decaf；　but　Kingsbury　seemed　not　to　hear　him。　Jake　Harp　blinked　amphibiously　and　struggled　to　focus　on　the　scene。　It　was　early。　He　was　outdoors。　The　sun　was　intensely　bright。　The　Atlantic　Ocean　murmured　at　his　back。　And　somebody　had　dressed　him：　Izod　shirt；　Sansibelt　slacks；　tasseled　Footjoy　golf　shoes。　What　could　this　be！　Then　he　heard　the　scratchy　click　of　a　portable　microphone　and　the　oily　voice　of　Charles　Chelsea。
　〃Wele；　everybody。　We're　standing　on　what　will　soon　be　the　first　tee　of　the　Falcon　Trace　Championship　Golf　Course。　As　you　can　see；　we've　got　a　little　work　ahead　of　us。。。。〃
　Laughter。　These　numbnuts　are　laughing；　thought　Jake　Harp。　He　squinted　at　the　white　upturned　faces　and　recognized　one　or　two　as　sportswriters。
　More　from　Chelsea：　〃。。。and　we　thought　it　would　be　fun　to　inaugurate　the　construction　of　this　magnificent　golfing　layout　with　a　hitting　clinic。〃
　Jake　Harp's　stomach　clenched　as　somebody　folded　a　three…wood　into　his　fingers。　The　golf　pro　stared　in　disgust：　a　graphite　head。　They　expect　me　to　hit　with　metal！
　Charles　Chelsea's　well…tanned　paw　settled　amiably　on　Jake　Harp's　shoulder；　the　stench　of　Old　Spice　was　overpowering。
　〃This　familiar　fellow　needs　no　introduction；〃　Chelsea　was　saying。　〃He's　graciously　agreed　to　christen　the　new　course　by　hitting　a　few　balls　into　the　ocean…since　we　don't　actually　have　a　fairway　yet。〃
　Laughter　again。　Mysterious；　inexplicable　laughter。　Jake　Harp　swayed；　bracing　himself　with　the　three…wood。　What　had　he　been　drinking　last　night？　Vodka　sours？　Tanqueray　martinis？　Possibly　both。　He　remembered　dancing　with　a　banker's　wife。　He　remembered　telling　her　how　he'd　triple…bogeyed　the　Road　Hole　and　missed　the　cut　at　the　British　Open；　missed　the　damn　cut；　all　because　some　fat　Scotsman　booted　the　ball。。。。
　Jake　Harp　also　remembered　the　banker's　wife　whispering　something　about　a　blowjob…but　did　it　happen？
　He　hoped　so；　but　he　truly　couldn't　recall。　One　thing　was　certain：　today　he　was　physically　incapable　of　swinging　a　golf　club；　it　was　simply　out　of　the　question。　He　wondered　how　he　would　break　the　news　to　Francis　Kingsbury；　who　was　bowing　to　the　photographers　in　acknowledgment　of　Charles　Chelsea's　effusive　introduction。
　〃Frank；〃　said　Jake　Harp。　〃Where　am　I？〃
　With　a　frozen　smile；　Kingsbury　remarked　that　Jake　Harp　looked　about　as　healthy　as　dog　barf。
　〃A　bad　night；〃　the　golfer　rasped。　〃I'd　like　to　go　home　and　lie　down。〃
　Then　came　an　acrid　gust　of　cologne　as　Chelsea　leaned　in：　〃Hit　a　few；　Jake；　okay？　No　interviews；　just　a　photo　op。〃
　〃But　I　can't　use　a　fucking　graphite　wood。　This　is　Jap　voodoo；　Frank；　I　need　my　MacGregors。〃
　Francis　Kingsbury　gripped　Jake　Harp　by　the　shoulders　and　turned　him　toward　the　ocean。　〃And　would　you　please；　for　Christ's　sake；　try　not　to　miss　the　goddamn　ball？〃
　Chelsea　cautioned　Kingsbury　to　keep　his　voice　down。　The　sportswriters　were　picking　up　on　the　fact　that　Jake　Harp　was　seriously　under　the　weather。
　〃Coffee's　on　the　way；〃　Chelsea　chirped　lightly。
　〃You　want　me　to　hit　it　in　the　ocean？〃　Jake　Harp　said。　〃This　is　nuts。〃
　One　of　the　news　photographers　shouted　for　the　security　officers　to　get　out　of　the　way；　they　were　blocking　the　picture。　Kingsbury　manded　the　troops　of　Pedro　Luz　to　move　to　one　side；　Pedro　Luz　himself　was　not　present；　having　refused　with　vague　mutterings　to　exit　the　storage　room　and　join　the　phony　golf　clinic　at　Falcon　Trace。　His　men；　however；　embraced　with　gusto　and　amusement　the　task　of　guarding　Francis　X。　Kingsbury　from　assailants　unknown。
　Having　cleared　the　security　force　to　make　an　opening　for　Jake　Harp；　Kingsbury　ordered　the　golfer　to　swing　away。
　〃I　can't；　Frank。〃
　〃What？〃
　〃I'm　hung　over。　I　can't　lift　the　bloody　club。〃
　〃Assume　the　position；　Jake。　You're　starting　to　piss　me　off。〃
　Tottering　slightly；　Jake　Harp　slowly　arranged　himself　in　the　familiar　stance　that　Golf　Digest　once　hailed　as　〃part　Hogan；　part　Nicklaus；　part　Baryshnikov〃…chin　down；　feet　apart；　shoulders　square；　left　arm　straight；　hands　interlocked　loosely　on　the　shaft　of　the　club。　
　〃There；〃　Jake　Harp　said　gamely。　
　Charles　Chelsea　cleared　his　throat。　Francis　Kingsbury　said；　〃A　golf　ball　would　help；　Jake。〃　
　〃Oh　Jesus；　you're　right。〃　
　〃You　got　everything　but　a　goddamn　ball。〃　
　Under　his　breath；　Jake　Harp　said；　〃Frank；　would　you　do　me　a　favor？　Tee　it　up？〃　〃What？〃
　〃I　can't　bend　down。　I'm　too　hung　over；　Frank。　If　I　try　to　bend；　I'll　fall　on　my　face。　I　swear　to　God。〃
　Francis　Kingsbury　dug　in　his　pocket　and　pulled　out　a　scuffed　Maxfli　and　a　plastic　tee　that　was　shaped　like　a　naked　woman。　〃You're　quite　an　athlete；　Jake。　A　regular　Jim　Fucking　Thorpe。〃
　Gratefully　Jake　Harp　watched　Kingsbury　drop　to　one　knee　and　plant　the　tee。　Then　suddenly　the　sun　exploded；　and　a　molten　splinter　tore　a　hole　in　the　golfer's　belly；　spinning　him　like　a　tenpin　and　knocking　him　flat。　A　darkening　puddle　formed　as　he　lay　there　and　floundered；　gulping　for　breath　through　a　mouthful　of　fresh　Bermuda　sod。　Jake　Harp　was　not　too　hung　over　to　realize　he　could　be　dying；　and　it　bitterly　occurred　to　him　that　he　would　rather　leave　his　mortal　guts　on　the　fairways　of　Augusta　or　Muirfield　or　Pebble　Beach。　Anywhere　but　here。
　
　Bud　Schwartz　and　Danny　Pogue　had　driven　up　to　Kendall　to　break　into　a　house。　The　house　belonged　to　FBI　Agent　Billy　Hawkins；　who　was　still　tied　up　as　Molly　McNamara's　prisoner。
　〃Think　he's　got　a　dog？〃　said　Danny　Pogue。
　Bud　Schwartz　said　probably　not。　〃Guys　like　that；　they　think　dogs　are　for　pussies。　It's　a　cop　mentality。〃
　But　Bud　Schwartz　was　wrong。　Bill　Hawkins　owned　a　German　shepherd。　The　burglars　could　see　the　animal　prowling　the　fence　in　the　backyard。
　〃Guess　we　gotta　do　the　front…door　routine；〃　said　Bud　Schwartz。　What　a　way　to　end　a　career：　breaking　into　an　FBI　man's　house　in　broad　daylight。　〃I　thought　we　retired；〃　Bud　Schwartz　plained。　〃All　that　dough　we　got；　tell　me　what's　the　point　if　we're　still　pullin〃　these　jobs。〃
　Danny　Pogue　said；　〃Just　this　one　more。　And　besides；　what　if　Lou　takes　the　money　back？〃
　〃No　way。〃
　〃If　he　can't　get　to　the　guy；　yeah；　he　might。　Already　he　thinks　we　tipped　Kingsbury　off；　on　account　of　all　those　rent…a…cops。〃
　Bud　Schwartz　said　he　wasn't　worried　about　Lou　going　back　on　the　deal。　〃These　people　are　pros；　Danny。
　Now　gimme　the　scroogie。〃　They　were　poised　at　Billy　Hawkins's　front　door。　Danny　Pogue　checked　the　street　for　cars　or　pedestrians；　then　he　handed　Bud　Schwartz　a　nine…inch　screwdriver。
　Skeptically　Danny　Pogue　said；　〃Guy's　gotta　have　a　deadbolt。　Anybody　works　for　the　FBI；　probably　he's　got　an　alarm；　too。　Maybe　even　lasers。〃
　But　there　was　no　alarm　system。　Bud　Schwartz　pried　the　door　jamb　easily。　He　put　his　shoulder　to　the　wood　and　pushed　it　open。　〃You　believe　that？〃　he　said　to　his　partner。　〃See　what　I　mean　about　cop　mentality。　They　think　they're　immune。〃
　〃Yeah；〃　said　Danny　Pogue。　〃Immune。〃　Later　he'd　ask　Molly　McNamara　what　it　meant。
　They　closed　the　door　and　entered　the　empty　house。　Bud　Schwartz　would　never　have　guessed　that　a　federal　agent　lived　there。　It　was　a　typical　suburban　Miami　home：　three　bedrooms；　two　baths；　nothing　special。　Once　they　got　used　to　the　idea；　the　burglars　moved　through　the　rooms　with　casual　confidence…wife　at　work；　kids　at　school；　no　sweat。
　〃Too　bad　we're　not　stealin〃　anything；〃　Bud　Schwartz　mused。
　〃Want　to？〃　said　his　partner。　〃Just　for　old　times〃　sake。〃
　〃What's　the　point？〃
　〃I　saw　one　of　the　kids　has　a　CD　player。〃
　〃Wow；〃　said　Bud　Schwartz　acidly。　〃What's　that；　like；　thirty　bucks。　Maybe　forty？〃
　〃No；　man；　it's　a　Sony。〃
　〃Forget　it。　Now　gimme　the　papers。〃
　In　captivity　Billy　Hawkins　had　agreed　to　notify　his　family　that　he　was　out　of　town　on　a　top…secret　assignment。　However；　the　agent　had　displayed　a　growing　reluctance　to　call　the　FBI　office　and　lie　about　being　sick。　To　motivate　him；　Molly　McNamara　had　posed　a　series　of　cryptic　notes　and　murky　correspondence　suggesting　that　Hawkins　was　not　the　most　loyal　of　government　servants。　Prominently　included　in　the　odd　jottings　w