ch.doublewhammy-第47节

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hey　ran　away；　the　kids　were　laughing。
　Soon　bum…bashing　became　part　of　the　weekly　recreation；　a　thrill；　something　to　do。　The　boys　were　easily　bored　and　not　all　that　popular　at　school；　shunned　by　the　jocks；　dopers；　and　surfers　alike。　So　whenever　Kyle　could　get　the　car　and　swipe　some　beer　money；　Jeff　and　Cole　were　raring　to　go。　Shooting　the　rifle　always　seemed　to　put　them　in　the　right　mood。
　As　soon　as　they　left　the　dump　they　started　scouting　for　bums　to　bash。　It　was　Jeff　who　spotted　the　guy　curled　up　beneath　the　Turnpike　overpass。　Kyle　drove　by　once；　turned　the　car　around；　and　drove　past　again。　This　time　he　parked　fifty　yards　down　the　road。　The　three　teenagers　got　out　and　walked　back。　Kyle　liked　the　way　it　was　shaping　up…a　dark　stretch　of　highway　with　practically　no　traffic。
　Skink　was　nearly　asleep；　stretched　out　halfway　up　the　concrete　embankment　and　faced　away　from　the　road。　He　heard　someone　ing；　but　assumed　it　was　only　Decker　and　the　Cuban　detective。　As　the　men　got　closer；　their　footsteps　did　not　alarm　Skink　nearly　so　much　as　their　whispering。　He　was　turning　over　to　take　a　look　just　as　Kyle　ran　up　and　kicked　him　brutally　in　the　head。
　Skink　rolled　down　the　embankment　and　lay　still；　facedown　on　the　flat　ground。
　〃Hey；　Mr。　Hobo；〃　said　Kyle；　〃sorry　I　busted　your　shades。〃　He　held　up　the　broken　sunglasses　for　the　others　to　see。
　Jeff　and　Cole　each　took　a　turn　kicking　Skink　in　the　ribs。　〃I　like　his　outfit；〃　Jeff　said。　He　was　a　bony　kid　with　volcanic　pustular　acne。　〃This'd　be　great　for　hunting；〃　he　said；　fingering　the　rainsuit。
　〃Then　take　it；〃　Kyle　said。
　〃Yeah；　go　ahead；〃　Cole　said；　〃even　though　it's　about　ten　sizes　too　big。〃
　〃You'll　look　like　an　orange　tepee；〃　Kyle　teased。
　Jeff　knelt　and　tried　to　roll　Skink　on　his　back。　〃He's　a　big　sumbitch；〃　he　said。　〃Gimme　a　hand。〃
　They　turned　Skink　over　and　stripped　him。
　〃He　looks　dead；〃　Cole　remarked。
　〃Check　out　the　ponytail；〃　Jeff　said。　He　had　climbed　into　Skink's　enormous　rainsuit。　The　hood　flopped　down　over　his　eyes；　and　the　legs　and　arms　were　way　too　long。　The　other　boys　laughed　as　Jeff　did　a　little　jig　under　the　highway　bridge。　〃I'm　Mr。　Hobo！〃　he　sang。　〃Dead　Mr。　Hobo！　Have　a　drink；　make　a　stink…〃
　Jeff　stopped　singing　when　he　saw　the　stranger。　The　man　was　sprinting　toward　them　from　across　the　road。　Jeff　tried　to　warn　Kyle　but　it　was　too　late。
　The　man　took　down　both　Kyle　and　Cole　with　a　diving　knee…high　tackle。　On　the　ground　it　was　madness。　The　man　hit　Cole　three　times；　crushing　his　nose　and　shattering　his　right　cheekbone　with　an　eggshell　sound　that　made　Jeff　want　to　gag。　While　this　was　going　on；　Kyle；　who　was　taller　than　the　stranger；　managed　to　get　on　his　feet　and　grab　the　man　around　the　neck；　from　behind。　But　the　stranger；　still　on　his　knees；　merely　brought　both　elbows　up　sharply　into　Kyle's　groin。　Sickened；　Jeff　watched　his　other　friend　crumple。　Then　the　man　was　on　top　of　Kyle；　aiming　tremendous　jackhammer　punches　at　the　meat　of　his　throat。
　Jeff　turned　from　the　scene　to　run　but　he　stumbled　inside　the　baggy　rainsuit；　got　up；　faltered　again。　A　hand　gripped　the　back　of　his　neck　and　something　cold　pressed　against　the　base　of　his　skull。　A　gun。
　〃Don't　move；　you　little　fuckwad。〃　A　tough…looking　dark　man　with　a　mustache。
　He　dragged　Jeff　back　to　the　overpass；　where　the　bigger　stranger　was　still　straddling　Kyle　and　wordlessly　redesigning　the　young　man's　face。
　〃Stop　it！〃　yelled　the　dark　man　with　the　gun。　〃Decker；　stop！〃
　But　R。　J。　Decker　couldn't　stop；　he　couldn't　even　hear。　Al　Garcia's　voice　echoed　under　the　bridge　but　not　a　word　reached　Decker's　ears。　All　that　registered　in　his　consciousness　was　the　sight　of　a　face　and　the　need　to　punish　it。　Decker　was　working　mechanically；　his　knuckles　raw　and　bloody　and　numb。　He　stopped　punching　only　when　heavy　damp　arms　encircled　his　chest　and　lifted　him　in　the　air；　as　if　he　were　weightless；　and　suspended　him　there　for　what　seemed　like　a　very　long　time。　ing　down；　unwinding　finally；　the　first　thing　Decker　could　hear　was　the　furious　sound　of　his　own　breathing。　The　second　thing；　from　the　beast　with　the　big　arms；　was　a　tired　voice　that　said；　〃Okay；　Miami；　I'm　impressed。〃
　
　Skink　slipped　unconscious　in　the　back　seat。　His　head　sagged　against　R。　J。　Decker's　shoulder　and　the　breath　rattled　deep　in　his　ribs。　Decker　felt　warm　drops　seeping　through　his　shirt。
　〃He's　lost　that　eye；〃　Al　Garcia　said　grimly；　chewing　on　a　cigarette　as　he　drove。
　Decker　had　seen　it　too。　Skink's　left　eye　was　a　jellied　mess…Kyle；　the　big　kid；　had　been　wearing　Texas　roach…stomper　boots。　A　whitish　fluid　oozed　down　Skink's　cheek。
　〃He　needs　a　doctor；〃　Decker　said。
　So　did　the　teenage　thugs；　Garcia　thought；　but　they　would　live…no　thanks　to　Decker。　Barehanded　he　would　have　killed　them　all　if　Skink　hadn't　stopped　him。　Garcia　felt　certain　that　the　kids　wouldn't　tell　the　police　about　the　beating…Jeff；　the　acne　twerp；　was　the　type　to　spill　the　beans　and　the　others　knew　it。　Together　they'd　invent　some　melodramatic　story　of　what　had　happened　under　the　bridge；　something　that　would　play　well　at　school。　Garcia　was　pretty　sure　two　of　them　would　spend　the　rest　of　the　semester　in　the　hospital；　anyway。
　Decker　felt　exhausted　and　depressed。　His　arms　ached　and　his　knuckles　stung。　He　touched　Skink's　face　and　felt　a　crust　of　blood　on　the　big　man's　beard。
　〃Maybe　I　ought　to　give　up；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Don't　be　a　moron。〃
　〃Once　we　get　him　to　a　doctor；　you　drop　me　off　on　the　highway　and　haul　ass　back　to　Dade　County。　Nobody'll　know　a　thing。〃
　〃Fuck　you；〃　Garcia　said。
　〃Al；　it's　not　worth　it。〃
　〃Speak　for　yourself。〃　It　was　Skink。　He　raised　his　head　and　wiped　his　face　with　the　sleeve　of　his　rainsuit。　With　a　forefinger　he　probed　his　broken　eye　socket　and　said；　〃Great。〃
　〃There's　a　hospital　near　the　St。　Lucie　exit；〃　Garcia　said。
　Skink　said；　〃Naw；　just　keep　driving。〃
　〃I'm　sorry；　captain；〃　Decker　said。　〃We　shouldn't　have　left　you　alone。〃
　〃Alone　is　how　I　like　it。〃　He　slid　over　to　the　corner　of　the　back　seat。　His　face　sank　into　the　shadow。
　
　Garcia　pulled　off　the　Turnpike　at　Fort　Pierce　and　stopped　at　a　Pic　'n'　Pay　convenience　store。　Decker　got　out　to　make　a　phone　call。　While　he　was　gone　Skink　stirred　again　and　straightened　up。　In　the　washhouse　light　his　face　looked　pulpy　and　lopsided；　Garcia　could　tell　he　was　in　agony。
　He　said；　〃Hang　in　there；　Governor。〃
　Skink　stared　at　him。　〃What；　you　lifted　some　fingerprints？〃
　Garcia　nodded。　〃From　a　brass　doorknob。　That　night　at　the　chiropractor's　house。　Got　a　solid　match　from　the　FBI　on　an　ancient　missing…persons　case。〃
　〃A　closed　case；〃　Skink　said。
　〃A　famous　case。〃
　Skink　gazed　out　the　window　of　the　car。
　〃Who　else　knows？〃　he　said。
　〃Nobody　but　me　and　some　G…7　clerk　at　the　Hoover　Building。〃
　〃I　see。〃
　Garcia　said；　〃For　what　it's　worth；　I　don't　like　quitters；　Mr。　Tyree；　but　I　suspect　you　had　your　reasons。〃
　〃I'll　make　no　goddamn　apologies；〃　Skink　said。　After　a　pause　he　added：　〃Don't　tell　Decker。〃
　〃No　reason　to；〃　said　Al　Garcia。
　Decker　came　back　with　hot　coffee　and　Danish。　Skink　said　he　wasn't　hungry。　〃Keep　your　eyes　out；　though；〃　he　added　when　they　were　back　on　the　road。
　〃I　got　you　something。〃　Decker　handed　him　a　brown　bag。
　Skink　opened　it　and　grinned　what　was　left　of　his　TV　smile。
　Inside　the　bag　was　a　new　pair　of　black　sunglasses。
　Just　before　midnight　he　suddenly　groaned　and　passed　out　again。　Decker　tore　up　his　own　shirt　for　a　press　bandage　and　wrapped　the　bad　eye。　He　held　Skink's　head　in　his　lap　and　told　Garcia　to　drive　faster。
　Minutes　after　they　crossed　the　county　line　into　Harney；　a　highway…patrol　car　appeared　in　the　rearview　mirror　and　practically　glued　itself　to　the　Chrysler's　bumper。
　〃Oh　hell；〃　Al　Garcia　said。
　But　R。　J。　Decker　was　feeling　much　better。
　
　Deacon　Johnson　was　proud　of　himself。　He　had　gone　down　to　the　welfare　office　near　the　Superdome　and　found　a　nine…year…old　blond　girl　who　was　double…jointed　at　the　elbows。　When　she　popped　her　bony　arms　out　they　looked　magnificently　grotesque；　an　effect　that　would　be　amplified　dramatically　by　Charlie　Weeb　s　television　cameras。　Deacon　Johnson　asked　the　girl's　mother　if　he　could　rent　her　daughter　for　a　couple　of　days　and　the　mother　said　sure；　for　a　hundred　bucks…but　no　funny　business。　Deacon　Johnson　said　don't　worry；　ma'am；　this　is　a　wholesome　Christian　enterprise；　and　led　the　little　girl　to　his　limousine。
　At　the　downtown　production　studios　of　the　Outdoor　Christian　Network；　Deacon　Johnson　took　the　little　girl；　whose　name　was　Darla；　to　meet　the　famous　Reverend　Charles　Weeb。
　Twirling　his　eyeglasses　in　one　hand；　Weeb　looked　relaxed　behind　his　desk。　He　wore　a　powder…blue　pullover；　white　parachute　pants；　and　a　pair　of　black　Nike　running　shoes。　A　young　woman　with　astounding　breasts　was　trimming　his　famous　cinnamon…blond　eyebrows。
　Deacon　Johnson　said；　〃Darla；　show　the　preacher　your　little　trick。〃
　Darla　took　one　step　forward　and　extended　both　arms；　as　if　awaiting　handcuffs。
　〃Well？〃　said　Charlie　Weeb。
　Darla　closed　her　eyes；　strained…and　chucked　her　elbows　out　of　joint　at　preposterous　angles。　The　sockets　emitted　two　little　pops　as　they　disengaged。
　The　statuesque　eyebrow　barber　nearly　wilted。
　〃Bravo！〃　said　Charlie　Weeb。
　〃Thank　you；〃　said　Darla。　Her　pale　arms　hung　crookedly　at　her　sides。