ch.doublewhammy-第56节

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　〃It's　all　right；〃　Decker　said。　〃Go　ahead　with　your　plan。　I've　got　one　of　my　own。〃
　Skink　grinned　and　clapped　his　hands。　〃That's　the　spirit！〃　he　said。　'That's　what　I　like　to　hear。〃
　Al　Garcia　and　Jim　Tile　exchanged　doubtful　glances。　In　its　own　way；　R。　J。　Decker's　scheme　was　every　bit　as　loony　as　Skink's。
　
　Like　a　surgeon　inspecting　his　instruments；　Dennis　Gault　laid　out　his　tournament　bass　tackle　on　the　pile　carpet　and　took　inventory：　six　Bantam　Magnumlite　2000　GT　plugging　reels；　eight　Shimano　rods；　four　graphite　Ugly　Stiks；　three　bottles　of　Happy　Gland　bass　scent；　a　Randall　knife；　two　cutting　stones；　Sargent　stainless　pliers；　a　diamond…flake　hook　sharpener；　Coppertone　sunblock；　a　telescopic　landing　net；　two　pairs　of　Polaroid　sunglasses　（amber　and　green）；　a　certified　Chatillion　scale　and；　of　course；　his　tacklebox。　The　tacklebox　was　the　suitcase…size　Piano　Model　7777；　with　ninety　separate　partments。　As　was　everything　in　Dennis　Gault's　tournament　artillery；　his　bass　lures　were　brand…new。　For　top…water　action　he　had　stocked　up　on　Bang…O…Lures；　Shad　Raps；　Slo　Dancers；　Hula　Poppers；　and　Zara　Spooks；　for　deep　dredging　he　had　armed　himself　with　Wee　Warts　and　Whopper　Stoppers　and　the　redoubtable　Lazy　Ike。　For　brushpiles　he　had　unsheathed　the　Jig…N…Pig　and　Double　Whammy；　the　Bayou　Boogie　and　Eerie　Dearie；　plus　a　rainbow　trove　of　Mister　Twisters。　As　for　that　most　reliable　of　bass　rigs；　the　artificial　worm；　Dennis　Gault　had　amassed　three　gooey　pounds。　He　had　caught　fish　on　every　color；　so　he　packed　them　all：　the　black…grape　crawdad；　the　smoke…sparkle　lizard；　the　flip…tail　purple　daddy；　the　motor…oil　moccasin；　the　blueberry　gollywhomper；　everything。
　Gault　arranged　them　lovingly；　there　was　plenty　of　room。
　The　most　critical　decision；　the　one　over　which　he　pondered　longest；　was　what　strength　fishing　line　to　put　on　the　reels。　Good　line　is　paramount；　the　slenderest　of　plastic　threads；　it　is　all　that　ties　the　angler　to　his　wild　and　precious　trophy。　The　longer　a　bass　stays　on　the　line；　the　greater　its　chances　of　escape。　Since　every　fish　that　breaks　off　or　throws　the　hook　is　money　down　the　drain；　the　goal　of　the　professional　bass　angler　is　to　lose　no　fish　whatsoever。　Consequently；　in　tournaments　there　is　not　even　the　pretense　of　an　actual　battle　between　fisherman　and　fish。　The　brutish　deep　dives　and　graceful　acrobatics　of　a　hooked　largemouth　bass　are　not　tolerated　in　the　heat　of　serious　angling　petition。　In　fact；　the　standard　strategy　is　to　strike　the　fish　with　all　your　might　and　then　drag　the　stunned　creature　into　the　boat　as　rapidly　as　possible。　In　tournaments　it　is　not　unmon　to　see　five…pound　bass　being　skipped　helplessly　across　the　water　in　this　manner。
　Obviously；　heavy　line　was　essential。　For　the　Dickie　Lockhart　Memorial　Classic；　Dennis　Gault　selected　a　twenty…pound　pink　Andes　monofilament…limp　enough　to　cast　the　lure　a　modest　distance　in　a　light　wind；　yet　sturdy　enough　to　straighten　the　spine　of　any　mortal　largemouth。
　Gault　was　ironing　a　Bass　Blasters　patch　onto　the　crown　of　his　cap　when　the　phone　rang。　It　was　Lanie；　calling　from　a　truck　stop　halfway　between　Harney　and　Fort　Lauderdale。
　〃Ellen　O'Leary　is　gone；〃　she　said。　〃Decker　came　to　the　condo　and　got　her。〃
　〃Nice　work；〃　her　brother　said　snidely。
　〃What'd　you　expect　me　to　do？　He　had　that　big　black　guy　with　him；　the　trooper。〃
　Gault　was　determined　not　to　let　anything　spoil　the　tournament　for　him。
　〃Don't　worry　about　it；〃　he　said。
　〃What　about　New　Orleans？〃　Lanie　asked。
　〃Forget　about　it；〃　Gault　said；　〃and　forget　about　Decker。　Tom　Curl　is　taking　care　of　it。〃
　Lanie　knew　what　that　meant；　but　she　swept　the　thought　from　her　mind。　She　pretended　it　meant　nothing。　〃Dennis；　I　told　them　about　the　affidavit；　about　how　I　lied。〃
　She　thought　he　would　be　furious；　but　instead　he　said：　〃It　doesn't　really　matter。〃
　Lanie　wanted　Dennis　to　say　something　more；　but　he　didn't。　She　wanted　to　hear　all　about　the　tournament；　what　tackle　he　planned　to　use；　where　he'd　be　staying。　She　wanted　him　at　least　to　sound　pleased　that　she'd　called；　but　he　sounded　only　bored。　With　Dennis；　everything　was　business。
　〃I've　got　to　pack；〃　he　said。
　〃For　the　tournament？〃
　〃Right。〃
　〃Could　I　e　along？〃
　〃Not　a　good　idea；　Elaine。　Lots　of　tension；　you　know。〃
　〃But　I　have　a　surprise。〃
　〃And　what　might　that　be？〃
　〃Not　much；　big　brother。　Just　a　tip　that'll　guarantee　you　win　the　Lockhart　Memorial。〃
　〃Really；　Elaine。〃　But　she　had　him　hooked。
　Lanie　said；　〃You　know　of　a　man　they　call　Skink？〃
　〃Yes。　He's　crazy　as　a　bedbug。〃
　〃I　don't　think　so。〃
　There　was　an　edgy　pause　on　the　other　end　of　the　line。　Dennis　Gault　was　thinking　sordid　and　unpleasant　thoughts　about　his　sister　and　the　hermit。　He　wondered　where　his　mother　had　gone　wrong　raising　Elaine。
　〃Dennis；　he's　got　a　huge　fish。〃
　〃Is　that　what　he　calls　it？　His　fish？〃
　Lanie　said；　〃Be　that　way。　Be　an　asshole。〃
　〃Finish　your　fairy　tale。〃
　〃He's　raised　this　giant　mutant　bass；　he's　very　proud　of　it。　He　makes　it　sound　like　a　world　record　or　something。〃
　〃I　seriously　doubt　that。〃
　Lanie　said；　'Then　later　he　mentions　he's　got　friends　fishing　in　this
　tournament。〃
　〃Later？　You　mean　after　tea　and　crumpets？〃
　〃Drop　it；　Dennis。　It　wasn't　exactly　easy　getting　this　guy　to　open　up。　He'd　make　Charles　Bronson　seem　like　the　life　of　the　party。〃
　〃What　else　did　he　say？〃
　〃That　he　and　the　fish　were　going　on　a　trip　this　weekend。〃
　Gault　snorted。　〃He　and　the　fish。　You　mean　like　a　date？〃
　Lanie　let　him　think　about　it。　Dennis　Gault　didn't　take　a　long　time。
　〃He's　going　to　plant　the　bass　at　Lunker　Lakes；〃　he　said；　〃so　his　friends　can　win　the　tournament。〃
　〃That's　what　I　figured。〃
　〃Not　a　bad　day's　work；　even　if　you've　got　to　split　the　prize　money　three　ways。〃
　〃Instead　of　just　two；〃　Lanie　said。
　〃What？〃
　〃You　and　me；　half　and　half；〃　she　said；　〃if　you　win　with　Skink's　fish。〃
　Dennis　Gault　had　to　laugh。　She　was　something；　his　sister。　If　she　were　a　man；　she'd　have　steel　ones。
　〃Deal？〃　Lanie　said。
　〃Sure；　fifty…fifty。〃　Gault　really　didn't　give　a　damn　about　the　money　anyway。
　
　〃I'm　not　riding　in　it；〃　Al　Garcia　said。
　〃It's　all　I　could　find；　with　a　trailer　hitch；〃　Jim　Tile　explained。
　Garcia　said；　〃It's　a　fucking　garbage　truck；　Jim。　An　eleven…ton　diesel　garbage　truck！〃
　〃It's　perfect；〃　Skink　said。　〃It's　you。〃
　He　had　strapped　the　wooden　skiff　to　the　secondhand　trailer；　even　with　the　outboard　engine　it　was　a　light　load。　He　one…handed　the　tongue　of　the　trailer　and　snapped　it　down　on　the　ball　of　the　hitch。
　Garcia　stared　in　dismay。　The　peeling　old　boat　was　bad　enough　by　itself；　but　hitched　to　the　rump　of　a　garbage　truck　it　looked　like　a　flea…market　special。　〃Gypsies　wouldn't　ride　in　this　fucking　caravan；〃　the　detective　said。　〃What　happened　to　your　cousin's　lawn　truck？〃
　〃Axle　broke；〃　said　Jim　Tile。
　〃Then　let's　rent　a　regular　pickup。〃
　〃No　time；〃　Skink　said。
　〃Then　let's　all　ride　with　you；〃　Garcia　said。
　〃No　way；〃　Skink　said。　〃We　can't　be　seen　together　down　there。　From　this　moment　on；　you　don't　know　me；　I　don't　know　you。　Bass　is　the　name　of　the　game；　no　socializing。　It's　just　you　and　Jim　Tile；　brothers。　That's　all。〃
　Garcia　said；　〃What　if　something　happens…how　do　we　reach　you？〃
　〃I'll　be　aware。　You　got　the　map？〃
　〃Yep。〃　To　demonstrate；　Garcia　patted　a　trouser　pocket。
　〃Good。　Now；　remember；　get　one　of　those　big　Igloos。〃
　〃I　know；　the　sixty…gallon　job。〃
　〃Right。　And　an　aquarium　pump。〃
　Jim　Tile　said；　〃We've　got　it　all　written　down。〃
　Skink　smiled　tiredly。　〃So　you　do。〃　He　tucked　his　ropy　gray　braid　down　the　back　of　his　weather　jacket。　The　trooper　had　advised　him　to　do　this　to　reduce　his　chances　of　getting　pulled　over　for　no　reason　on　the　Turnpike；　long　hair　was　a　magnet　for　cops。
　As　Skink　climbed　into　the　truck；　he　said；　〃Decker　make　his　phone　call？〃
　〃Yeah；〃　Jim　Tile　said；　〃he's　already　gone。〃
　〃God；　that's　the　one　thing　I'm　worried　about；〃　Skink　said。　〃I　really　like　that　boy。〃　He　pulled　the　raincap　tight　on　his　skull。　He　lifted　the　sunglasses　just　enough　to　fit　a　finger　underneath；　working　the　owl　eye　back　into　its　socket。
　〃How　you　feeling？〃　Jim　Tile　asked。
　〃Better　and　better。　Thanks　for　asking。　And　you；　Senor　Smartass　Cuban；　remember…〃
　〃I'll　be　gentle　with　her；　governor；　don't　worry。〃　
　〃…because　if　she　dies；　I'll　have　to　kill　somebody。〃　With　that　Skink　started　the　ignition；　and　the　truck　jostled　down　the　dirt　cattle　path　toward　the　Mormon　Trail。
　Tied　upright　in　the　flatbed　was　the　big　plastic　garbage　pail；　crisscrossed　with　ropes　and　elastic　bungy　cords。　Fastened　crudely　to　the　top　of　the　pail　was　a　battery…powered　pump；　obviously　rebuilt；　from　which　sprouted　clear　life…giving　tubes。　Inside　the　plastic　container　was　precisely　thirty　gallons　of　Lake　Jesup's　purest；　and　in　that　agitated　but　freshly　oxygenated　water　was　the　fish　called　Queenie；　flaring　her　fins；　jawing　silent　fulminations。　The　hugest　largemouth　bass　in　all　the　world。
　
　After　they　checked　in　at　the　motel；　Thomas　Curl　told　Catherine　to　take　off　her　clothes。　She　got　as　far　as　her　bra　and　panties　and　said　that　was　it。
　〃I　want　you　nekked；〃　Curl　said；　brandishing　the　pistol。　'That　way　you　won't　run　off。〃
　Catherine　said；　〃It's　too　cold。〃
　Curl　got　a　thin　woolen　blanket　from　the　closet　and　threw