ch.doublewhammy-第6节

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　〃Aw；　I　heard　that　too；　and　I　just　can't　believe　it。　How　in　the　world　can　you　cheat？　Either　you've　got　fish　on　a　stringer；　or　you　don't。〃　Ott　sniffed　at　the　idea。　〃I　know　these　folks　and　I　don't　buy　it；　not　for　a　second。　Texas；　maybe；　sure。　But　not　here。〃
　Ott　Pickney　acted　like　it　was　all　city　talk。　He　acted　like　the　desk　made　him　an　authority…his　desk；　his　newsroom；　his　town。　Ott's　ego　was　adapting　quite　well　to　the　rural　life；　Decker　thought。　The　wise　old　pro　from　Miami。
　Pickney　perked　up。　〃You　on　expense　account？〃
　〃A　good　one；〃　Decker　said。
　〃Buy　me　lunch？〃
　〃Sure；　Ott。〃
　〃The　guy　at　the　lake；　his　name　is　Skink。　As　I　said；　they　talk　like　he's　only　got　one　oar　in　the　water；　so　watch　your　step。　One　time　we　sent　a　kid　to　write　a　little　feature　story　about　him　and　this　Skink　took　an　ax　and　busted　the　windows　out　of　the　kid's　car。　He　lives　in　a　cabin　off　the　old　Mormon　Trail。　You　can't　miss　it；　R。J。；　it's　right　on　the　lake。　Looks　like　a　glorified　outhouse。〃
　〃Skink　what？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃That's　his　whole　name；〃　Ott　Pickney　said。　'That's　all　he　needs　up　here。〃　He　rolled　his　chair　back　and　clomped　his　shoes　up　on　the　bare　desk。　〃See；　sport；　you're　not　in　Miami　anymore。〃
　
　The　man　named　Skink　said；　〃Go。〃
　〃I　need　to　talk　to　you。〃
　〃You　got　thirty　seconds。〃　The　man　named　Skink　had　a　gun。　A　Remington；　Decker　noted。　The　rifle　lay　across　his　lap。
　It　was　a　large　lap。　Skink　appeared　to　be　in　his　late　forties；　early　fifties。　He　sat　in　〃a　canvas　folding　chair　on　the　porch　of　his　cabin。　He　wore　Marine…style　boots　and　an　orange　rainsuit；　luminous　even　in　the　twilight。　The　shape　and　features　of　his　face　were　hard　to　see；　but　Skink's　silver…flecked　hair　hung　in　a　braided　rope　down　his　back。　Decker　figured　long　hair　was　risky　in　this　part　of　the　woods；　but　Skink　was　substantial　enough　to　set　his　own　style。
　〃My　name　is　Decker。〃
　〃You　from　the　IRS？〃　The　man's　voice　was　deep　and　wet；　like　mud　slipping　down　a　drain。
　〃No；〃　Decker　said。
　〃I　pay　no　taxes；〃　Skink　said。　He　was　wearing　a　rainhat；　though　it　wasn't　raining。　He　was　also　wearing　sunglasses　and　the　sun　was　down。　〃I　pay　no　attention　to　taxes；〃　Skink　asserted。　〃Not　since　Nixon；　the　goddamn　thief。〃
　〃I'm　not　from　the　government；〃　Decker　said　carefully。　〃I'm　a　private　investigator。〃
　Skink　grunted。
　〃Like　Barnaby　Jones；〃　Decker　ventured。
　Skink　raised　the　rifle　and　aimed　at　Decker's　heart。　〃I　pay　no　attention　to　television；〃　he　said。
　〃Forget　I　mentioned　it。　Please。〃
　Skink　held　the　gun　steady。　Decker　felt　moisture　bead　on　the　back　of　his　neck。　〃Put　the　gun　away；〃　he　said。
　〃I　don't　know；〃　Skink　said。　〃I　feel　like　shooting　tonight。〃
　Decker　thought：　Just　my　luck。　〃I　heard　you　do　some　guiding；〃　he　said。
　Skink's　gun　lowered　a　fraction　of　an　inch。　〃I　do。〃
　〃For　bass；〃　Decker　said。　〃Bass　fishing。〃
　〃Hundred　bucks　a　day；　no　matter。〃
　〃Fine；〃　Decker　said。
　〃You'll　call　me　captain？〃
　〃If　you　want。〃
　Skink　lowered　the　rifle　all　the　way。　Decker　reached　into　his　pocket　and　pulled　out　a　one…hundred…dollar　bill。　He　unfolded　it；　smoothed　it　out；　and　offered　it　to　Skink。
　〃Put　it　away。　Pay　when　we　get　your　fish　in　the　boat。〃　Skink　looked　annoyed。　〃You　act　like　you　still　want　to　talk。〃
　For　some　reason　the　banjo　music　from　Deliverance　kept　tinkling　in　Decker's　head。　It　got　louder　every　time　he　took　a　good　look　at　Skink's　face。
　〃Talk；〃　Skink　said。　〃Quick。〃　He　reached　over　and　set　the　rifle　in　a　corner；　its　barrel　pointing　up。　Then　he　removed　the　sunglasses。　His　eyes　were　green；　not　hazel　or　olive；　but　deep　green；　like　Rocky　Mountain　evergreens。　His　eyebrows；　tangled　and　ratty；　grew　at　an　angle　that　gave　his　tanned　face　the　cast　of　perpetual　anger。　Decker　wondered　how　many　repeat　customers　a　guide　like　Skink　could　have。
　〃Do　you　fish　the　tournaments？〃
　〃Not　anymore；〃　Skink　said。　〃If　it's　tournament　fish　you're　after；　keep　your　damn　money。〃
　〃It's　cheaters　I'm　after；〃　Decker　said。　；
　Skink　sat　up　so　suddenly　that　his　plastic　rainsuit　squeaked。　The　forest…green　eyes　impaled　R。J。　Decker　while　the　mouth　chewed　hard　on　the　corners　of　its　mustache。　Skink　took　a　deep　breath　and　when　his　chest　filled；　he　looked　twice　as　big。　It　was　only　when　he　got　to　his　feet　that　Decker　saw　what　a　diesel　he　truly　was。
　〃I'm　hungry；〃　Skink　said。　He　took　ten　steps　toward　his　truck；　stopped；　and　said；　〃Well；　Miami；　e　on。〃
　
　As　the　pickup　bounced　down　the　old　Mormon　Trail；　Decker　said；　〃Captain；　how'd　you　know　where　I　was　from？〃
　〃Haircut。〃
　〃That　bad？〃
　〃Distinctive。〃
　〃Distinctive〃　was　not　a　word　Decker　expected　to　hear　from　the　captain's　lips。　Obviously　this　was　not　the　type　of　fellow　you　could　sort　out　in　a　day；　or　even　two。
　Skink　steered　the　truck　onto　Route　222　and　headed　south。　He　drove　slow；　much　slower　than　he　had　driven　on　the　trail。　Decker　noticed　that　he　hunched　himself　over　the　wheel；　and　peered　hawklike　through　the　windshield。
　〃What's　the　matter？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃Hush。〃
　Cars　and　trucks　were　flying　by　at　sixty　miles　an　hour。　Skink　was　barely　doing　twenty。　Decker　was　sure　they　were　about　to　get　rear…ended　by　a　tractor…trailer。
　〃You　all　right？〃
　〃I　pay　no　attention　to　the　traffic；〃　Skink　said。　He　turned　the　wheel　hard　to　the　right　and　took　the　truck　off　the　road；　skidding　in　the　gravel。　Before　Decker　could　react；　the　big　man　leapt　from　the　cab　and　dashed　back　into　the　road。　Decker　saw　him　snatch　something　off　the　center　line　and　toss　it　onto　the　shoulder。
　〃What　the　hell　are　you　doing？〃　Decker　shouted；　but　his　voice　died　in　the　roar　of　a　passing　gasoline　tanker。　He　looked　both　ways　before　jogging　across　the　highway　to　join　Skink　on　the　other　side。
　Skink　was　kneeling　next　to　a　plump；　misshapen　lump　of　gray　fur。
　Decker　saw　it　was　a　dead　opossum。　Skink　ran　a　hand　across　its　furry　belly。　〃Still　warm；〃　he　reported。
　Decker　said　nothing。
　〃Road　kill；〃　Skink　said；　by　way　of　explanation。　He　took　a　knife　out　of　his　belt。　〃You　hungry；　Miami？〃
　Decker　said　uneasily；　〃How　about　if　we　just　stop　someplace　and　I　buy　you　supper？〃
　〃No　need；〃　Skink　said；　and　he　sawed　off　the　opossum's　head。　He　lifted　the　carcass　by　its　pink　tail　and　stalked　back　to　the　truck。　Decker　now　understood　the　reason　for　the　fluorescent　rainsuit；　a　speeding　motorist　could　see　Skink　a　mile　away。　He　looked　like　a　neon　yeti。
　〃You'll　like　the　flavor；〃　Skink　remarked　as　Decker　got　in　the　truck　beside　him。
　〃I　think　I'll　pass。〃
　〃Nope。〃
　〃What？〃
　〃We　both　eat；　that's　the　deal。　Then　you　get　the　hell　out。　Another　day　we'll　talk　fish。〃
　Skink　pulled　the　rainhat　down　tight　on　his　skull。
　〃And　after　that；〃　he　said；　turning　the　ignition；　〃we　might　even　talk　about　cheaters。〃
　〃So　you　know　about　this？〃　Decker　said。
　Skink　laughed　bitterly。　〃I　do；　sir；　but　I　wisht　I　didn't。〃
　Clouds　of　insects　swirled　in　and　out　of　the　high…beams　as　the　truck　jounced　down　the　dirt　road。　Suddenly　Skink　killed　the　lights　and　cut　the　ignition。　The　pickup　coasted　to　a　stop。
　〃Listen！〃　Skink　said。
　Decker　heard　an　engine。　It　sounded　like　a　lawn　mower。
　Skink　jumped　from　the　truck　and　ran　into　the　trees。　This　time　Decker　was　right　behind　him。　^
　〃I　told　the　bastards；〃　Skink　said；　panting。
　〃Who？〃　Decker　asked。　It　seemed　as　if　they　were　running　toward　the　noise；　not　away　from　it。
　〃I　told　them；〃　Skink　repeated。　They　broke　out　of　the　pines；　onto　a　bluff；　and　Skink　immediately　shrank　into　a　crouch。　Below　them　was　a　small　stream；　with　a　dirt　rut　following　the　higher　ground　next　to　the　water。　A　single　headlight　bobbed　on　the　trail。
　Decker　could　see　it　clearly…a　lone　rider　on　a　dirt　bike。　Up　close　the　motorcycle　sounded　like　a　chainsaw；　the　growl　rising　and　falling　with　the　hills。　Soon　the　rider　would　pass　directly　beneath　them。
　Decker　saw　that　Skink　had　a　pistol　in　his　right　hand。
　〃What　the　hell　are　you　doing？〃
　〃Quiet；　Miami。〃
　Skink　extended　his　right　arm；　aiming。　Decker　lunged；　too　late。　The　noise　of　the　gun　knocked　him　on　his　back。
　The　dirt　bike　went　down　like　a　lame　horse。　The　rider　screamed　as　he　flew　over　the　handlebars。
　Dirt　spitting　from　its　rear　tire；　the　bike　tumbled　down　the　embankment　and　splashed　into　the　stream；　where　the　engine　choked　and　died　in　bubbles。
　Up　the　trail；　the　rider　moaned　and　began　to　extricate　himself　from　a　cabbage　palm。
　〃Christ！〃　Decker　said；　his　breath　heavy。
　Skink　tucked　the　pistol　in　his　pants。　〃Front　tire；〃　he　reported；　almost　smiling。　〃Told　you　I　was　in　the　mood　to　shoot。〃
　
　Back　at　the　shack；　Skink　barbecued　the　opossum　on　an　open　spit　and　served　it　with　fresh　corn；　collards；　and　strawberries。　Decker　focused　on　the　vegetables　because　the　opossum　tasted　gamy　and　terrible；　he　could　only　take　Skink's　word　that　the　animal　was　fresh　and　had　not　lain　dead　on　the　highway　for　days。
　As　they　sat　by　the　fire；　Decker　wondered　why　the　ferocious　mosquitoes　were　concentrating　on　his　flesh；　while　Skink　seemed　immune。　Perhaps　the　captain's　blood　was　lethal。
　〃Who　hired　you？〃　Skink　asked　through　a　mouthful　of　meat。
　Decker　told　him　who；　and　why。
　Skink　stopped　chewing　and　stared。
　〃You　know　Mr。　Gault？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃I　know　lots　of　folks。〃
　〃Dickie　Lockhart？〃
　Skink　bit　clean　through　a　possum　bone。　〃Sure。〃
　〃Lockhart's　the　cheater；〃　Decker　said。
　〃You're　getting　close。〃
　〃There's　mor