ch.doublewhammy-第8节

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　telescopic　stills　of　married　guys　sneaking　out　of　motels。
　None　of　this　he　told　Ott　Pickney。　Being　a　private　detective　isn't　so　bad；　is　what　he　said；　and　the　pay's　good。　〃It's　just　temporary；〃　Decker　lied；　〃until　I　figure　out　what　I　want　to　do。〃
　Ott　managed　a　sympathetic　smile。　He　was　trying　to　be　a　pal。　〃You　were　a　fine　photographer；　R。J。〃
　〃Still　am；〃　Decker　said　with　a　wink。　〃I　waltzed　out　of　that　newspaper　with　a　trunkload　of　free　Ektachrome。〃
　
　The　funeral　was　like　nothing　R。　J。　Decker　had　ever　seen；　and　he'd　been　to　some　beauties。　Jonestown。　Beirut。　Benghazi。
　But　this　was　one　for　the　books。　The　L。　L。　Bean　catalog；　to　be　exact。
　They　were　burying　Bobby　Clinch　in　his　bass　boat。
　Actually；　part　of　the　boat。　The　blue　metal…flake　hull　had　been　sawed　up　and　hewn　into　a　coffin。　It　wasn't　a　bad　job；　either；　especially　on　short　notice。
　Clarisse　Clinch　thought　it　a　ghastly　idea　until　the　Harney　County　Bass　Blasters　Club　had　offered　to　pay　the　bill。　The　funeral　director　was　a　dedicated　fisherman；　which　made　it　easier　to　overlook　certain　state　burial　regulations　concerning　casket　material。
　R。　J。　Decker　resisted　the　urge　to　grab　an　F…l　and　shoot　some　pictures。　The　last　thing　he　needed　in　the　viewfinder　was　a　shrieking　widow。
　The　thirty…acre　cemetery　was　known　locally　as　Our　Lady　of　Tropicana；　since　it　had　been　carved　out　of　a　moribund　citrus　grove。　The　mourners　stood　in　the　sunshine　on　a　gentle　green　slope。　The　preacher　had　finished　the　prayer　and　was　preparing　to　lay　Bobby　Clinch's　soul　to　rest。
　〃I　know　some　of　you　were　out　on　Lake　Jesup　this　morning　and　missed　the　church　service；〃　the　preacher　said。　〃Clarisse　has　been　kind　enough　to　let　us　open　the　casket　one　more　time　so　you　boys…Bobby's　fishing　buddies…can　pay　your　eternal　respects。〃
　Decker　leaned　over　to　Ott　Pickney。　〃Which　one　is　Lockhart？〃
　〃Don't　see　him；〃　Ott　said。
　A　line　of　men；　many　dressed　in　khaki　jumpsuits　or　bright　flotation　vests；　a　few　still　sloshing　in　their　waders；　filed　by　the　sparkly　blue　casket。　The　undertaker　had　done　a　miraculous　job；　all　things　considered。　The　bloatedness　of　the　body's　features　had　been　minimized　by　heavy　pink　makeup　and　artful　eye　shadows。　Although　the　man　in　the　casket　did　not　much　resemble　the　Bobby　Clinch　that　his　pals　had　known；　it　could　easily　have　been　an　older　and　chubbier　brother。　While　some　of　the　fishermen　reached　in　and　tugged　affectionately　at　the　bill　of　Bobby's　cap　（which　concealed　what　the　ducks　had　done　to　his　hair）；　others　placed　sentimental　tokens　in　the　coffin　with　their　dead　panion；　fishing　lures；　mostly：　Rapalas；　Bombers；　Jitterbugs；　Snagless　Sallies；　Gollywompers；　Hula　Poppers；　River　Runts。　Some　of　the　lures　were　cracked　or　faded；　the　hooks　bent　and　rusted；　but　each　represented　a　special　memory　of　a　day　on　the　water　with　Bobby　Clinch。　Clarisse　made　an　effort　to　appear　moved　by　this　fraternal　ceremony；　but　her　thoughts　were　drifting。　She　already　had　a　line　on　a　buyer　for　her　husband's　Blazer。
　Ott　Pickney　and　R。　J。　Decker　were　among　the　last　to　walk　by　the　casket。　By　now　the　inside　looked　like　a　display　rack　at　a　tackle　shop。　A　fishing　rod　lay　like　a　sword　at　the　dead　man's　side。
　Ott　remarked；　〃Pearl　Brothers　did　a　fantastic　job；　don't　you　think？〃
　Decker　made　a　face。
　〃Well；　you　didn't　know　him　when　he　was　alive。
　〃Nobody　looks　good　dead；〃　Decker　said。　Especially　a　floater。
　Finally　the　lid　was　closed。　The　bier　was　cleared　of　flowers；　including　the　impressive　spray　sent　by　the　Lake　Jesup　Bass　Captains　Union…a　leaping　lunker；　done　all　in　petunias。　With　the　ceremony　concluded；　the　mourners　broke　into　small　groups　and　began　to　trudge　back　to　their　trucks。
　〃I　gotta　get　some　quotes　from　the　missus；〃　Ott　whispered　to　Decker。
　〃Sure。　I'm　in　no　particular　hurry。〃
　Ott　walked　over　and　tentatively　sat　down　on　a　folding　chair　next　to　Clarisse　Clinch。　When　he　took　out　his　notebook；　the　widow　recoiled　as　if　it　were　a　tarantula。　R。　J。　Decker　chuckled。
　〃So　you　like　funerals？〃
　It　was　a　woman's　voice。　Decker　turned　around。
　〃I　heard　you　laugh；〃　she　said。
　〃We　all　deal　with　grief　in　our　own　way。〃　Decker　kept　a　straight　face　when　he　said　it。
　〃You're　full　of　shit。〃　The　woman's　tone　stopped　just　short　of　friendly。
　Mid…thirties；　dark　blue　eyes；　light　brown　hair　curly　to　the　shoulders。　Decker　was　sure　he　had　seen　her　somewhere　before。　She　had　an　expensive　tan；　fresh　from　Curasao　or　maybe　the　Caymans。　She　wore　a　black　dress　cut　much　too　low　for　your　standard　funeral。　This　dress　was　a　night　at　the　symphony。
　〃My　name　is　Decker。〃
　〃Mine's　Lanie。〃
　〃Elaine？〃
　〃Once　upon　a　time。　Now　it's　Lanie。〃　She　shot　a　look　toward　Ott　Pickney。　Or　was　it　Clarisse？　〃You　didn't　know　Bobby；　did　you？〃　she　said。
　〃Nope。〃
　〃Then　why　are　you　here？〃
　〃I'm　a　friend　of　Ott's。〃
　〃You　sure　don't　look　like　a　friend　of　Ott's。　And　I　wish　you'd　please　quit　staring　at　my　tits。〃
　Decker　reddened。　Nothing　clever　came　to　mind　so　he　kept　quiet　and　stared　at　the　tops　of　his　shoes。
　Lanie　said；　〃So　what　did　you　think　of　the　sendoff　？〃
　〃Impressive。〃
　〃　'Sick'　is　the　word　for　it；〃　she　said。
　An　ear…splitting　noise　came　from　the　gravesite。　Bobby　Clinch's　customized　bass…boat　casket　had　slipped　off　the　belts　and　torn　free　of　the　winch　as　it　was　being　lowered　into　the　ground。　Now　it　stood　on　end；　perpendicular　in　the　hole；　it　looked　like　a　giant　grape　Popsicle。
　〃Oh　Jesus；〃　Lanie　said；　turning　away。
　Cemetery　workers　in　overalls　scrambled　to　restore　decorum。　Decker　saw　Clarisse　Clinch　shaking　her　head　in　disgust。　Ott　was　busy　scribbling；　his　neck　bent　like　a　heron's。
　〃How　well　did　you　know　him？〃　Decker　asked。
　〃Better　than　anybody；〃　Lanie　said。　She　pointed　back　toward　the　driveway；　where　the　mourners'　cars　were　parked。　〃See　that　tangerine　Corvette？　That　was　a　present　from　Bobby；　right　after　he　finished　second　in　Atlanta。　I've　only　given　two　blowjobs　in　my　entire　life；　Mr。　Decker；　and　that　Corvette　is　one　of　them。〃
　Decker　resisted　asking　about　the　other。　He　tried　to　remember　the　polite　thing　to　say　when　a　beautiful　stranger　struck　up　a　conversation　about　oral　sex。　None　of　the　obvious　replies　seemed　appropriate　for　a　funeral。
　The　woman　named　Lanie　said；　〃Did　you　get　a　look　inside　the　coffin？〃
　〃Yeah；　amazing；〃　Decker　said。
　〃That　fishing　rod　was　Bobby's　favorite。　A　Bantam　Maglite　bait…caster　on　a　five…foot　Fenwick　graphite。〃
　Decker　thought：　Oh　no；　not　her　too。
　〃I　gave　him　that　outfit　for　Christmas；〃　Lanie　said；　adding　quickly：　〃It　wasn't　my　idea　to　bury　him　with　it。〃
　〃I　wouldn't　have　thought　so；〃　Decker　said。
　They　watched　the　cemetery　workers　tip　Bobby　Clinch's　coffin　back　into　the　grave；　where　it　landed　with　an　embarrassing　thud。　Hastily　the　diggers　picked　up　their　shovels　and　went　to　work。　Lanie　slipped　on　a　pair　of　dark　sunglasses　and　smoothed　her　hair。　Her　motions　were　elegant；　well…practiced　in　the　kind　of　mirrors　you'd　never　find　in　Harney。　The　lady　was　definitely　out…of…town。
　〃It　wasn't　what　you　think。　Bobby　and　me；　I　mean。〃
　〃I　don't　think　anything；〃　Decker　said。　Why　did　they　always　have　this　pulsion　to　confess？　Did　he　look　like　Pat　O'Brien？　Did　he　look　like　he　cared？
　〃He　really　loved　me；〃　Lanie　volunteered。
　〃Of　course　he　did；〃　Decker　said。　The　Corvette　was　proof。　A　greater　love　hath　no　man　than　an　orange　sports　car　with　a　T…top　and　mag　wheels。
　〃I　hope　you　find　out　what　really　happened；〃　she　said。　〃That's　why　you're　here；　isn't　it？　Well；　you're　going　to　earn　your　fee　on　this　one。〃
　Then　she　walked　away。　R。　J。　Decker　found　himself　concentrating　on　the　way　she　moved。　It　was　a　dazzlingly　lascivious　walk；　with　a　sway　of　the　hips　that　suggested　maybe　a　little　booze　for　breakfast。　Decker　had　done　worse　things　than　admire　a　woman's　legs　at　a　funeral；　but　he　knew　he　should　have　been　thinking　about　something　else。　Why；　for　example；　the　grieving　mistress　knew　more　about　him　than　he　knew　about　her。　He　got　up　and　strolled　after　her。　When　he　called　her　name；　Lanie　turned；　smiled；　didn't　stop　walking。　By　the　time　Decker　caught　up　she　was　already　in　the　Corvette；　door　locked。
　She　waved　once　through　the　tinted　windows；　then　sped　off；　nearly　peeling　rubber　over　his　feet。
　
　When　Decker　got　back　to　the　grave；　Ott　Pickney　was　finishing　his　interview。
　He　nodded　good…bye　to　Clarisse。　〃A　cold　woman；〃　he　said　to　Decker。　〃Something　tells　me　Bobby　spent　too　much　time　on　the　lake。〃
　As　they　walked　to　the　truck；　Decker　asked　about　the　fishing　rod　in　the　coffin。
　〃Looked　like　a　beauty；〃　Ott　agreed。
　〃Yes；　but　I　was　wondering；〃　Decker　said。　〃Guy　goes　fishing　early　one　morning；　flips　his　boat；　falls　in　the　lake　。。。　〃
　〃Yeah？〃
　〃How'd　they　ever　find　the　rod？〃
　Ott　shrugged。　〃Hell；　R。J。；　how　do　I　know？　Maybe　they　snagged　it　off　the　bottom。〃
　〃Thirty　feet　of　brown　water？　I　don't　think　so。〃
　〃Okay；　maybe　he　didn't　bring　it　with　him。　Maybe　he　left　it　at　home。〃
　〃But　it　was　his　favorite　rig。〃
　〃What　are　you　getting　at？〃
　〃I　just　think　it's　odd。〃
　〃Bass　fanatics　like　Bobby　Clinch　got　a　hundred　fishing　poles；　R。J。；　a　new　favorite　every　day。　Whatever　catches　a　lunker。〃
　〃Maybe　you're　right。〃
　〃You　need　to　relax；〃　Ott　said；　〃you　really　do。〃
　They　climbed　in　the　Toyota　and　like　clockwork　Pickney　lit　up　a　Camel。　He　couldn't　do　it　outdoors；　in　the　fr