Skinny Dip - Страница 47

Tool said, "Your mother's on the phone."

"Jesus, what time is it? Tell her I'll call back."

"Tell her yourself, dipshit. It's your ma, for God's sake."

Chaz had detected a menacing chill in Tool's attitude since they'd left LaBelle. In retrospect, he wondered if it had been unwise to bad-mouth the man in front of Red Hammernut.

As soon as Tool left the room, Chaz picked up the telephone and heard a familiar question from Panama City: "Any news, son?"

"No, Mom."

"How are you holding up?"

"Some days are better than others," Chaz answered sorrowfully. It was still important to appear needful of sympathy.

"Don't give up hope yet."

"Mom, it's been, like, nine days. Nobody can survive that long in the ocean without food or water."

"Think positive thoughts," she said.

"Mom, please."

"Didn't you see Cast Away?"

Chaz Perrone sucked his teeth. His relationship with his mother had delaminated during his late teens and early twenties, though not because of her marriage to Roger, the wiggy RAF pilot. Rather, Chaz's mother had come to notice (and comment often upon) the fact that her son was failing to outgrow the more obnoxious traits of his adolescence. Her list included laziness, habitual self-gratification, a deep-rooted lack of ambition and a reflex aversion to truthfulness. Chaz refused to address the merits of these charges, instead bitingly informing his mother that it would be folly to take career advice from a senior cashier at Target. Once he'd received his doctorate at Duke, Chaz's mother apologized tearfully for having doubted him. He made a fuss about forgiving her, but in fact her opinion had never mattered enough to either wound him or warm him. He indulged her with a phone call every so often, but it was purely an act of charity. His mother would ramble on about how proud she was; how marvelous that her only son was using his brilliant scientific knowledge to save the Everglades from human destruction. She was such a liberal drip, it was pathetic. She had adored Joey, too, another reason that Chaz wasn't eager to chat.

"Miracles do occur," his mother was saying. "Roger and I have been praying for her every night."

Chaz sighed. "Joey's gone, Mom. They'll never find her."

"Have you thought about seeing a psychic?"

"No. Have you thought about getting a brain scan?" Chaz slammed down the receiver. "Dingbat," he grumbled.

"Ain't no way to talk to your momma." It was Tool again, filling the doorway like a load of bricks.

Chaz foolishly advised him to mind his own damn business, at which point Tool snatched Chaz off his feet and rather effortlessly heaved him against the wall. Chaz was inclined to remain crumpled in a sobbing heap for the remainder of the morning, but Tool seized him by the hair and hoisted him upright.

"You call her back right this minute," he said, slapping the phone into Chaz's limp hand. "Call her back and say you're sorry. Else I'm gonna stomp on your nuts."

As soon as Chaz gathered himself, he phoned his mother and apologized for being so rude. It was difficult, though not nearly as painful as the alternative.

"It's all right, Charles, we understand," his mother assured him. "You're under a great deal of stress right now."

"You've got no idea," he said.

"Have you thought about trying Saint-John's-wort? It seems to be helping Roger level off."

"Good-bye, Mom." Chaz gently set down the phone.

Tool dragged him to the kitchen and placed him in a chair. "Where'd you go last night, Doc?" he asked.

"See a friend."

Chaz was working up the nerve to tell Tool the truth; that he'd gone out and coolly, efficiently committed a homicide. Maybe the dumb gorilla would think twice about knocking him around like a rag doll. On the other hand, Chaz was fairly certain that Red Hammernut wouldn't approve of his unilateral decision to eliminate Ricca Spill-man. Chaz had a feeling that Red didn't trust him with any responsibilities beyond signing his name to the phony water tests.

Tool said, "You took your truck off-road. The tires was covered with mud."

"My friend and I went for a ride," Chaz said.

"You ain't 'posed to go nowheres without me."

"But you were asleep. Snoring like a train."

"Where's that gun?" Tool asked.

"I, uh… I don't know."

Tool grabbed his throat. "Where's the fuckin' gun?"

"Backpack," Chaz peeped.

"And where's the fuckin' backpack?"

"Hummer." Chaz jerked a thumb in the general direction of the driveway.

Tool let go of him and headed for the door. Chaz gingerly massaged his neck, congratulating himself for having had the foresight to dispose of the spent shell casings and wipe down the.38. When Tool returned, he displayed no suspicion that the pistol had been recently fired. He placed it on the counter and matter-of-factly inquired, "So, who'd ya shoot?"

Chaz began to stutter.

Tool slapped him. "Spit it out, boy."

Obviously the working dynamic between the two men had changed. "You're not supposed to be slapping me around," Chaz complained. "You're my bodyguard, for Christ's sake!"

Tool shook his head. "Not no more. Now tell me-who was it? I smelled the barrel, Doc. I know what you done."

Here goes, Chaz thought. "Remember that lady with the little blue Ford? The one who came by last week?"

"I 'member. Your grief nurse, you said."

"Yeah, well, she got it in her head to make trouble. It was going to be bad."

"Is that right," Tool said.

"Ricca was her name. I'm pretty sure she hooked up with that asshole who's blackmailing us. I bet she was the one you saw down at Flamingo."

Tool frowned. "She sure didn't look familiar."

"But it was dark. And you said she wore a hat."

"Yeah, but still." He remembered the blue-Ford lady as being sort of short and stacked. The one with the ball cap seemed taller and thinner.

"Listen," Chaz said, "I need you to help me ditch her car and go through the apartment. We should make it look like she ran out on her rent."

Tool eyed him as if he were a tick. "That's two girls you whacked. What's up with you?"

"Come on. Will you help me or not?"

Tool dug a bottle of Mountain Dew out of the refrigerator and took a chug. "I ain't a bodyguard no more," he reiterated. "Now on, I'm your 'baby-sitter' is what Red says. That means I can spank your sorry ass, you don't do zackly what you're tole."

"My baby-sitter," Chaz repeatedly thinly. It was even more degrading than he'd feared. "I'm calling Red right now. We'll get this nonsense straightened out."

Tool shoved his cell phone at Chaz. "He's on the speed dial. Number one."

Red Hammernut was empathetic but unmoved. He said that while he was sensitive to Chaz's feelings, the gravity of the blackmail situation required that Mr. O'Toole take a more proactive role. Chaz was left with the unnerving impression that Red's goon would not be protecting him so much as holding him in custody. He was, more or less, under house arrest.

Cheerfully, Red Hammernut added, "Relax, son. Soon as we're done with this greedy prick who's shakin' us down, everything'll go back to normal in your life."

Chaz doubted that seriously. He said, "You're gonna pay him, aren't you?"

"Oh, he'll be paid. Don't you worry."

After Red said good-bye, Chaz passed the cellular back to Tool, who asked, "How come you didn't tell him 'bout that woman you shot?"

Chaz turned away. "Guess I forgot."

"Don't ever set foot outta this house without me. You hear?"

"Aye, aye," Chaz said, assuming incorrectly that Tool would miss the sarcasm. Tool promptly clouted him in the head and told him to get with the damn program.

Chaz shrank away, shielding himself with his arms. He was sick and tired of getting pummeled, first by the smartass blackmailer and now by this hairy troglodyte. He hadn't suffered so many bruises since the night he got wiped on roofies and fell down the stairs of a sorority house in Durham.

"All right then," said Tool, and went out back to plant a new cross that he'd uprooted off Highway 27 during the drive back from LaBelle.

Chaz fixed himself a cup of black coffee. By nature he was neither thorough nor introspective, but he reviewed with some attention to detail the events of recent days. That his stock had fallen with Red Hammernut was clear, and it caused Chaz to wonder if Red was now reconsidering his past commitments. In exchange for carrying out the Everglades scam, Chaz had been promised a plum position with Hammernut Farms-staff biologist, with a fat salary, big office, slutty blond secretary, whatever he wanted. That was the deal. They had drunk a toast and shaken hands on it.

But now… now it seemed to Chaz as if Red was blaming him for the entire unfortunate shitstorm, from the jerkoff detective snooping around to the jerkoff blackmailer demanding half a million bucks. True, none of it would be happening had Chaz not chosen to push his perfectly innocent wife off the cruise liner-but how could he possibly have known that some conniving dirtbag was lurking in the shadows, watching the whole damn thing?

It was unfair of Red Hammernut to lose faith so easily, to tie Chaz on a short leash and put him in the hands of a chowderhead like Tool. With a measure of bitterness Chaz concluded that Red was underestimating him, just as his mother had underestimated him not so many years ago. He believed that Red's tepid assessment of his character might be different had he witnessed Chaz in action the night before at Loxahatchee; the smooth and unflinching way that Chaz had taken care of the Ricca problem. Red surely would have been impressed, he thought. Maybe even amazed.