Decker perked up. “So you know about Skink?”
“He’s a legend,” Lanie said. She started unbuttoning Decker’s shirt. “One rumor is he’s a mass murderer from Oregon. Another says he’s ex-CIA, helped kill Trujillo. One story goes he’s hiding from the Warren Commission.”
“Those are first-rate,” Decker said, but he had nothing more plausible to offer in the way of Skink theories. A bomber for the Weather Underground. Owsley’s secret chemist. Lead singer for the Grass Roots. Take your pick.
“Come under the covers,” Lanie said, and before Decker knew it the towel was on the floor and she was sliding between the muslin sheets. “Come on, you tell me about your rough day.”
This, thought Decker, from a woman who’d just been strung up nude by a madman. Good old irrepressible Lanie Gault.
Later she got hungry. Decker said there was a good burger joint down the street, but Lanie nagged him into driving all the way to New Orleans. She tossed her overnight bag in the back seat and announced that she’d get her own room in the Quarter because she didn’t want to stay at the Quality Court, in case Skink returned. Decker didn’t blame her one bit.
They went to the Acme for raw oysters and beer. Lanie kept making suggestive oyster remarks while Decker smiled politely, wishing like hell he were back in Miami, alone in his trailer. He had enjoyed rolling around in bed with her—at least he’d thought so at the time—but was having difficulty recalling any of the prurient details.
Shortly after midnight he excused himself, went to a pay phone on Iberville, and called Jim Tile in Florida. Decker told him what had happened with Skink, Lanie, and the bass tournament.
“Man,” the trooper said. “He tied her up?”
“And took off.”
“Come on home,” Tile said.
“What about Skink?”
“He’ll be all right. He gets these moods.”
Decker told Tile about Skink’s histrionics on the airplane. “He has arraignment tomorrow,” Decker said. “In the federal building on Poydras. If he calls, Jim, please remind him.”
Tile said, “Don’t hold your breath.”
Lanie had ordered another dozen on the half-shell while Decker was on the phone.
“I’m stuffed,” he said, but ate one anyway.
“Dennis says you’re getting close to Lockhart.”
She’d been trying all night to find out what happened with the tournament. Decker hadn’t said much.
Lanie said, “I heard on the radio that Dickie won.”
“That’s right.” Radio? What kind of radio station covers a fish tournament? Decker wondered.
“Did he cheat again?” Lanie asked.
“I don’t know. Probably.” Decker paused. “I’ll send your brother a full report.”
“He’ll be pissed.”
Tough shit, Decker wanted to say. But instead: “We’re not giving up.”
“You and Bigfoot?”
“He’s got a particular talent.”
“Not with women,” Lanie said.
Decker dropped her off at the Bienville House. His feelings were not the least bit wounded when she didn’t invite him to stay the night.
He took his time driving back to Hammond. It was past two in the morning, but I-10 was loaded with big trucks and semis, city-bound. Their headlights made Decker’s eyes water.
At the junction near Laplace he decided to take Route 51 instead of the new interstate. The bumpy unlit two-lane was Skink’s kind of highway. Decker flicked on his brights and drove slowly, hoping against all reason to spot the big orange rainsuit skulking roadside. By the time Decker reached Pass Manchac all he’d seen was a gray fox, two baby raccoons, and a fresh-dead water moccasin.
Decker pumped the brakes as he drove by the Sportsman’s Hide-out. Someone had left the spotlights on at the dock. It made no sense; the tournament was over, the bassers long gone. Decker negotiated a sleepy U-turn and went back.
When he got out of the car, he noticed that the lake air was not nearly as chilly as the night before. Too late for the fishermen, the wind had finally shifted from north to south; it was a balmy Gulf breeze that made the spotlights tremble on the poles.
One of the beams aimed at the tournament scoreboard, another more or less at the giant aquarium.
Decker wondered if anyone had remembered to free the bass. He strolled down to the docks to see.