Part 18 (2/2)
Jake Harp said, ”I think they got the message.” He could hear the golfers shouting and cursing as they drove away. He hoped none of them had recognized him.
On the drive back to the clubhouse, Francis Kingsbury asked Jake Harp for the name of the restaurant manager at Ocean Reef.
”I've got no idea,” Jake Harp said.
”But you're a member here.”
”Frank, I'm a member of seventy-four country clubs all over the d.a.m.n country. Some I've never even played.”
Kingsbury went on: ”The reason I asked, I got a line on a big s.h.i.+pment of fish. Maybe they'd want to buy some.”
I'll ask around. What kind of fish?”
”Tuna, I think. Maybe king mackerel.”
”You don't know?”
”h.e.l.l, Jake, I'm a real-estate man, not a G.o.dd.a.m.n chef. It's a trailer full of fish is all I know. Maybe six thousand pounds.”
Jake Harp said, ”Holy Jesus.”
Francis Kingsbury wasn't about to get into the whole messy story. He'd been having a devil of a time penetrating the Sudanese bureaucracy; UNICEF was no better. Yes, of course we'd welcome any famine relief, but first you'll have to fill out some forms and answer some questions....Meanwhile, no one at the Amazing Kingdom seemed to know how long whale meat would stay fresh.
From the back of the golf cart came a high-pitched electronic beeping. Kingsbury quickly pulled off the path and parked in a stand of Australian pines. He unzipped his golf bag and removed a cellular telephone.
When he heard who was on the other end, he lowered his voice and turned away. Jake Harp took the hint; he slipped into the trees to get rid of the two b.l.o.o.d.y Marys he'd had for breakfast. It was several seconds before he realized he was p.i.s.sing all over somebody's brand-new t.i.tleist. He carefully wiped it dry with a handkerchief and dropped it in his pocket.
Francis X. Kingsbury was punching a new number into the phone when Jake Harp returned to the golf cart.
”Get me that d.i.l.d.o Chelsea,” he was saying. ”No...who? I don't carea”where did you say he is? Twenty minutes, he's not in my office and that's it. And get that f.u.c.king Pedro, he's in his car. Keep him on the line tilla”righta”I get back.”
He touched a b.u.t.ton and the cellular phone made a burp. Kingsbury put it away. He was steaming mad.
Jake Harp said, ”More problems?”
”Yeah, a major G.o.dd.a.m.n problem,” said Kingsbury. ”Only this one works for me.”
”So fire him.”
”Oh, I am,” Kingsbury said, ”and that's just for starters.”
FOURTEEN.
Molly McNamara came out of the kitchen carrying a silver teapot on a silver tray.
”No thank you,” said Agent Billy Hawkins.
”It's herbal,” Molly said, pouring a cup. ”Now I want you to try this.”
Hawkins politely took a drink. It tasted like cider.
”There now,” said Molly. ”Isn't that good?”
Hiding behind the door of the guest bedroom, Bud Schwartz and Danny Pogue strained to hear what was going on. They couldn't believe she was serving tea to an FBI man.
”I'd like to ask you a few questions,” Billy Hawkins was saying.
Molly c.o.c.ked her head pleasantly. ”Of course. Fire away.”
”Let's begin with the Mothers of Wilderness. You're the president?”
”And founder, yes. We're just a small group of older folks who are deeply concerned about the future of the environment.” She held her teacup steady. ”I'm sure you know all this.”
Agent Hawkins went on: ”What about the Wildlife Rescue Corps? What can you tell me about it?”
Molly McNamara was impressed by the FBI man's grammar; most people would have used ”them” instead of ”it.”
”Just what I've read in the papers,” she said, sipping. ”That's the organization that is taking credit for freeing the mango voles, is that correct?”
”Right.”
”I'm a.s.suming this is what gives you jurisdiction in this mattera”the fact that the voles are a federally protected endangered species.”
”Right again,” said Hawkins. She was a sharp one.
Behind the bedroom door, Bud Schwartz was ready to yank his hair out. The crazy old t.w.a.t was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with the FBI, and enjoying it!
Danny Pogue looked as confused as ever. He leaned close and whispered: ”I thought sure he was after you and me.”
”Shut up,” Bud Schwartz said. He was having a hard enough time hearing the conversation in the living room.
The FBI man was saying: ”We have reason to suspect a connection between the Wildlife Rescue Corps and the Mothers of Wildernessa””
”That's outlandish,” said Molly McNamara.
Agent Hawkins let the idea hang. He just sat there with his square shoulders and his square haircut, looking impa.s.sive and not the least bit accusatory.
Molly asked: ”What evidence do you have?”
”No evidence, just indications.”
”I see.” Her tone was one of pleasant curiosity.
Billy Hawkins opened his briefcase and took out two s.h.i.+ny pieces of paper. Xeroxes. ”Last month the Mothers of Wilderness put out a press release. Do you remember?”
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