Part 30 (1/2)

”The Vance model comes with a tiny cigar.”

”How much?” Winder asked.

”Eighteen ninety-five, plus tax. Mr. X ordered a s.h.i.+pment of three thousand.” Carrie stroked his arm. ”Come on, I feel like cuddling.”

Wordlessly, Winder moved the toy mango vole off the bed. The tag said it was manufactured in the People's Republic of China. What must they think of us on the a.s.sembly line? Winder wondered. Stuffed rats with cigars!

Carrie Lanier said, ”I've got the jitters about singing in the parade. I don't look much like a Seminole.”

Winder a.s.sured her she would do just fine. ”Listen, I need to ask a favor. If you say no, I'll understand.”

”Shoot.”

”I need you to steal something for me,” he said.

”Sure.”

”Just like that?”

Carrie said, ”I trust you. I want to help.”

”Do you see the possibilities?”

”Surprise me,” she said.

”Don't worry, it won't be dangerous. A very modest effort, as larcenies go.”

”Sure. First thing tomorrow.”

”Why are you doing this?” he asked.

”Because it's a fraud, the whole d.a.m.n place. But mainly because an innocent man is dead. I liked Will Koocher.” She paused. ”I like his wife, too.”

She didn't have to add the last part, but Winder was glad she did. He said, ”You might lose your job.”

Carrie smiled. ”There's always dinner theater.”

It seemed a good time to break the ice, so he trieda”a brotherly peck on the cheek.

”Joe,” she murmured, ”you kiss like a parakeet.”

”I'm slightly nervous myself.”

Slowly she levered him to the bed, pinning his arms. ”Why,” she said, giggling, ”why are you so nervous, little boy?”

”I really don't know.” Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against his ribs, a truly wonderful sensation. Winder decided he could spend the remainder of his life in that position.

Carrie said, ”Lesson Number One: How to smooch an Indian maiden.”

”Go ahead,” said Winder. ”I'm all lips.”

”Now do as I say.”

”Anything,” he agreed. ”Anything at all.”

As they kissed, an unrelated thought sprouted like a mushroom in the only dim crevice of Joe Winder's brain that was not fogged with l.u.s.t.

The thought was: If I play this right, we won't need the gun after all.

TWENTY-TWO.

Pedro Luz was in Francis Kingsbury's den when the blackmailers called. He listened to Kingsbury's half of the conversation, a series of impatient grunts, and said to Churrito, ”Looks like we're in business.”

Kingsbury put down the phone and said, ”All set. Monkey Mountain at four sharp. In front of the baboons.”

Monkey Mountain was a small animal park off Krome Avenue, a cut-rate imitation of the venerable Monkey Jungle. To Pedro Luz, it didn't sound like an ideal place to kill a couple of burglars.

With a snort, Kingsbury said, ”These a.s.sholes, who knows where they get these cute ideas. Watching television, maybe.”

”What is this monkey place?” Churrito asked.

”For Christ's sake, like the name says, it's basically monkeys. Two thousand of the d.a.m.n things running all over creation.” Kingsbury disliked monkeys and had summarily vetoed plans for a Primate Pavilion at the Amazing Kingdom of Thrills. He felt that apes had limited commercial appeal; Disney had steered clear of them, too, for what that was worth.

”For one thing, they bite. And, two, they s.h.i.+t like a sewer pipe.” Kingsbury put the issue to rest. ”If they're so d.a.m.n smart, how come they don't hold it. Like people.”

”They tasty good,” Churrito remarked, licking his lips. ”Squirrel monkey is best, where I come from.”

Pedro Luz sucked noisily on the open end of the IV tube. He had purchased a dozen clear bags of five-percent dextrose solution from a wholesale medical shop in Perrine. The steroid pills he pulverized with the b.u.t.t of his Colt, and funneled the powder into the bags. No one at the gym had ever heard of getting stoked by this method; Pedro Luz boasted that it was all his idea, he'd never even checked with a doctor. The only part that bothered him was using the needlea”a problematic endeavor, since anabolic steroids were usually injected into muscle, not veins. Whenever Pedro Luz was having second thoughts, he'd yank out the tube and insert it directly in his mouth.

Sitting in Kingsbury's house, it gave him great comfort to feel again these magnificent potent chemicals flooding his system. With nourishment came strength, and with strength came confidence. Pedro Luz was afraid of nothing. He felt like stepping in front of a speeding bus, just to prove it.

Churrito pointed at the intravenous rig and said: ”Even monkeys aren't that stupid.”

”Put a lid on it,” Pedro growled. He thought: No wonder these dorks lost the war.

”Stuff make you bulls shrink up. d.i.c.k get leetle tiny.” Churrito seemed unconcerned by the volcanic mood changes that swept over Pedro Luz every few hours. To Francis Kingsbury he said, ”Should see the zits on his cholders.”

”Some other time,” Kingsbury said. ”You guys, now, don't get into it. There's work to doa”I want these a.s.sholes off my back, these f.u.c.king burglars, and I want the files. So don't start up with each other, I mean, save your energy for the job.”

Pedro Luz said, ”Don't worry.”

The phone rang and Kingsbury s.n.a.t.c.hed it. The call obviously was long-distance because Kingsbury began to shout. Something about a truck accident ruining an important s.h.i.+pment of fish. The caller kept cutting in on Kingsbury, and Kingsbury kept making half-a.s.sed excuses, meaning some serious money already had changed hands.

When Kingsbury hung up, he said, ”That was Hong Kong. Some cat-food outfit, I set up this deal and it didn't work out. What the h.e.l.l, they'll get their dough back.”

”My uncle had a fish market,” remarked Pedro Luz. ”It's a very hard business.”