Part 35 (1/2)

He said, ”It's okay if you killed that guy. I mean, it was definitely self-defense. No jury in the world would send you up on that one.”

Great, Bud Schwartz thought, now he's Perry Mason. ”Danny, I'm gonna tell you one more time: it wasn't me, it was a d.a.m.n baboon.”

Here was something Danny Pogue admired about his partner; most dirtbags would have lied about what happened so they could take credit for the shooting. Not Buda”even if a monkey was involved. That was Danny Pogue's idea of cla.s.s.

”I got a feeling they meant to kill us,” Bud Schwartz said. He had replayed the scene a hundred times in his head, and it always added up to a murderous rip-off. It made him furious to think that Francis Kingsbury would try it...so furious that he'd tracked down his old cellmate Mario, who steered him to Jimmy Noodles, who gave him the number of the butcher shop in Queens.

Nothing but revenge was on Bud Schwartz's mind. ”I want them to know,” he said to Danny Pogue, ”that they can't screw with us just 'cause we're burglars.”

The screen door squeaked open and Molly McNamara joined the men on the porch. Her eyes looked puffy and tired. She asked Danny Pogue to fix her a gla.s.s of lemonade, and he dashed to the kitchen. She adjusted her new dentures and said, ”The meeting went poorly. There's not much support for my ideas.”

One hand moved to her chest, and she took a raspy, labored breath.

Bud Schwartz said, ”You ain't feeling so good, huh?”

”Not tonight, no.” She placed a tiny pill under her tongue and closed her eyes. A flash of distant lightning announced a thunderstorm sweeping in from the Everglades. Bud Schwartz spotted a mosquito on Molly's cheek, and he brushed it away.

She blinked her eyes and said, ”You boys have been up to something, I can tell.”

”It's going to be a surprise.”

”I'm too old for surprises,” said Molly.

”This one you'll like.”

”Be careful, please.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice. ”For Danny's sake, be careful. He's not as sharp as you are.”

Bud Schwartz said, ”We look out for each other.” Unless there's trouble, then the little dork runs for the hills.

”There's a reason I can't spill everything,” Bud Schwartz said to Molly, ”but don't you worry.” She was in a mood, all right. He'd never seen her so worn out and gloomy.

Danny Pogue returned with a pitcher of lemonade. Molly thanked him and held her gla.s.s with both hands as she drank. ”I'm afraid we won't be able to count on the Mothers of Wilderness,” she said. ”I sensed an alarming lack of resolve in the meeting tonight.”

”You mean, they wimped out.”

”Oh, they offered to picket Falcon Trace. And sign a pet.i.tion, of course. They're very big on pet.i.tions.” Molly sighed and tilted her head. The oncoming thunder made the pine planks rumble beneath their feet.

”Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm just a batty old woman.”

Danny Pogue said, ”No, you're not!”

Yes, she is, thought Bud Schwartz. But that was all right. She was ent.i.tled.

Molly gripped the arms of the chair and pulled herself up. ”We'll probably get a visitor soon,” she said. ”The tall fellow with the collar on his neck.”

”Swell,” Bud Schwartz muttered. His ribs still throbbed from last time.

”He's not to be feared,” Molly McNamara said. ”We should hear what he has to say.”

This ought to be good, thought Bud Schwartz. This ought to be priceless.

TWENTY-FIVE.

Early on the morning of July 29, a Sunday, the fax machine in the wire room of the Miami Herald received the following transmission: REPTILE SCARE CLOSES THEME PARK; HIGH WATER BLAMED.

The Amazing Kingdom of Thrills will be closed Sunday, July 29, due to an infestation of poisonous snakes caused by heavy summer rains and flooding. Cottonmouth moccasins numbering ”in the low hundreds” swarmed the popular South Florida theme park over the weekend, according to Charles Chelsea, vice president of publicity.

Several workers and visitors were bitten Sat.u.r.day, but no deaths were reported. ”Our medical-emergency personnel responded to the crisis with heroic efficiency,” Chelsea stated.

Reptile experts say snakes become more active in times of heavy rainfall, and travel great distances to seek higher ground. Even the so-called water moccasin, which thrives in ca.n.a.ls and brackish lagoons, becomes uncommonly restless and aggressive during flood-type conditions.

The cottonmouth is a pit viper known for its large curved fangs and whitish mouth. While extremely painful, the bite of the snake is seldom fatal if medical treatment is administered quickly. However, permanent damage to muscle and soft tissue often occurs.

The moccasin is prevalent throughout South Florida, although it is rare to find more than two or three snakes together at a time. Cl.u.s.ter migrations are a rarity in nature. ”They appeared to be hunting for toads,” Chelsea explained.

Officials ordered the theme park to be closed temporarily while teams of armed hunters captured and removed the wild reptiles, some of which were nearly six feet in length.

Chelsea said that the Amazing Kingdom will reopen Tuesday morning with a full schedule of events. He added: ”While we are confident that the grounds will be perfectly safe and secure, we are also suggesting, as a precaution, that our visitors wear heavy rubber boots. These will be available in all sizes, for a nominal rental fee.”

Reporters began calling before eight o'clock. Charles Chelsea was summoned from home; he arrived bleary-eyed and tieless. Clutching a Styrofoam cup of black coffee, he hunched over the desk to examine Joe Winder's newest atrocity.

”Wicked b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” he said after reading the last line.

A secretary told him about the TV helicopters. ”We've counted five so far,” she reported. ”They're trying to get an aerial shot of the snakes.”

”The snakes!” Chelsea laughed dismally.

To ignite his compet.i.tive spirit, the secretary said, ”I can't believe they'd fall for a dumb story like this.”

”Are you kidding?” Chelsea buried his hands in his hair. ”Snakes are dynamite copy. Anything with a snake, the media eats it up.” A law of journalism of which Joe Winder, the ruthless sonofab.i.t.c.h, was well aware.

Chelsea sucked down the dregs of the coffee and picked up the phone. Francis X. Kingsbury answered on the seventeenth ring.

”I've got some extremely bad news,” Chelsea said.

”Horses.h.i.+t, Charlie, if you get my drift.” It sounded as if Kingsbury's hay fever was acting up. ”Calling me at home, Christ, what's your job description anywaya”professional p.u.s.s.y? Is that what I hired you for?”

”No, sir.” The publicity man gritted his teeth and told Kingsbury what had happened. There was a long unpleasant silence, followed by the sound of a toilet being flushed.

”I'm in the can,” Kingsbury said. ”That's what you get for calling me at home.”

”Sir, did you hear what I said? About the snake story that Winder put out?”

”Yes, h.e.l.l, I'm not deaf. Hold on.” Chelsea heard the toilet flush again. Grimly he motioned for his secretary to get him another cup of coffee.

On the other end, Kingsbury said, ”All right, so on this snake thing, what do you think?”