Part 37 (2/2)
Pedro Luz said: ”Good thing I'm in shape.” Self-consciously he folded his bulging arms and spread his hands in a way that covered the pimples.
Kingsbury said, ”So what happened?”
”What do you mean? I told you what happened.”
”No, I mean with the car on your foot. How'd you get free?”
”Oh, I chewed it off,” said Pedro Luz, ”right below the ankle.”
Kingsbury stared at the stump. He couldn't think of anything to say.
”Animals do it all the time,” Pedro Luz explained, ”when they get caught in traps.”
Francis Kingsbury nodded unconsciously. His eyes roamed the office, searching for a convenient place to throw up.
”The hard part wasn't the pain. The hard part was the reach.” Pedro Luz bent down to demonstrate.
”Oh Lord,” Kingsbury muttered.
”Like I said, it's a good thing I'm in shape.”
At the campsite, Joe Winder told Molly McNamara it was nice to see her again. Molly congratulated Joe for blowing up Kingsbury's bulldozers. Skink thanked Molly for the bottle of Jack Daniels, and briefly related how it had been utilized. Carrie Lanier was introduced to the burglars, whom she instantly recognized as the scruffy vole robbers. Bud Schwartz and Danny Pogue were stunned to learn that Robbie Racc.o.o.n was a woman, and apologized for knocking Carrie down during the heist.
The heat was throbbing and the hammock steamed. No breeze stirred off the water. A high brown haze of African dust muted the hues of the broad summer sky. Skink handed out cold sodas and tended the fire; he wore cutoff jeans, the panther collar and a thick white vest of tape and bandages.
”You were lucky,” Molly told him. ”Guy was aiming high,” Skink said. ”He a.s.sumed I'd be standing up.”
As most people do in the shower, thought Joe Winder. ”He also a.s.sumed that you were me,” he said.
”Maybe so.” Skink smeared a stick of EDTIAR bug repellent on both arms. Then he sat down under a b.u.t.tonwood tree to count the mosquitoes biting his legs.
Carrie Lanier told the others about the breakneck ride to the veterinarian. ”Dr. Rafferty did a great job. We're lucky he knew somebody over at the Red Cross.”
Between insect frenzies, Danny Pogue struggled to follow the conversation. ”You got shot?” he said to Skink. ”So did me and Bud!”
Sharply, Molly cut in: ”It wasn't the same.”
”Like h.e.l.l,” mumbled Bud Schwartz miserably. The humidity made him dizzy, and his arms bled from scratching the bugs. In addition, he wasn't thrilled about the lunch menu, which included fox, opossum and rabbita”Skink's road-kill bounty from the night before.
Joe Winder was in a lousy mood, too. The sight of Carrie's burned-out trailer haunted him. The fax machine, the Amazing Kingdom stationery, his stereoa”all lost. Neil Young, melting in the flames. Helpless, helpless, helpless, helpless.
Skink said, ”It's time to get organized. Those d.a.m.n John Deeres are back.” He looked at Winder. ”Now they've got cops on the site.”
”What can we blow up next?” Molly asked. Skink shook his head. ”Let's try to be more imaginative.”
”All the building permits are in Kingsbury's name,” Winder noted. ”If he goes down, the project goes under.”
Carrie wondered what Joe meant by ”goes down.”
”You mean, if he dies?”
”Or gets bankrupt,” Winder said.
”Or lost,” added Skink, glancing up from his mosquito census.
Danny Pogue elbowed Bud Schwartz, who kept his silence. He had spoken again to the butcher in Queens, who had relayed an offer from unnamed friends of the Zubonis: fifty thousand for the whereabouts of Frankie King. Naturally Bud Schwartz had agreed to the deal; now, sitting in the wilderness among these idealistic crusaders, he felt slightly guilty. Maybe he should've ratted on Kingsbury for free.
”Mr. X had a terrible run of luck the last few days,” Carrie was saying, ”thanks to Joe.”
Skink got up to check the campfire. He said, ”It's time for a full-court press.”
”Each day is precious,” agreed Molly McNamara. She dabbed her forehead with a linen handkerchief. ”I think we should move against Mr. Kingsbury as soon as possible.”
Bud Schwartz crumpled a soda can. ”Why don't we hold off a week or so?”
”No.” Skink offered him a shank of opossum on a long-handled fork. He said, ”Every hour that pa.s.ses, we lose more of the island.”
”Kingsbury's got worse problems than all of us put together,” said Bud Schwartz. ”If we can just lay back a few days.”
Joe Winder urged him to elaborate.
”Tell him, Bud, go on!” Danny Pogue was nearly bursting.
”I wish I could.”
Skink fingered the silvery tendrils of his beard. Towering over the burglar, he said, ”Son, I'm not fond of surprises.”
”This is serious s.h.i.+t.” Bud Schwartz was pleading. ”You gotta understanda”heavy people from up North.”
Wiping the condensation from her eyegla.s.ses, Molly said, ”Bud, what on earth are you talking about?”
Winder leaned toward Carrie and whispered: ”This is getting interesting.”
”No d.a.m.n surprises,” Skink repeated balefully. ”We act in confluence, you understand?”
Reluctantly Bud Schwartz took a bite of fried opossum. He scowled as the warm juices dripped down his chin.
”Is that blood?” asked Danny Pogue.
Skink nodded and said, ”Nature's gravy.”
Suddenly he turned his face to the sky, peered toward the lemon sun and cursed vehemently. Then he was gone, running barefoot into the bright tangles of the hammock.
The others looked at one another in utter puzzlement.
Joe Winder was the first to stand. ”When in Rome,” he said, reaching for Carrie's hand.
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