Part 48 (2/2)
”Don't read too much into this operation, Frankie. I'm just sick of a.s.shole carpetbaggers coming down here and f.u.c.king up the place. Nothing personal.”
It came out of the blue, Kingsbury saying, ”There was a guy named Jack Winder. Big-time land developer, this goes back a few years, before I was selling waterfront. Winder Planned Communities was the company.”
”My father.”
”What?” said Kingsbury. ”Quit whispering.”
”Jack Winder was my father.”
”Then what the h.e.l.l are you doing? Biting the hand is what I'd call it. Dishonoring the family name.”
”Depends on your point of view.”
Kingsbury sneered. ”I hear this line of bulls.h.i.+t all the time: ”We got our slice of suns.h.i.+ne, fine, now it's time to close the borders.” Selfish is what you are.”
”Maybe so,” Winder said. ”I'd like to fish that sh.o.r.eline again, that's for sure. I'd like to see some tarpon out there next spring.”
Dramatically, Francis Kingsbury straightened in the chair. He began talking with his eyes and hands, unmistakably a sales pitch: ”People come to the Amazing Kingdom, they might like to play some golf. Mommy takes the kids to the theme park, Daddy hits the fairways. So what?”
Winder said nothing. Kingsbury began to knead his jowls in exasperation. ”What the h.e.l.l's so wrong with that picture? Eighteen lousy holes, I just don't see the crime. It's what Disney did. It's what everybody does with prime acreage. This is Florida, for Chrissakes.”
”Not the way it ought to be, Frankie.”
”Then you're living in what they call a dreamworld. This ain't Oz, son, and there's no fairy wizard to make things right again. Down here the brick road's not yellow, it's green. Plain and simple. Case closed.”
But Joe Winder wasn't changing his mind. ”I hope the papers get your name right,” he said.
Bleakly Kingsbury thought of front-page headlines and multimillion-dollar lawsuits and minimum-security prisons with no driving range. ”All right,” he said to Winder, ”let's talk.”
”You've got my offer. Read the press release, it's all tied up with a pretty ribbon. You shut down Falcon Trace for the n.o.blest of reasons and you're a hero, Frankie. Isn't that what you want?”
”I'd rather have my oceanfront lots.”
Then the door flew open and there, bug-eyed and seething, was Pedro Luz. He aimed a large blue handgun at Joe Winder and grunted something unintelligible.
”Nice of you to put in an appearance,” Kingsbury remarked. His eyes flooded with a mixture of rage and relief. ”This a.s.shole, get him out of my sight! For good this time.”
”Drop the gun,” Pedro Luz told Winder. ”And put on your G.o.dd.a.m.n head.”
Winder did as he was told. Zipping himself in, he felt c.u.mbersome and helpless and feverishly short of breath.
Kingsbury said, ”He doesn't leave the park alive, you understand?”
”No problem,” said Pedro Luz.
”No problem,” mimicked Kingsbury. ”No problem, my a.s.s. This is Mr. Crackerjack Bodyguard, right? Mr. Lightning Response Time.”
For a moment Pedro Luz felt an overwhelming urge to turn the pistol on Francis X. Kingsbury; something told him it would be every bit as satisfying as shooting Joe Winder. Maybe another time, he decided. After payday.
A muted voice inside the racc.o.o.n head said: ”This is a big mistake, Frankie.”
Kingsbury laughed mordantly and blew his nose. ”Pedro, it's your last f.u.c.king chance. I hope you still got enough brain cells to do this one simple ch.o.r.e.”
”No problem.” With the crutch he roughly shoved Joe Winder toward the door.
”Hey, Pedro.”
”What, Mr. Kingsbury?”
”That's a six-hundred-dollar animal costume. Try not to mess it up.”
THIRTY-FOUR.
Carrie Lanier was practicing a song at the mirror as she dressed for the pageant. The door opened behind her, and she saw a flash of orange.
”Hey! We thought you were headed for New York.”
”I seriously considered it.” Skink shut the door with his foot.
”Your friend Officer Tile mentioned Orlando. Somebody shot up a tour bus, he figured it might be you.”
”Another pale imitation, that's all. Where's your boyfriend?”
Carrie described Winder's plan to confront Francis Kingsbury. ”Joe's got all the bases covered.”
Skink shook his head. ”It'll never work.”
”Where have you been, anyway?”
”Down here in the underground, away from all radio beams. I needed a break from that d.a.m.n plane.”
Carrie moved closer to the mirror and began to put on her makeup. ”What's with the gas cans?” she asked.
Skink carried one in each hand. ”Let's pretend you didn't see these,” he said. ”I just want to make sure you've got a way out of the park.”
”When?”
”Whenever.”
”What about Joe?”
”I expect he's in some trouble,” Skink said. ”I've got a ch.o.r.e to do, then I'll check around.”
”Don't worry, Pedro's locked in the storage room.”
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