Native Tongue Part 37

Kingsbury wore a gray silk necktie, and a long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt to conceal the lewd mouse tattoo. The reason for the sartorial extravagance was an invitation to address the Tri-County Chamber of Commerce luncheon; Kingsbury intended to use the occasion to unveil a model of the Falcon Trace Golf and Country Club Resort Community.

Impatiently he pointed at Charles Chelsea's belly and said: "So? The d.a.m.n snake situationa"let's hear it."

"The worst is over," said Chelsea, with genuine confidence. He had countered Joe Winder's moccasin attack with a publicity blurb announcing that most of the reptiles had turned out to be harmless banded water snakes that only looked like deadly cottonmouths. For reinforcement Chelsea had released videotape of a staged capture, peppered with rea.s.suring comments from a local zoologist.

"By the end of the week, we can send back all those boots," Chelsea said in conclusion.

"All right, that's fine." Kingsbury swiveled toward the window, then back again. Restlessly he kneaded the folds of his neck. "Item Number Two," he said. "This s.h.i.+t with the doctor's widow, is that cleared up yet?"

Here Chelsea faltered, for Joe Winder had stymied him with the Koocher gambit. The publicity man was at a loss for remedies. There was no clever or graceful way to recant a $2.8 million settlement offer for a wrongful death.

Anxiety manifested itself in a clammy deluge from Chelsea's armpits. "Sir, this one's a stumper," he said.

"I don't want to hear it!" Kingsbury clasped his hands in a manner suggesting that he was trying to control a homicidal rage. "What was it, two-point-eight? There's no f.u.c.king waya"what, do I look like Ona.s.sis?"

Chelsea's jaws ached from nervous clenching. He pushed onward: "To rescind the offer could have very grave consequences, publicity-wise. The fallout could be ugly."

"Grave consequences? I'll give you grave, Charlie. Two million simoleons outta my G.o.dd.a.m.n pocket, how's that for grave?"

"Perhaps you should talk to the insurance company."

"Ha!" Kingsbury tossed back his head and snorted insanely. "They just jack the rates, those a.s.sholes, every time some putz from Boise stubs his little toe. No way, Charlie, am I talking to those d.a.m.n insurance people."

In recent years the insurance company had tripled its liability premium for the Amazing Kingdom of Thrills. This was due to the unusually high incidence of accidents and injuries on the main attractions; the Wet w.i.l.l.y water slide alone had generated seventeen lawsuits, and out-of-court settlements totaling nearly three-quarters of a million dollars. Even more costly was the freakish malfunction of a mechanical bull at the Wild Bill Hiccup Corrala"an elderly British tourist had been hospitalized with a 90-degree crimp in his plastic penile implant. The jury's seven-figure verdict had surprised no one.

There was no point rehas.h.i.+ng these sad episodes with Francis Kingsbury, for it would only appear that Charles Chelsea was trying to defend the insurance company.

"I think you should be aware," he said, "Mrs. Koocher has retained an attorney."

"Good for her," Kingsbury rumbled. "Let her explain to a judge what the h.e.l.l her old man was doing, swimming with a d.a.m.n killer whale in the middle of the night."

Chelsea was now on the precipice of anger himself. "If we drag this out, the Herald and the TV will be all over us. Do we really want a pack of reporters investigating the doctor's death?"

Kingsbury squinted suspiciously. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm simply advising you to take time and think about this. Let me stall the media."

The swiveling started again, back and forth, Kingsbury fidgeting like a hyperactive child. "Two-point-eight-million dollars! Where the h.e.l.l did that crazy number come from? I guess he couldn't of made it a hundred grand, something do-able."

"Winder? No, sir, he tends to think big."

"He's trying to put me out of business, isn't he?" Francis Kingsbury stopped spinning the chair. He planted his elbows on the desk and dug his polished fingernails into his jowls. "The f.u.c.ker, this is my theory, the f.u.c.ker's trying to put me under."

"You might be right," Chelsea admitted.

"What's hisa"you hired him, Charliea"what's his angle?"

"I couldn't begin to tell you. For now, my advice is to get the insurance company in touch with Mrs. Koocher's lawyer. Before it blows up even worse."

Kingsbury gave an anguished moan. "Worse? How is that possible?"

"Anything's possible." Chelsea was alarmed by the weariness in his own voice. He wondered if the tempest of bad news would ever abate.

The phone buzzed and Kingsbury plucked it off the hook. He listened, grunted affirmatively and hung up. "Pedro's on his way in," he said. "And it better be good news or I'm gonna can his fat a.s.s."

Pedro Luz did not look like a cheery bundle of good tidings. The wheelchair was one clue. The missing foot was another.

Kingsbury sighed. "Christ, now what?" He saw a whopper of a worker's comp claim coming down the pike.

"An accident," Pedro Luz said, wheeling to a stop in front of Kingsbury's desk. "Hey, it's not so bad."

Chelsea noticed that the security man's face was swollen and mottled like a rotten melon, and that his ma.s.sive arms had exploded in fresh acne sores.

Kingsbury drummed on a marble paperweight. "So? Let's hear it."

Pedro Luz said, "I shot the b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Yeah?"

"You better believe it."

Charles Chelsea deftly excused himself, talk of felonies made him uncomfortable. He closed the door softly and nearly sprinted down the hall. He was thinking: Thank G.o.d it's finally over. No more dueling flacks.

Kingsbury grilled Pedro Luz on the details of the Joe Winder murder, but the security man edited selectively.

"He was in the shower. I fired eleven times, so I know d.a.m.n well I hit him. Besides, I heard the shouts."

Kingsbury asked, "How do you know he's dead?"

"There was lots of blood," said Pedro Luz. "And like I told you, I fired almost a dozen G.o.dd.a.m.n rounds. Later I set the place on fire."

"Yeah?" Kingsbury had seen footage of a trailer blaze on Channel 4; there had been no mention of bodies.

Pedro Luz said, "It went up like a d.a.m.n torch. One of them cheap mobile homes."

"You're sure the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was inside?"

"Far as I know. And the b.i.t.c.h, too."

Francis Kingsbury said, "Which b.i.t.c.h? You're losing me here."

"The dumb b.i.t.c.h he was staying with. The one who ran me over."

Pedro Luz gestured at the bandaged stump on the end of his leg. "That's what she did to me."

The puffy slits made it difficult to read the expression in Pedro Luz's eyes. Kingsbury said, "She hit you with a car?"

"More than that, she ran me down. Parked right on top of me."

"On your foot? Jesus Christ." Kingsbury winced sympathetically.

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.