This is a joke, right?
And Chub had heard Shiner say, "If only."
The snotty fuck.
Panting in the marl, Chub found his worries turning to the lottery tickets. Both were hidden in the steering console – the stolen one still damp from the previous near disaster; the one in Bode's wallet relocated when Chub made him go overboard to push.
The console had cheap plastic doors that didn't lock. Chub resolved to shoot Shiner in the kneecaps if he went anywhere near it.
Night had fallen before they beached at Pearl Key. Bode Gazzer used liquid charcoal lighter to get a fire going. Chub stripped down and hung his sopping clothes in the mangroves. Shiner was ordered to unload the boat. He couldn't believe Chub was sauntering around camp in his underwear, right in front of Amber.
"Want some bug spray?" Chub asked her.
"I'm cold," she said.
In an instant Shiner was there with an army blanket. Chub snatched it and wrapped Amber's shoulders. He handed her an aerosol can of insect repellent and said: "Squirt a lil on my legs, wouldya?"
She did as she was told, her expression concealed by Chub's lanky shadow. Bode Gazzer glanced up from the campfire – it was foolishness; such a girl had no place in a paramilitary unit. Shiner was equally dismayed, but for different reasons.
He piped, "They's some dry camos in the duffel."
Chub ignored him. He seemed entirely relaxed in mud-splattered Jockey shorts.
"So, Amber," he said, "where'd y'all sleep last night?"
"The car."
Chub cut a hard look at Shiner, who said: "By the side of the road."
"Is that right."
"Whatsa big damn deal?" Shiner didn't appreciate how Chub was putting him on the spot: giving him the eye, acting like Shiner was holding something back.
Amber came to his defense. "It's a Crown Victoria. You can fit a football team in there," she said. "I slept in the back seat, Shiner slept in front. Anything else you want to know?"
Chub got red and flustered. The last thing he'd wanted to do was piss her off – hell, some girls were flattered when you got jealous. He offered Amber a Budweiser.
"No, thanks."
"Some jerky?"
"I think I'll pass."
Bodean Gazzer said, "We got to have a meeting. Sugar, can you leave us men alone for 'bout thirty minutes."
Amber looked out toward the gray woods, then turned back to Bode. "Where exactly am I supposed to go?"
Shiner cut in, saying it was all right for her to stay. "She knows who we are, and she's a hundred percent with the program."
Now it was the colonel's turn to shoot him the evil eye. Shiner didn't cave. "She's even gonna fix my tattoo!"
"Too bad she can't fix your fuckin' brain." Chub, picking at his eye patch as if it were a scab.
Bodean Gazzer sensed that his hold on the newborn militia was slipping. Amber would have to shut up and behave, that's all. Her presence was disrupting the group; the scent of her in particular. While Bode was grateful for any fragrance potent enough to neutralize the stink of Chub's perspiration, he felt throttled by Amber's perfume. It fogged his brain with impure thoughts, some of them jarringly explicit. Bode was angry at himself for entertaining base fantasies when he should be concentrating totally on survival.
He spread an oilskin tarpaulin and called the meeting to order. Amber sat cross-legged in the center of the tarp, with Shiner and Chub on each side.
"As you know," Bode began, "we're here on this island because something – somebody – calls themselves the Black Tide is out to destroy us. I got no doubt it's a Negro operation, a pretty slick one, and I expect they'll find us eventually. We come all the way out here to regroup, get our weapons in tiptop shape and make a stand.
"Now, I believe with all my Christian heart we're gonna prevail. But to whip these black bastards we gotta be prepared, and we gotta be a team: armed, disciplined and well-regulated. Pretty soon 'Merica's gonna come under attack – I don't need to tell you about that. The New World Tribunal, the communists, NATO and so forth. But this here's our first big test, this Black Tide ... now what?"
The Hooters girl had raised her hand.
"You got a question?" Bode Gazzer said, perturbed.
"Yeah. Where do you guys see this going?"
"Pardon?"
"The plan," Amber said. "What's the long-range plan?"
"We are the White Clarion Aryans. We believe in the purity and supremacy of the Euro-Caucasian people. We believe our Christian values been betrayed and forsaken by the United States government ... "
As he spoke, Bodean Gazzer glowered at Chub. How were they going to win a race war with a damn waitress hanging around?
Chub wasn't annoyed by Amber's interruption; he was too busy trying to cop a peek up her shorts. Shiner, by contrast, was painfully attentive. Taking Amber's lead, he raised his right arm and waved at Bode.
"What!"
"Colonel, you said Euro something ... "
"Euro-Caucasian."
"Could you 'xplain what that is?" Shiner asked.
"White people," Bode Gazzer snapped. "White people whose folks come from, like, England or Germany. Places such as that."
"Ireland?" asked Amber.
"Yeah, sure. Denmark, Canada ... you get the goddamn idea." He couldn't believe these nimrods – the concept of ethnic purity wasn't that complicated.
Then Shiner said: "They got white people in Mexico."
"Bullshit."
"Guy used to work days at the Grab N'Go. Billy was his name. He looked awful white, Colonel."
Bode was steaming. He walked over to Shiner and kicked him in the side of the head. Shiner cried out and toppled across Amber's lap. Chub looked on, abject with envy.
Leaning over, Bode took Shiner by the chin. "Listen, you pimple-faced little shitweasel. Ain't no such thing on God's earth as a white Meskin named Billy or Hay-zoos or any other damn thing. They's no white Cubans or Spaniards, neither."
"But Spain isin Europe." Amber, calm as you please, stroking Shiner's bestubbled scalp.
Chub, who was tired of being left out, declared: "She got a point there." Then, turning with a smirk toward the girclass="underline" "And here's a man won't even say the word 'nigger.' "
Bodean Gazzertook a deep breath and walked a slow circle around the campfire. He had to cool off; he had to be the calm, clear-thinking one.
"When I talk about Euro-Caucasians," he said, "I'm referrin' to whitewhite people, all right? That's the easiest way to explain it. I'm talkin' about Aryan ancestry, which is something all four of us share."
Impatiently Chub said, "Get on with it." To his immense relief, Shiner sat up, uncluttering Amber's thighs. The glow of the flames gave a delicious sheen to her nylon stockings; it was all Chub could do to restrain himself from stroking them. It was, in fact, only a matter of moments before he tried.
When he did, Amber whacked him in the face. "Look what you did!" she exclaimed.
The aborted grope had snagged Chub's hand in her hose. It was the crab claw, he was disheartened to see.
"What's the matter with you!" Amber said, and took another swipe. She wanted the kidnappers to know she was a fighter and that every touch would cost them dearly. It was a cardinal rule of waitressing: Defend your dignity.
Chub knocked over his beer as he fumbled to disentangle himself. "I'lldo it," Amber snapped.
In disgust Bode Gazzer spit a chunk of jerky into the campfire. Shiner was stunned by the scene. Amber's fear of a rape no longer seemed farfetched; the same could not be said of Shiner's gallant vow to protect her. Chub was so much stronger and meaner; short of killing him in his sleep, Shiner's options were limited.
The crab pincers left a ragged hole in Amber's nylons.
"Damn," she muttered. Then to Chub: "Hope you're happy, Romeo." It was the sort of asshole stunt that boyfriend Tony might pull, pawing at her crotch in public.