Flying at five hundred feet, the pilot took the chopper on a sinuous course from the Cowpens along Cross Bank toward Captain Key, Calusa, the Buttonwoods and Roscoe. Then he arced back across Whipray Basin toward Corinne Key, Spy and Panhandle. He was coming up fast on the Gophers when he heard his spotter say: "Hey, we've got something."
It was an open skiff, zipping through a stake channel on Twin Key Bank. The Coast Guard pilot throttled down and put the bird in a hover.
"Whaler sixteen?"
"Roger," said the spotter. "Two aboard."
"Two? Are you sure?"
"That's a roger."
The ride-along said nothing.
"They OK?" the pilot asked the spotter.
"Seem to be. Heading for Islamorada, it looks like."
The pilot leaned toward the jump seat. "What do you think, sir?"
The ride-along had brought his own binoculars, weatherproof Tascos. "A little closer if you can," he said, peering.
Perched in the chopper door, the spotter reported it was a man and a woman. "She's waving. He's giving us a thumbs-up."
The Coast Guard pilot said, "Well, Mr. Moffitt?"
"That's her. Definitely."
"Good deal. You want us to hang by?"
"Not necessary," the agent said. "She's as good as home."
27
Shiner never contemplated stealing the Lotto ticket from Amber and cashing it for himself. He was too infatuated; they'd spent so much time together, he felt they were practically a couple. Moreover, he was by nature an accomplice; a follower. Without someone to boss him around, Shiner was adrift. As his mother often said, this was a young man who needed firm direction. Certainly he hadn't the nerve to travel alone to Tallahassee and attempt to claim the lottery jackpot. The idea was petrifying. Shiner knew he made a poor first impression, knew he was an unskilled and transparent liar. The vile tattoo could be concealed, but how would he explain his corkscrew thumbs and the skinhead haircut? Or the crankcase scar? Shiner couldn't conceive a circumstance in which the State of Florida willingly would hand him $14 million.
Amber, on the other hand, could pull off anything. She was smooth and self-confident, and her dynamite looks sure couldn't hurt. Who could say no to a face and a body like that! Shiner figured the best thing to do was concentrate on the driving (which he was good at) and let Amber handle the details of collecting the Lotto winnings. Certainly she'd cut him in for something –probably not fifty percent (on account of the kidnapping and then what happened on the island with Chub), but maybe four or five million. Amber did need him, after all. It would be foolish to turn in the lottery ticket without first destroying the videotape from the Grab N'Go, and only Shiner could take her where it was hidden. He resolved to be the best damn chauffeur she ever saw.
"Where's this trailer?" she asked.
"We're almost there."
"What's all that, corn or something?"
"The colonel said corn, tomatoes and I think green beans. You grow up on a farm?"
"Not even close," Amber said.
Shiner thought she seemed a little cranky. To loosen her up, he sang a few lines from "Nut-Cutting Bitch," tapping a beat on the dashboard and hoping she'd join in. He gave up when he ran out of lyrics.
Amber blinked impassively at the passing crop fields. "Tell me about the black girl," she said. "JoLayne."
"What's to tell."
"What does she do?"
Shiner shrugged one shoulder. "Works at the vet. You know, with the animals."
"She got any kids?"
"I don't think so."
"Boyfriend? Husband?" Amber, biting her lower lip.
"Not that I heard of. She's just another girl around town, I don't know much about it."
"Do people like her?"
"My Ma says so."
"Shiner, are there many black people where you live?"
"In Grange? Some. What's 'many'? I mean, we got a few." Then it occurred to him that she might be considering a move, so he added: "But not many. And they stick pretty much to theyselves."
Showing good sense, Amber thought.
"You all right?"
"How much farther?"
"Just up the road," Shiner said. "We're almost there."
He was relieved to see his Impala next to the trailer, where he'd parked it, although he'd apparently left the trunk ajar. Dumb-ass!
Amber said, "Nice paint job."
"I done the sanding myself. When I'm through, it'll be candy-apple red."
"Look out, world."
She stood and stretched her legs. She noticed an opossum curled on the trailer slab; the mangiest thing she'd ever seen. It blinked shoe-button eyes and poked a whiskered pink snout in the air. When Shiner clapped his hands, it ambled into the scrub. Amber wished it had run.
She said, "I can't believe anybody lives like this."
"Chub's tough. He's about the toughest I ever met."
"Yeah. Look where it got him – a dump." Amber meant to shatter any notions Shiner might have about inviting her inside. "So where's the tape?" she asked impatiently.
He stepped to the Impala and opened the passenger-side door. The glove compartment was open, and empty.
"Oh shit."
"Now what?" Amber leaned in to see.
"I can't fucking believe this." Shiner wrapped his arms around his head. Someone had been inside his car!
The videotape was gone. So was the bogus handicapped parking emblem, which Shiner had hung from the rearview. Also missing was the Impala's steering wheel, without which the car was scrap.
"It's them again. The goddamn Black Tide!" Shiner gasped out the words.
Amber looked inappropriately amused. He asked her what was so damn funny.
"Nothing's funny. But it issort of perfect."
"Glad you think so. Jesus, what about the Lotto!" he said. "And what about my car? I hope you got Plan B."
Amber said, "Let's get going." When he balked, she lowered her voice: "Hurry. Before 'they' come back."
She made Shiner drive, an enforced distraction. Soon he blabbered himself into a calm. In Homestead she instructed him to pull over by a drainage canal. She waited for a dump truck to pass, then tossed Chub's Colt Python into the water. Afterward, Shiner stayed quiet for many miles. Amber knew he was thinking about all that money. She was, too.
"It wasn't meant to be. It wasn't right," she said, "not from any angle."
"Yeah, but for fourteen million bucks – "
"Know why I'm not upset? Because we're off the hook. Now we don't have to make a decision about what to do. Somebody made it for us."
"But you still got the ticket."
Amber shook her head. "Not for long. Whoever came for that video knows who really won the lottery. They know,OK?"
"Yeah." Shiner went into a sulk.
She said, "I've never been arrested before. How about you?"
He said nothing.
"You mentioned your mom? Well, I was thinking about my dad," Amber said. "About what my dad would do if he turned on the TV one night and there's his little blond princess in handcuffs, busted for trying to cash a stolen Lotto ticket. It'd probably kill him, my dad."
"The rabbi?"
She laughed softly. "Right."
Shiner wasn't sure how to get back to Coconut Grove, so Amber (who needed to pack an overnight bag, check in with Tony and arrange for her friend Gloria to cover her shift at Hooters) told him to stick with U.S. 1, even though there were a jillion stoplights. Shiner didn't complain. They were stopped in traffic at the Bird Road intersection when the car was approached by an elderly Cuban man selling long-stemmed roses. Impulsively Shiner dug a five-dollar bill from his camos. The old man grinned warmly. Shiner bought three roses and handed them to Amber, who responded with a cool dart of a kiss. It was the first time he ever got flowers for a woman, and also his first experience with a genuine Miami Cuban.