It took only three minutes to remove a water sample from the monitoring station. Chaz made it look good, even though he was fairly certain that nobody from the district was within thirty miles of the site. Red Hammernut said they sometimes sent up helicopters to spy on the biologists in the field, but privately Chaz was doubtful. He acted out the charade of sample collecting only because it was Red's wish, and Red was the last person on earth Chaz wanted to cross.
Following his freshly cut path, he crashed and howled his way back to the levee without incident. After placing the quart-size container upright in the back of the Hummer, he kicked and wriggled out of his waders, which stunk of sweat and ripe muck. He grabbed a mango-flavored Gatorade from the cooler and sat on the bumper, the two iron propped within lunging distance. With a dirty shirtsleeve Chaz mopped the perspiration from his brow, thinking: What a steaming shithole this is! To think that the taxpayers of America are spending 8 billion bucks to save it.
Suckers, Chaz thought. If they only knew.
With the binoculars he checked in both directions along the rutted embankment. No other vehicles were visible. He squinted up at the sky and saw the omnipresent buzzards, circling clockwise, but no choppers or planes.
Satisfied, Charles Regis Perrone finished off the Gatorade and lobbed the bottle into the saw grass. Then he unscrewed the lid from the sample jar and poured the tea-colored water into the dirt at his feet.
River of grass, my ass, he thought.
Eight
Chaz was sitting in the bathtub, scrubbing off the swamp grime, when Ricca showed up.
"Are you nuts?" he said.
"Nope. Just lonely." She stepped out of her oxblood heels.
"Did anybody see you drive up? Where'd you park?"
Ricca unfastened her hoop earrings and set them next to Chaz's stick deodorant on the vanity. "What are you so jumpy about? I thought you'd be happy to see me."
In a moment she was out of her clothes, straddling him imperiously.
"But I'm not finished," Chaz said.
"Damn right you're not."
Ricca placed her palms against his chest and pushed. Chaz took a quick breath, squeezing his eyes closed as he submerged. Being a clean freak, he was concerned about the health risks of rough sex in dirty bathwater. Who knew what pernicious tropical microbes had hitched a ride back from the Everglades?
It was too late to protest. He felt like he'd been thrown into a blender with a live coyote. The bare tile amplified Ricca's feral yips and howls to soul-chilling decibels, the racket seeming louder every time Chaz came up for air. Meanwhile she was pounding against him with such zest as to generate a seismic rhythm of concussive smacks. Chaz feared that his eardrums might blow out underwater. With both arms he helmeted himself, not only to save his hearing but to prevent his skull from cracking against the brass drain plate. Ricca was as speedy as she was rambunctious, and Chaz was confident that he could outlast her, providing he didn't drown.
True to form, she was done in less than four minutes. Chaz disentangled and stork-stepped out of the bathtub, which by then was nearly empty. He grabbed a couple of towels and began mopping up the floor and the walls.
"You're somethin' else," Ricca gasped.
She was splayed in the tub like a broken doll, one foot hooked on the soap tray and the other braced against the spigot. Jet-black hair fell in a dripping tangle across half her face.
"My God, Chaz. That was fantastic."
He said, "Yeah. You damn near killed me."
"Hey, you're still hard. What's the matter?"
"Not a thing." He snatched a robe off the hook on the door.
"Didn't you come?"
"Sure I did," he lied. "All over the place."
"So that means"-Ricca pointing-"you're ready to go again? Already?"
He shrugged. "Let's get some dinner."
"You are seriously amazing." She stood up and wrung out her hair. "Wanna b.j. or something?"
Chaz peered quizzically at her crotch. "What'd you do to yourself?"
"It's a shamrock. You like it?"
"A shamrock." He hadn't noticed earlier.
"For good luck," Ricca explained. "I wanted four leaves, but I only had enough pubes for three."
Chaz was trying to remember if she was Irish.
"It took, like, an hour to do. With two mirrors," she added.
"And they make green hair dye these days?"
"You bet."
"Well, I'm impressed," Chaz said.
"Then we're even. Come here, lemme take care of that."
Chaz was unnerved to realize that he wasn't in the mood. He glanced down at himself and wondered: What the hell's the matter with me?
"I think I heard the phone," he said, and hurried to get dressed.
A few minutes later, Ricca found him slouched on a corner of the bed. He wore one brown sock and a misbuttoned shirt, and he was staring dully into an open closet.
"What's wrong?" she asked, touching his shoulder.
He shook her off dismissively.
"Baby, I was thinking," she said. "Are you gonna have a service for Joey? You probably should."
"I hate funerals. Besides, there's no body to bury."
Ricca said, "A memorial service, I mean. They do it all the time for people who get burnt up in plane crashes, or when a ship sinks and everybody's lost at sea."
Chaz insisted there was no point. "Joey's only family is some hermit brother who lives on the other side of the world."
"What about her friends?"
"So, I'll put a notice in the paper. They can make donations to the World Wildlife Mission. Save the endangered yaks or whatever."
Ricca smoothed her skirt and sat beside him on the bed. "What happens next? I guess you've gotta have her declared legally… you know…"
"Dead?"
"Right."
"Christ, Ricca, it's only been a few days."
"Eventually, I mean."
"There's no rush," Chaz said.
That damn detective, Rolvaag, would be scrutinizing him for a while. Chaz didn't want to appear in a hurry to be single.
"How long, then?" Ricca asked.
"What's the difference? I'm not getting any of her money anyway," he said. "The fucking yaks can wait."
"Well, suppose I can't?"
Chaz pretended not to hear. He approached the closet and focused once more upon the sheer black dress. It was scooped in the front and featured a racy slit up one side.
He took it out and showed Ricca. "Did you bring this with you tonight? Because Joey had one just like it, I mean identical."
Ricca was peeved. "It's not mine, Chaz. Not unless I've grown three inches taller and dropped ten pounds."
"Aw, come on."
"It's not mine."
"Okay, okay." He yanked the dress off the hanger, rolled it up and tossed it in a corner. "I swear I packed that away yesterday."
Ricca glanced uneasily around the room. "To be honest, this is kinda freaky, being in the house with your wife dead."
"What-it was easier when she was alive?"
"No, it's just very sad, what happened to her," Ricca said. "Can we get outta here?"
Chaz went to the dresser and pawed through the drawers one by one. He couldn't find Joey's panties and bra, the ones he'd meant to save for Ricca. He wondered if he was cracking up.
"Lookin' for your other sock? It's right there on the floor, under the nightstand."
"So it is," said Chaz. "Thanks."
As soon as Ricca went to fix her makeup, he slipped out the kitchen door and into the garage. The cardboard boxes containing Joey's belongings were exactly where he'd left them, piled next to the Camry. The boxes didn't appear to have been touched, causing Chaz to think that he had somehow forgotten to collect his wife's black dress. As for the missing undergarments, perhaps he'd moved them to another place.
In the living room he was gratified to see that the stinking dead fish had not re-materialized in his aquarium since he'd flushed them down the toilet. Chaz made himself a drink and began scanning the alphabetized-by-artist CD rack, looking for some kick-ass driving music. What he found while thumbing through the T's gave him a chill. Bad to the Bone was missing. So was Move It on Over. Even the Anthology was gone.