"Nuthin'."
Joey stepped forward and placed a hand on each arm. She had never in her life seen so much hair on a human being. "You turn around," she said. "Come on, Mr. Tool."
Pulling him into the pale circle of light, she noticed that irregular swaths had been crudely shaved across his shoulder blades. Several tan patches had been attached in no particular configuration.
"They's medicine stick-ems," Tool explained.
"For what?"
"Ellin' pain."
"Uh-oh. You're sick?" Joey asked.
"I got me a bullet in a real bad spot."
A truck pulled into the parking lot; a cab pickup with blue police lights mounted on the cab.
"That's a park ranger," Joey whispered.
They watched the truck make a slow pass through the marina area. When it was gone, Tool said, "Where's that damn canoe? This is takin' way too long."
"Well, the two boys have lots to talk about."
Tool patted the front pockets of his overalls. "Damn," he said. "My cell phone. Be right back."
He stomped down the docks and disappeared inside a dark houseboat. When he returned, he was swearing at the portable phone in his hand.
"I can't get no signal down here," he complained.
"Who're you calling?" Joey asked.
"None a your bidness."
"Who's paying you, anyway? Not Chaz Perrone, I know."
Tool snatched the front of her jersey and yanked her face close to his. "Stop with the goddamn questions, y'hear?"
His breath smelled oniony and a sickly damp heat rose from his skin. "I don't feel right," he said.
"Maybe it's the medicine. How about I grab you a Coke?"
"How 'bout if you shut up?"
"Okeydoke," Joey said.
Tool sat on the fender of the car, which sagged under his heft. For ten minutes he poked angrily at the keypad of his cell phone while Joey leaned against a piling and watched a school of electric-blue baitfish race in and out of the shadows. She thought of the little canoe somewhere out in the darkness and wondered if Mick was sticking to the script, or if he'd blown a fuse and done something unforgettable to her husband.
"Fuck it. I give up," Tool said at last, shoving the phone into his pocket.
"May I speak now?" Joey asked archly.
"Sing and dance if you want."
"You ever been married?"
"Yeah. Common-law," said Tool. "Six years. No, seven."
"What happened?"
"She went home to Valdosta for a funeral and never come back. I heard later she run off with the boy from the undertaker's."
Joey said, "Did you know that Mr. Perrone pushed his wife off an ocean liner?"
"I figgered it must be somethin' like that."
"Could you imagine ever doing that to somebody?"
"All depends," Tool said. "I hurt my share a people, but never no women unless they lit after me first. Maybe she started it, his old lady. Maybe the guy was self-defendin' hisself."
"Does he ever talk about her?"
"Not hardly. When I ast him, he said she was pretty and smart and all. But he didn't say what happened, only that she's dead. The rest ain't none a my bidness."
"He didn't tell you why he did it?"
"You don't lissen worth a damn, know that?" Tool hoisted himself off the fender, as if he were going to grab her again.
She took a step backward. Pretty and smart and all. That's what Chaz was saying about her now that she was gone. "I wonder if he loved her," she said quietly.
It made Tool laugh. "You say 'love'?"
"The whole thing bothers me, I can't help it." Joey sensed that Tool was telling the truth about how little he knew.
"What I seen," he said, "the man loves hisself more'n anything on this earth. He sure ain't one to cry and mope around and such."
Wait until Chaz hears what Mick Stranahan has to say, Joey thought, then you'll see some moping.
She said, "You think he did it, too. I can tell you do."
"Makes no difference in my pay either way."
"Your line of work, you can probably look once in somebody's eyes and know right off if they're lying. Mr. Perrone didn't fool you for a second, I bet."
Tool seemed immune to female flattery, a rare trait among men, in Joey's experience. She tried a different approach.
"How long have you been a bodyguard?"
"This here's my first crack at it."
"No wonder you're jumpy," Joey said. "Don't worry, Chaz will get back safe and sound, as long as he doesn't do anything stupid."
"He's capable," said Tool. "What I'm trying to figger out is how your boyfriend fits into the program, how he come to-whatchacallit?- mastermine the blackmail."
"He was in the right place at the right time. That's all."
"Is he the same one broke into my man's house last night? 'Cause he got some payback due if it is. Middle-aged guy? Real tan? Looked sorta like him in the canoe, but I couldn't see so good from that houseboat. Damn windows all grimed up with salt."
"He's the one," Joey said. Tool would find out anyway as soon as Mick returned with Chaz.
"He's old enough to be your pa, ain't he?"
"Not hardly," she said defensively.
"Well, he's a strong sumbitch, I'll give him that. He hurt me good." Tool probed thoughtfully at his Adam's apple.
"He gets around all right for a geezer," Joey agreed. "Say, what was your wife's name?"
"Jean. Jeannie Suzanne is what we calk her."
"You miss her?" Joey asked.
"Not no more. Time heals is what they say."
"Do you think Mr. Perrone misses his wife?"
Tool said, "You tell me. He took all her pitchers down-every pitcher in the house, gone."
"But he told you she was pretty."
"That's what he said, but she coulda been a hog snapper for all I know." Tool shrugged. "I don't get paid to figger this shit out."
Joey said, "I've got to be going now. Thanks for the chat."
Tool seemed disappointed. "You can't hang around for when they come back?"
She shook her head. "Better not. I've got my orders."
"Me, too," Tool said with wearv frustration.
It was by far the worst night of Charles Perrone's life.
"You done?" the blackmailer asked.
Chaz wiped off his lips and spit hard over the side, trying to purge the pukey taste from his mouth. He had no clue how the man had found out about Red Hammernut. It was the second piece of disastrous news that Chaz received in the canoe, the first being that the blackmailer had in fact witnessed Joey's murder.
"You're surprised that I've done my homework," the man said. "So was Ricca."
He knows about Ricca, too? Chaz thought miserably. What a nightmare.
He boxed at his head, trying to vanquish the unbearable chorus of mosquitoes. The damn things seemed to have drilled through his eardrums into the meat of his brain. Other disturbing sounds rose from the darkness of the bay; loud violent splashes, piercing cries of birds.
This is hell, Chaz told himself. That's where I am.
"Your buddy Hammernut owns some serious farmland south of the big lake," the man said. "I'm guessing you fake the water tests to make it look clean. Saves him a fortune, too. How much is he paying you? Besides the new Hummer, I mean."
Chaz turned away, anticipating another blast from the flashlight. "You don't know what you're talking about," he insisted hoarsely.
"Oh, I know exactly what I'm talking about. So do you."
Chaz couldn't make out the blackmailer's expression, but the white crescent of a smile was visible.
"And here's another bulletin for you, Chazzie boy: Karl Rolvaag isn't in on this deal. I've never met the guy in my life, and you'd better pray that I don't."
Chaz fought back a fresh impulse to gag. He lowered his head and waited for the sensation to pass.
"What about the fake will?" he mumbled to his kneecaps.
"What will?" the man said.
"Oh Jesus."
"If you barf in this canoe, you're swimming home."
Chaz said, "I'll be all right. Just give me a minute."
It dawned on him that he wouldn't even know which way to swim. The sky had cleared but the glittering constellations offered no navigational guidance, Dr. Charles Perrone being as ignorant of astronomy as he was of the terrestrial sciences.