"Help me up," Chaz said with an imprudent lack of remorse.
"You're one dumb fuck of a so-called doctor."
Tool picked up the.38 and stalked back toward the Grand Marquis.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" Chaz hollered after him. "Were you trying to kill me?"
He struggled to his feet and brushed the pebbles off his clothes. When he got back into the car, Tool jabbed a finger in his chest and said, "If I was tryin' to kill you, pretty boy, you'd be havin' this conversation with Saint Peter."
Chaz waited another ten miles before asking about the gun.
Tool said, "You're done for the night."
"But what if I need it later? What if this asshole blackmailer decides to play rough?"
Tool seemed to think that was quite funny. "Boy, you won't need a gun," he said. "You got me."
Nineteen
Stranahan was already on the water when the Grand Marquis rolled up at the marina. The caveman got out slowly while Chaz Perrone practically ejected himself from the passenger side, slapping frenetically at his face and neck. They walked back and forth along the slips, eventually choosing an unoccupied houseboat and prying the door. The caveman ducked inside while Chaz hopped back on the dock, stumbling over a coiled rope. After a while he began to pace in and out of the shadows, still flailing at the bugs. At midnight Stranahan called out his name and Chaz dropped into a ludicrous semi-crouch that he must have picked up from a Jackie Chan movie.
Stranahan waved. "Over here, numbnuts!"
Chaz approached tentatively, continuing to affect the coiled pose of a kung fu master. He seemed alarmed to see his blackmailer sitting in a small canoe.
"Hop in," Stranahan said as he nosed up to the boat ramp.
"No way."
"This was your idea, Chazzie."
"The meeting, not the place," Chaz said, "and not the damn canoe."
Stranahan laid the paddle across his lap and gave Chaz some time to size him up. Then he said, "If you want to hear the deal, park your ass in the bow."
Chaz glanced uneasily toward the slip where the houseboat was moored.
Stranahan said, "That's another thing. I told you to leave your pal with Dr. Leakey."
"What are you talking about?"
"You're such a dolt. I should triple my price."
Chaz stepped gingerly into the canoe. "Where do I sit?"
"You don't sit," Stranahan said. "You kneel."
With long, even strokes he began paddling down the Buttonwood Canal toward Whitewater Bay.
"Can I borrow the bug spray?" Chaz anxiously pointed to a Cutter's squirt bottle in the bottom of the canoe. Stranahan tossed it to him.
"Where we going?" Chaz, spritzing himself.
"There's nothing to be afraid of, as long as you don't tip us over."
"Don't worry, I'm not moving a muscle." Chaz put down the bottle and got a death grip on the sides of the canoe.
"Moccasin Pass. That's where we're headed," Stranahan said. To his knowledge, there was no such place. However, the ominous name produced the desired effect.
"Holy shit," he heard Chaz Perrone murmur.
"Supposedly it's got the biggest water moccasins in the 'glades," Stranahan went on, drawing a defeated groan. In person, Joey's husband was pretty much what Stranahan had expected-soft and whiny under pressure.
"You've also got your crocodiles and sharks, mister," Stranahan said, switching momentarily to his Jerry Lewis voice, "which is why I strongly recommend against flipping the canoe."
Chaz fell silent. When they reached Whitewater, Stranahan stopped paddling and instructed Chaz to turn around, which he did with the utmost care. When Stranahan aimed a flashlight in his face, he flinched and looked away.
Stranahan said, "You're sulking, aren't you? You think I'm having fun at your expense."
To taunt such a pismire was almost unsporting, but it diverted Stranahan from a nagging but barbarous impulse to beat the man into hamburger hash. Perhaps the day for such uncivilized festivities would come, but for now he'd settle for the sight of Charles Perrone's ears turning black with mosquitoes. It had been Joey's fine idea to replace the insect repellent with tap water.
"How'd you get into my house?" Chaz asked.
"Trade secret."
"Are you the one who cut up that picture of my wife and put it under my pillow?"
"No, that would be the picture fairy."
"Who the fuck are you? What do you want from me?" Chaz whacking at both sides of his head.
"Money, for starters."
"There's more?" Chaz hacked out a sour laugh.
"Plus I'd like you to answer a few simple questions. That's it."
"What questions? You're shaking me down over something I didn't even do."
"Fine. Then don't pay me a penny," Stranahan said. "We'll let a jury decide-my word against yours. By the way, have you ever been to scenic Raiford, Florida, home of the Union Correctional prison?"
Chaz swore and slapped himself again on the head.
"Nice shot." Stranahan turned off the flashlight. "I guess the only way to prove I'm not bullshitting is to tell you exactly what happened on the Sun Duchess. Listen carefully."
"I am," Chaz said with a grunt.
"It was a week ago tonight," Stranahan began. "You and your wife came on deck shortly before eleven and walked toward the stern. Nobody was outside because it was raining. Oh, I almost forgot: You were wearing a dark blue blazer and charcoal slacks. Mrs. Perrone had on a cream-colored skirt, white sandals and, I believe, a gold watch on her wrist."
Joey had also told Stranahan the color of her blouse, but he'd forgotten. He flicked on the flashlight and saw that Chaz looked drained and unsteady.
"You want me to keep going?"
"Suit yourself," Chaz croaked.
"So the two of you were standing alongside the rail, Mrs. Perrone just staring out to sea, when you pulled a really clever move," Stranahan said. "You took something from your pocket and dropped it. A coin, a key, something that made a sharp noise. Then you pretended like you were bending down to pick it up-remember?"
From the bow of the canoe, nothing.
"But instead you grabbed your wife by the legs and flipped her overboard. It happened so fast, she didn't have time to fight back. You still with me?"
When Stranahan zapped Joey's husband again with the flashlight, his eyes were wide and glassy. Stranahan had seen similar expressions in the studio of an amateur taxidermist.
"You look like you're coming down with something," he said. "Did you ever get vaccinated against that icky Nile virus?"
Chaz coughed violently. "There's a vaccine?"
If it had been almost anyone else, Stranahan might have felt sorry for the wretched fool.
"Why'd you do it, Chaz?"
"I didn't."
"You're calling me a liar? Ouch."
Chaz said, "Just tell me how much you want."
"Half a million bucks."
"Man, you're fucking crazy."
"Cash," the blackmailer said. "Hundreds are fine."
A light breeze had sprung up from the southeast, nudging the small canoe farther into the vast black bay. The mild rocking motion that Stranahan found so calming seemed to have the opposite effect on Joey Perrone's husband.
He said, "Where'm I supposed to come up with five hundred grand?"
"Hey, Chaz, I've got an idea." Stranahan thinking: It's like shooting fish in a barrel. "You could ask your pal Hammernut!"
No flashlight was required to gauge Dr. Charles Perrone's reaction. The raucous whoop of his vomiting incited a lusty reply from a male heron wading the shoreline a quarter of a mile away.