"These are dangerous men," he told the agent, portentously.
"Was your wife taken against her will?"
"No, sir. That's why they're so dangerous."
"You say he put a collar on your neck."
"A shock collar," Max said gravely, "the kind used to train hunting dogs."
The FBI man asked if the kidnapper had done the same thing to Bonnie. Max said he didn't think so. "She's very trusting and impressionable. They took advantage of that."
"What's Augustine's role in all this?"
"I believe," said Max, "the kidnapper has brainwashed him, too." He got another beer and tore into a bag of pretzels.
The agent said, "Prosecution won't be easy. It's your word against his."
"But you believe me, don't you?"
"Mister Lamb, it doesn't matter what I believe. Put yourself in the jury box. This is a very weird story you'll be asking them to swallow...."
Max shot to his feet. His cheeks were stuffed with pretzel fragments. "Jeshush Chritht, mahh wife's misshing!"
"I understand. I'd be upset, too." The FBI man was maddeningly agreeable and polite. "And I'm not trying to tell you what to do. But you need to know what you're up against."
Max sat down, glowering.
The agent explained that the Bureau seldom got involved unless, a ransom demand was issued. "There was none in your case. There's been none for your wife."
"Well, I think her life's in danger," Max said, "and I think you people are in deep trouble if something happens to her."
"Believe me, Mister Lamb, I understand your frustration."
No you don't, Max fumed silently, or you wouldn't talk to me like I was ten years old.
The agent said, "Have you spoken to the police?"
Max told him about the black state trooper who was acquainted with the kidnapper. "He said I was entitled to press charges. He said he'd take me down to the station."
The FBI man nodded. "That's the best way to go, if you've got your mind made up."
Max told the agent there was something he definitely ought to see. He led him to Augustine's guest room and showed him the wall of skulls. "Tell me honestly," he said to the FBI man, "wouldn't you be worried? He juggles those damn things."
"Augustine? Yeah."
"You know?"
"He won't hurt your wife, Mister Lamb."
"Gee, I feel so much better."
The agent seemed impervious to sarcasm. "You'll hear from Mrs. Lamb sooner or later. That's my guess. If you don't, call me. Or call me even if you do." He handed his card to Max, who affected hard-bitten skepticism as he studied it. Then he walked toward the kitchen, the agent following.
"I was wondering," the FBI man said, "did Augustine give you a key?"
Max turned.
"To the house," the agent said. "No, sir. The sliding door was open."
"So you just walked in. He doesn't know you're here?"
"Well ..." It hadn't occurred to Max Lamb that he was breaking the law. For one infuriating moment, he thought the FBI man was preparing to arrest him.
But the agent said: "That's a swell way to get your head shot off-being in somebody's house without them knowing. Especially here in Miami."
Max, grinding his teeth, realized the impossibly upside-down nature of the situation. He was wasting his breath. A state trooper is friends with the kidnapper, an FBI man is friends with the skull collector.
"You know what I really want?" Max drained his beer with a flourish, set the bottle down hard on the counter. "All, I want is to find my wife, put her on a plane and go home to New York. Forget about this fucked-up place, forget about this hurricane."
The agent said, "That's a damn good plan, Mister Lamb."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Snapper made Edie Marsh pull over at a liquor store in Islamorada.
"Not now," she said.
"I got to."
"We're almost there."
A rumble from the back seat: "Let the man have a drink."
She parked behind the store, away from the road. Jim Tile didn't see the black Cherokee as he sped past. Neither did Avila, ten minutes later.
Snapper wouldn't be talked out of his craving, and Edie was worried. She knew firsthand the folly of mixing booze with Midols. Double dosed, Snapper might hibernate for a month.
The woman named Bonnie asked for a cold Coke. "I'm burning up."
"Welcome to Florida," said Edie.
Snapper tossed three ten-dollar bills on her lap. "Johnnie Red," he said.
"Bad idea when you're full of codeines."
"Shit, I've handled ten times worse. Besides, it don't feel like codeine you gave me."
Edie said, "Your knee quit hurting, right? The bottle said 'codeine.'"
Snapper switched the .357 to his left hand. With his right hand he twisted Edie's hair, as if he were uprooting a clump of weeds. When she cried out, he said: "I don't give a fuck if the medicine bottle said turpentine. Go get my Johnnie Walker."
Edie pulled free and jumped out of the Jeep. She flipped him the finger as she went through the door of the liquor store. Snapper said, "Stubborn bitch."
"Feisty," Skink agreed.
Bonnie Lamb felt like her skin was sizzling. She thought it would be glorious to bury herself in fresh snow. "Honest to God, it's so hot. I feel like taking off my clothes."
She couldn't believe she'd said it aloud.
Snapper was startled, and too confused for lust. "Jesus Christ, what's a matter with you people."
Bonnie said, "I'm smothering."
His eyes wandered to the young woman's chest. Nothing like a pair of tits to fuck up the balance of power. He knew that if she flashed those babies, his position instantly would be weakened, his authority diminished. It was a lost advantage that even the .357 could not restore.
"Keep your goddamn shirt on," he told her.
"Don't worry." Bonnie fanned herself in nervous embarrassment. In the back of the Jeep, Levon Stichler mewled inquiringly, trussed in his cocoon of moldy carpet. Skink figured the old man must have been listening, wondering if he was missing something.
Edie Marsh returned from the store. Her hair sparkled with tiny raindrops. She handed Bonnie a can of Dr Pepper. "The Cokes weren't cold. Here, asshole."
She shoved a brown paper bag at Snapper. He took out the Johnnie Walker bottle and opened it with one hand. He threw back his head and chugged, as if from a canteen.
"Take it easy," Edie admonished.
Contemptuously he smacked his lips. "I bet you'd look good completely bald," he said to her. "That guy on the new Star Trek, Gene Luke-you and him could pass for twins."
Edie said, "Touch my hair again. Just try."
He swung the .357 until the barrel came to rest on the tip of Edie's nose. He cocked the hammer and said: "Come on. Somebody talk me out of it."
Bonnie thought: Oh God, please don't. She shivered in sweat.
Snapper took another sloppy swig of whiskey. The one-eyed man reminded him of the ammunition shortage. "Shoot her, that'd leave only one bullet for the rest of us."
"There's other ways besides the gun."