Edie said, "That's incredible." A couple days! But what about that extra sixty grand?
As soon as Reedy went outside, Fred Dove took her in his arms. When he tried to kiss her, she pushed him away and said, "You knew."
"It was supposed to be a surprise."
"Oh, right."
"I swear! Sixty thousand extra, for you and me."
"Freddie, don't screw around."
"How could I steal it, Edie? The check will be made out to 'Mister and Mrs. Torres.' That's you guys. Think about it."
Irritably she paced the kitchen. "I'm so stupid," she muttered. "Jesus."
Of course the furnishings would be separate, along with the clothes and appliances and every stupid little doodad inside the place. Fred Dove said, "You never filed a big claim before. You wouldn't know."
"Dwelling and contents."
"Exactly."
She stopped pacing and lowered her voice. "Snapper didn't look at the new numbers."
Fred Dove gave her a thumbs-up. "That was my next question."
"I kept my hand over the papers so he wouldn't see."
"Good girl."
"Can we get two checks instead of one?"
"I think so, Edie. Sure."
"One for the dwelling, one for the contents."
"That's the idea," the insurance man said. "An extra sixty for you and me. But don't say a word about this."
"No shit, Sherlock. He's still got three bullets left, remember?" She pecked Fred Dove on the lips and aimed him out the back door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Skink and Bonnie Lamb kept watch over the house on Calusa while Augustine returned to the pickup truck for the guns. He wasn't in the mood to shoot at anybody, even with monkey tranquilizer. Making love to Bonnie had left him recklessly serene and sleepy-headed. He resolved to shake himself out of it.
First he attempted to depress himself with misgivings and high-minded reproach. The woman was married, newly married! She was confused, lonely, vulnerable– Augustine piled it on, struggling to feel like a worthless low-life piece of shit. But he was too happy. Bonnie dazzled him with her nerve. Augustine hadn't ever been with a woman who would stoically snack on roadkill, or fail to complain about mosquitoes. Moreover, she seemed to understand the psychotherapeutic benefits of skull juggling. "Touching death," she'd said, "or maybe teasing it."
In the aftermath of passion, zipped naked into a sleeping bag, a lover's groggiest murmurs can be mistaken for piercing insight. Augustine had cautioned himself against drawing too much from those tender exhausted moments with Bonnie Lamb. Yet here he was with a soaring heart and the hint of a goddamn spring in his step. Would he ever learn?
As much as he craved her company, Augustine was apprehensive about Bonnie's joining Skink's expedition. He feared that he'd worry about her to distraction, and he needed his brain to be clear, uncluttered. As long as the governor ran the show, trouble was positively guaranteed. Augustine was counting on it; he couldn't wait. Finally he was on the verge of recapturing, at least temporarily, direction and purpose.
Bonnie was a complication. A week ago Augustine had nothing to lose, and now he had something. Everything. Love's lousy timing, he thought.
Secret moves would be easier with only the two of them, he and Skink. But Bonnie demanded to be in the middle, playing Etta to their Butch and Sundance. The governor didn't seem to care; of course, he lived in a different universe. "'Happiness is never grand,'" he'd whispered to Augustine. "Aldous Huxley. 'Being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune.' You think about that."
When Augustine got to the truck, he broke down the dart rifle and concealed the pieces in a gym bag. The .38 pistol he tucked in the gut of his jeans, beneath his shirt. He slung the gym bag over his shoulder and began hiking back toward Calusa, wondering if Huxley was right.
As soon as Dennis Reedy and Fred Dove drove away, Edie Marsh hauled Levon Stichler out of the closet. Snapper wasn't much help. He claimed to be saving his energy.
Edie poked the old man with a bare toe. "So what are we going to do with him?" It was a question of paramount interest to Levon Stichler as well. His eyes widened in anticipation of Snapper's answer, which was: "Dump him."
"Where?" asked Edie.
"Far away," Snapper said. "Fucker meant to kill me."
"It was a pitiful try, you've got to admit."
"So? It's the thought that counts."
Edie said, "Look at him, Snapper. He's not worth the bullet."
Levon Stichler wasn't the slightest bit insulted. Edie pulled the gag from his mouth, prompting the old man to spit repeatedly on the floor. The gag was a dust cloth that tasted pungently of furniture wax.
"Thank you," he panted.
"Shut up, asshole," said Snapper.
Edie Marsh said: "What's your name, Grampy?"
Levon Stichler told her. He explained why he'd come to assassinate the mobile-home salesman.
"Well, somebody beat you to it." Edie described the visit by the burly fellow with the two dachshunds. "He took your scumbag Tony away. I'm certain he won't be back."
"Oh," said Levon Stichler. "Who are you?"
Snapper gave Edie a cranky look. "See? I told you we gotta kill the fucker."
The old man immediately apologized for being so nosy. Snapper said it didn't matter, they were going to dump him anyway.
Levon said, "That's really not necessary." When he began to plead his case, Snapper decided to gag him again. The old man coughed out the dust rag, crying, "Please-I've got a heart condition!"
"Good." Snapper ordered Edie Marsh to go fetch the auger spike. Levon Stichler got the message. He stopped talking and allowed his mouth to be muffled.
"Cover his eyes, too," said Snapper.
Edie used a black chiffon scarf that she'd found in Neria Torres's underwear drawer. It made for quite a classy blindfold.
"That too tight?" she asked.
Levon Stichler grunted meekly in the negative.
"Now what?" she said to Snapper.
He shrugged unhappily. "You got any more them Darvons? My fucking leg's on fire."
"Honey, I sure don't—"
"Shit!" With his good leg he kicked Levon Stichler in the ribs, for no reason except that the old man was a convenient target. Edie pulled Snapper aside and told him to get a grip, for Christ's sake.