Amber, on the other hand, could pull off anything. She was smooth and self-confident, and her dynamite looks sure couldn’t hurt. Who could say no to a face and a body like that! Shiner figured the best thing to do was concentrate on the driving (which he was good at) and let Amber handle the details of collecting the Lotto winnings. Certainly she’d cut him in for something—probably not fifty percent (on account of the kidnapping and then what happened on the island with Chub), but maybe four or five million. Amber did need him, after all. It would be foolish to turn in the lottery ticket without first destroying the videotape from the Grab N’Go, and only Shiner could take her where it was hidden. He resolved to be the best damn chauffeur she ever saw.
“Where’s this trailer?” she asked.
“We’re almost there.”
“What’s all that, corn or something?”
“The colonel said corn, tomatoes and I think green beans. You grow up on a farm?”
“Not even close,” Amber said.
Shiner thought she seemed a little cranky. To loosen her up, he sang a few lines from “Nut-Cutting Bitch,” tapping a beat on the dashboard and hoping she’d join in. He gave up when he ran out of lyrics.
Amber blinked impassively at the passing crop fields. “Tell me about the black girl,” she said. “JoLayne.”
“What’s to tell.”
“What does she do?”
Shiner shrugged one shoulder. “Works at the vet. You know, with the animals.”
“She got any kids?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Boyfriend? Husband?” Amber, biting her lower lip.
“Not that I heard of. She’s just another girl around town, I don’t know much about it.”
“Do people like her?”
“My Ma says so.”
“Shiner, are there many black people where you live?”
“In Grange? Some. What’s ‘many’? I mean, we got a few.” Then it occurred to him that she might be considering a move, so he added: “But not many. And they stick pretty much to theyselves.”
Showing good sense, Amber thought.
“You all right?”
“How much farther?”
“Just up the road,” Shiner said. “We’re almost there.”
He was relieved to see his Impala next to the trailer, where he’d parked it, although he’d apparently left the trunk ajar. Dumb-ass!
Amber said, “Nice paint job.”
“I done the sanding myself. When I’m through, it’ll be candy-apple red.”
“Look out, world.”
She stood and stretched her legs. She noticed an opossum curled on the trailer slab; the mangiest thing she’d ever seen. It blinked shoe-button eyes and poked a whiskered pink snout in the air. When Shiner clapped his hands, it ambled into the scrub. Amber wished it had run.
She said, “I can’t believe anybody lives like this.”
“Chub’s tough. He’s about the toughest I ever met.”
“Yeah. Look where it got him—a dump.” Amber meant to shatter any notions Shiner might have about inviting her inside. “So where’s the tape?” she asked impatiently.
He stepped to the Impala and opened the passenger-side door. The glove compartment was open, and empty.
“Oh shit.”
“Now what?” Amber leaned in to see.
“I can’t fucking believe this.” Shiner wrapped his arms around his head. Someone had been inside his car!
The videotape was gone. So was the bogus handicapped parking emblem, which Shiner had hung from the rearview. Also missing was the Impala’s steering wheel, without which the car was scrap.
“It’s them again. The goddamn Black Tide!” Shiner gasped out the words.
Amber looked inappropriately amused. He asked her what was so damn funny.
“Nothing’s funny. But it is sort of perfect.”
“Glad you think so. Jesus, what about the Lotto!” he said. “And what about my car? I hope you got Plan B.”
Amber said, “Let’s get going.” When he balked, she lowered her voice: “Hurry. Before ‘they’ come back.”
She made Shiner drive, an enforced distraction. Soon he blabbered himself into a calm. In Homestead she instructed him to pull over by a drainage canal. She waited for a dump truck to pass, then tossed Chub’s Colt Python into the water. Afterward, Shiner stayed quiet for many miles. Amber knew he was thinking about all that money. She was, too.
“It wasn’t meant to be. It wasn’t right,” she said, “not from any angle.”