He no longer heard the manic whisk of her sweeping. She was in the kitchen, leaning on the broom in front of the open refrigerator, letting the cool air soothe the cuts and bruises on her face.
Tom Krome said, “I’ll put some ice in a bag.”
JoLayne shook her head. The house was silent except for the drone of the aquarium pump and the turtles’ steady munching of lettuce.
After a few moments, she said: “All right, here it is. They said they’d come back and kill me if I told anyone about the lottery ticket. They said they’d come back and shoot my babies, one at a time. Then me.”
A chill went down Krome’s arms.
JoLayne Lucks went on: “They told me to say my boyfriend beat me up. That’s what I’m supposed to tell the doctor! ‘What boyfriend?’ I say. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’ And the short one goes, ‘You do now,’ and he punches me in the tits.”
Suddenly Krome couldn’t breathe. He stumbled out the back door. JoLayne found him on his knees in the tomato patch. She stroked his hair and told him to take it easy. Before long, the crashing in his ears faded away. She brought him a glass of cold juice, and they sat together on an iron bench facing a birdbath.
In a raw voice, Krome said: “You can identify these guys?”
“Of course.”
“They belong in jail.”
“Tom—”
“Here’s what you do: Go to the cops and the lottery bureau, and tell them everything that happened. About the robbery and the death threats. Give a statement, file a report. And then let the authorities wait for these bastards—”
“No.”
“Listen. These guys will surface soon. They’ve only got six months to claim that jackpot.”
“Tom, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t have six months. I need the money now.”
Krome looked at her. “What in the world for?”
“I just do.”
“Forget the money—”
“I can’t.”
“But these guys are monsters. They’re going to hurt someone else the way they hurt you. Maybe worse.”
“Not necessarily,” JoLayne said. “Not if we stop them first.”
The incredible part was, she meant it. Krome would have laughed except he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
JoLayne, pinching his right knee: “We could do it. You and me, we could find them.”
“To borrow an old expression: No fucking way.”
“They’re driving a bright-red pickup.”
“I don’t care if they’re in the starship Enterprise.”
“Tom, please.”
He held her hands. “In my business, fear is a sane and very healthy emotion. That’s because death and disaster aren’t abstractions. They’re as goddamn real as real can be.”
“Suppose I told you why I need the money. Would it make a difference?”
“JoLayne, I don’t think so.” It tore him up to look at her, at what they’d done.
She pulled away and walked to the aquarium. Krome could hear her talking—to herself, to the turtles, or maybe to the men who’d beaten her so badly.
“I’m truly sorry,” he said.
When JoLayne turned around, she didn’t appear upset. “Just think,” she said mischievously, “if I get that lottery ticket back. Think of the fantastic story you’ll be missing.”
Tom Krome smiled. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”
“I’m also right. Please help me find them.”
He said, “I’ve got a better idea. May I borrow the phone?”
Shiner awoke to the sight of his mother hovering over him. She was dressed in the white bridal gown that she always wore on Mondays to the Road-Stain Jesus. The outfit was a smash with the Christian tourists—it wasn’t uncommon for Shiner’s Ma to come home with two hundred dollars in cash from donations. Monday was her best day of the week, pilgrimwise.
Now she told Shiner to get his fat ass downstairs. There was company waiting in the Florida room.
“And I’m already an hour late,” she said, cuffing him so hard that he retreated under the blanket.
He listened to the rustle of the wedding dress as she hurried downstairs. Then came the slam of the front door.
Shiner pulled on some jeans and went to see who was waiting. The woman he recognized, with apprehension, as JoLayne Lucks. The man he didn’t know.