“Sir, it could get worse.”
“Don’t say that, Charlie.”
In a monotone Chelsea read the phony press release to Francis Kingsbury, who said: “Christ Almighty, they get six feet long! These poison cottonheads do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how big they get.” Chelsea wanted to tell Kingsbury that it really didn’t matter if the imaginary snakes were two feet or twenty feet, the effect on tourists was the same.
Over the buzz of his electric razor, Kingsbury shouted, “What does he want—this prick Winder—what’s he after?”
“Nothing we can give him,” Chelsea said. “It’s got to stop or he’ll kill our business.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And I’ll tell you what else,” Francis Kingsbury said. “I’m very disappointed in that fucking Pedro.”
Molly McNamara was writing a letter to her daughter in Minneapolis when Danny Pogue rushed into the den. Excitedly he said: “I just saw on the news about all them snakes!” His Adam’s apple juked up and down.
“Yes,” Molly said, “it’s very odd.”
“Maybe you could get your people together. The Mothers of Wilderness. Maybe go down to Key Largo and demonstrate.”
“Against what?”
“Well, it said on the news they’re killing ’em all. The snakes, I mean. That don’t seem right—it ain’t their fault about the high water.” Danny Pogue was rigid with indignation, and Molly hated to dampen the fervor.
Gently she said, “I don’t know that they’re actually killing the snakes. The radio said something about capture teams.”
“No, unh-uh, I just saw on the TV. A man from the Amazing Kingdom said they were killing the ones they couldn’t catch. Especially the preggy ones.” He meant “pregnant.” “It’s that Kingsbury asshole, pardon my French.”
Molly McNamara capped her fountain pen and turned the chair toward Danny Pogue. She told him she understood how he felt. “But we’ve got to choose our battles carefully,” she said, “if we hope to get the public on our side.”
“So?”
“So there’s not much sympathy for poisonous snakes.”
Danny Pogue looked discouraged. Molly said, “I’m sorry, Danny, but it’s true. Nobody’s going to care if they use flamethrowers, as long as they get rid of the cottonmouths.”
“But it ain’t right.”
Molly patted his knee. “There’s plenty of snakes out there. Not like the mango voles, where there were only two left in the entire world.”
With those words she could have hammered an icepick into Danny Pogue’s heart. Morosely he bowed his head. As his environmental consciousness had been awakened, the vole theft had begun to weigh like a bleak ballast on his soul; he’d come to feel personally responsible for the extinction of the voles, and had inwardly promised to avenge his crime.
He said to Molly: “What’s that word you used before—’atome’ “?
“Atone, Danny. A-t-o-n-e. It means making amends.”
“Yeah, well, that’s me.”
Molly smiled and removed her reading glasses. “Don’t worry, we’ve all made mistakes in our lives. We’ve all committed errors of judgment.”
“Like when you shot me and Bud. Before you got to know us better.”
“No, Danny, that wasn’t a mistake. I’d do the same thing all over again, if it became necessary.”
“You would?”
“Oh, now, don’t take it the wrong way. Come here.” Molly reached out and took him by the shoulders. Firmly she pulled his greasy head to her breast. The heavy jasmine scent brought the tickle of a sneeze to Danny Pogue’s nostrils.
Molly gave him a hug and said, “Both you boys mean so much to me.”
Danny Pogue might have been moved to tears, except for the familiar bluish glint of the pistol tucked in the folds of Molly’s housedress.
He said, “You want some tea?”
“That would be lovely.”
As soon as Carrie Lanier left for work, Skink curled up in the shower, turned on the cold water and went to sleep.
Joe Winder kept writing for thirty minutes, until his will dissolved and he could no longer concentrate. He dialed Miriam’s house and asked for Nina.
“It’s six-dirty inna morning,” Miriam complained.
“I know what time it is. May I speak to her, please?”
“What if chee no here?”
“Miriam, I swear to God—”
“All rye, Joe. Chew wait.”
When Nina came on the line, she sounded wide awake. “This is very rude of you,” she said crossly, “waking Miriam.”