When Bud Schwartz returned to Molly McNamara’s room, he sensed he was interrupting something private. Danny Pogue, who had been talking in a low voice, became silent at the sight of his partner.
Molly thanked Bud Schwartz for the cup of ginger ale. “Danny’s got something to tell you,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“I must admit,” Molly said, “he left me speechless.”
“So let’s hear it already.”
Danny Pogue lifted his chin and thrust out his bony chest. “I decided to give my share of the money to Molly.”
“Not to me personally,” she interjected. “To the Mothers of Wilderness.”
“And the Wildlife Rescue Corps!”
“Unofficially, yes,” she said.
“The mob money,” Danny Pogue explained.
Bud Schwartz didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “Twenty-five grand? You’re just givin’ it away?”
Molly beamed. “Isn’t that a magnificent gesture?”
“Oh, magnificent,” said Bud Schwartz. Magnificently stupid.
Danny Pogue picked up on his partner’s sarcasm and tried to mount a defense. He said, “It’s just somethin’ I wanted to do, okay?”
“Fine by me.”
Molly said, “It automatically makes him a Golden Lifetime Charter Member!”
“It also automatically makes him broke.”
“Come on,” Danny Pogue said, “it’s for a good cause.”
Bud Schwartz’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think about asking.”
“Danny, he’s right,” said Molly. “It’s not fair to pressure a friend.”
Warily Bud Schwartz scanned Molly’s bed sheets for any lumps that might reveal the outline of a pistol. He said, “Look, I wanna go straight. That money’s my future.”
Danny Pogue rolled his eyes and snorted. “Cut the bull—I mean, don’t kid yourself. All we’re ever gonna be is thieves.”
“Now there’s a happy thought. That’s what I mean about you and your fucking attitude.”
To Danny Pogue’s relief, Molly barely flinched at the profane adjective. She said, “Bud, I respect your ambitions. I really do.”
But Danny Pogue wasn’t finished whining. “Man, at least can’t you spare something?”
For several moments the only sound was the muted whistle of Molly’s oxygen machine. Finally she said, in a voice creaky with fatigue, “Even a small donation would be appreciated.”
Bud Schwartz ground his molars. “How does a grand sound? Is that all right?” Christ, he must be insane. One thousand dollars to a bunch of blue-haired bunny huggers!
Molly McNamara smiled kindly. Danny Pogue exuberantly chucked him on the shoulder.
Bud Schwartz said, “Why don’t I feel wonderful about this?”
“You will,” Molly replied, “someday.”
Among the men hired by Pedro Luz as security officers was Diamond J. Love, Diamond being his given name and the “J” standing for Jesus. As was true with most of the guards at the Amazing Kingdom of Thrills, Diamond J. Love’s personal history was investigated with only enough diligence to determine the absence of outstanding felony warrants. It was a foregone conclusion that Diamond J. Love’s career in law enforcement had been derailed by unpleasant circumstances; there was no other logical reason for applying as a private security guard at a theme park.
Initially, Diamond J. Love was apprehensive about his employment chances at the Amazing Kingdom. He knew that Disney World and other family resorts were scrupulous about hiring clean-cut, enthusiastic, All-American types; Diamond J. Love was worried because in all ways he defied the image, but he need not have worried. Nobody from the Amazing Kingdom bothered to check with previous employers, such as the New York City Police Department, to inquire about allegations of bribery, moral turpitude, substance abuse, witness tampering and the unnecessary use of deadly force, to wit, the pistol-whipping of a young man suspected of shoplifting a bag of cheese-flavored Doritos.
Diamond J. Love was elated to be hired for the security force at the Amazing Kingdom, and pleased to find himself surrounded with colleagues of similarly checkered backgrounds. On slow days, when they weren’t breaking into the RVs of tourists, they’d sit around and swap stories about the old police days—tales of stacking the civil-service boards to beat a brutality rap; perjuring themselves silly before grand juries; rounding up hookers on phony vice sweeps just to cop a free hummer; switching kilos of baking soda for cocaine in the evidence rooms. Diamond J. Love enjoyed these bull sessions, and he enjoyed his job. For the most part.