“So I call this connection I got, this old friend, and I ask her what’s endangered in Florida and she says all the good ones are taken—the panthers and manatees and so forth. She says it’d be better to come up with an animal nobody else had or even knew about. She says we might even get a government grant, which it turns out we did. Two hundred grand!”
Chelsea tried to act appalled; he even made a sound like a gasp. Impatiently, Winder said, “Charlie, this might come as a shock, but I don’t care how much you knew and how much you didn’t. For the purposes of settling this matter, you’ve become superfluous. Now show Mr. Kingsbury what we’ve prepared.”
From an inside pocket Chelsea withdrew a folded sheet of Amazing Kingdom stationery. He handed it across the desk to Francis X. Kingsbury, who set aside both the handkerchief and the golf ball in order to read.
“It’s a press release,” Chelsea said.
“I see what it is. Horseshit is what it is.” Kingsbury scanned it several times, including once from the bottom up. His mouth moved in twitchy circles, like a mule chewing a carrot.
“You ought to consider it,” Winder advised him, “if you want to stay out of jail.”
“Oh, so now it’s blackmail?”
“No, sir, it’s the cold fucking hand of fate.”
Nervously Kingsbury fingered the bridge of his nose. “The hell is your angle, son?”
“You arranged an elaborate scientific fraud for the purposes of profit. An ingenious fraud, to be sure, but a felony nonetheless. Two hundred thousand is just about enough to interest the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”
Kingsbury shrugged in mockery. “Is that, what, like the end of the world?”
“I forgot,” Winder said, “you’re an expert on indictments. Aren’t you, Frankie?”
Kingsbury turned color.
“Frankie King,” said Winder. That’s your real name, in case you don’t remember.”
Kingsbury shrank into the chair. Winder turned to Charles Chelsea and said, “I think somebody’s finally in the mood to talk.”
“Can I leave?”
“Certainly, Charlie. And thanks for a terrific job on the publicity release.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I mean it,” Winder said. “It’s seamless.”
Chelsea eyed him warily. “You’re just being sarcastic.”
“No, it was perfect. You’ve got a definite flair.”
“Thanks, Joe. And I mean it, too.”
The rescue of Francis Kingsbury was further delayed when a disturbance broke out near the front gate of the Amazing Kingdom; a tense and potentially violent dispute over the distribution of prizes, specifically a Nissan 300-Z.
The security-guard uniform is what gave Pedro Luz away. As he crutched toward Kingsbury’s office, he was spotted and intercepted by a flying wedge of disgruntled customers. Something about the Summerfest contest being rigged. Pedro Luz insisted he didn’t know about any damn contest, but the customers were loud and insistent. They led the security man back to the stage, where a short plump tourist named Rossiter had just been presented the keys to the sleek new sports car. Draped around Mr. Rossiter’s neck was a shiny streamer that said: “OUR FIVE-MILLIONTH SPECIAL GUEST!” In response to questions from a tuxedoed emcee, Mr. Rossiter said he was visiting the Amazing Kingdom with his wife and mother-in-law. He said it was only his second trip to Florida.
Mr. Rossiter gave the car keys to his wife, who squeezed her torso into the driver’s seat and happily posed for pictures. Several persons in the crowd began to hiss and boo. Somebody threw a cup of frozen yogurt, which splattered against one of the car’s wire wheels.
This was too much for Pedro Luz’s jangled, hormone-flooded sensory receptors. He grabbed the microphone from the emcee and said, “Next person that throws food, I break their fucking spine.”
Instantly a lull came over the mob. Pedro Luz said, “Now somebody explain what’s going on.”
At first no one spoke up, but there was a good bit of whispering about the bloody purple knots on the security chief’s forehead. Finally a man in the crowd pointed at the Rossiters and shouted, “They cheated, that’s what!”
Another male voice: “He cut in line!”
Pedro Luz said, “Jesus, I can’t believe you people.”
He turned to the Rossiters. “Is it true? Did you cut in line?”