“I can kill you with my bare hands,” Pedro Luz said informatively.
Winder sat up, hugging his own chest to prevent pieces of broken ribs from snapping off like dead twigs. He couldn’t figure out why Pedro Luz kept a full-length mirror in the storage room.
“It’s raining outside,” Pedro Luz said.
“That’s what we’re waiting for?”
“Yeah. Soon as it stops, I’ll take you out and kill you.”
Pedro Luz stripped off his shirt and began to work out with a pair of heavy dumbbells; he couldn’t take his eyes off his own glorious biceps. The syncopation of Pedro’s breathing and pumping put Joe Winder to sleep. When he awoke much later, still on the floor, he saw that Pedro Luz had put on a fresh uniform. The security man rose unsteadily and reached for the crutch; his hands trembled and his eyelids were mottled and puffy.
“The parade starts soon,” he said. “Everyone in the park goes to watch—that’s when you’re gonna break into the ticket office to rip off the cashboxes.”
“And you’re going to catch me in the act, and shoot me.”
“Yeah,” Pedro Luz wheezed, “in the back.”
“Pretty sloppy. The cops’ll have plenty of questions.”
“I’m still thinking it through.” His head lolled and he shut his eyes. Joe Winder sprang for the door and regretted it instantly. Pedro Luz was on him like a mad bear; he grabbed Winder at the base of the neck and hurled him backward into the stock shelves.
“And that was one-handed,” Pedro Luz bragged. “How much do you weigh?”
Winder answered, with a groan, “One seventy-five.”
The security man beamed. “Light as a feather. No problem.”
“I’d like to speak with your boss one more time.”
“No way.” Pedro Luz hoisted Winder from a tangle of intravenous tubes and set him down in a bare corner. He said, “Remember, I still got that gun you were carrying—I figure that’s my throwdown. The story is, I had to shoot you because of the gun.”
Winder nodded. “I’m assuming there’ll be no witnesses.”
“Course not. They’ll all be at the parade.”
“What about the rain, Pedro? What if the parade’s washed out?”
“It’s August, asshole. The rain don’t last long.” Pedro Luz hammered the heel of his hand against the side of his skull, as if trying to knock a wasp out of his ear. “God, it’s loud in here.”
“I don’t mean to nag,” Joe Winder said, “but you ought to lay off the steroids.”
“Don’t start with me!” Pedro Luz cracked the door and poked his head out. “See, it’s stopped already. Just a drizzle.” He gripped Joe Winder by the shoulder. “Let’s go, smartass.”
But Winder could barely walk for the pain. Outside, under a low muddy sky, the tourists rushed excitedly toward Kingsbury Lane, where a band had begun to play. Pedro Luz marched Winder against the flow of yammering, gummy-faced children and their anxious, umbrella-wielding parents. The ticket office was on the other side of the park, a long hike, and Joe Winder had planned to use the time to devise a plan for escape. Instead his thoughts meandered inanely; he noticed, for example, what a high percentage of the Amazing Kingdom’s tourists were clinically overweight. Was this a valid cross-section of American society? Or did fat people travel to Florida more frequently than thin people? Three times Winder slowed to ponder the riddle, and three times Pedro Luz thwacked the back of his legs with the dreaded crutch. No one stopped to interfere; most likely they assumed that Winder was a purse snatcher or some other troublemaker being rousted by Security.
Eventually the crowds thinned and the light rain stopped. The two men were alone, crossing the walkway that spanned the dolphin tank. The swim-along attraction had closed early because the trainers were needed at the parade, in case the lion got testy. Joe Winder heard a burst of applause across the amusement park—fireworks blossoming over Kingsbury Lane. The pageant had begun!
Winder thought of Carrie Lanier, and hoped she had the good sense not to come looking for him. He felt Pedro Luz’s crutch jab him between the shoulder blades. “Hold it,” the security man commanded.