Pedro Luz got red in the cheeks. The cords in his neck stood out like a rutting bull’s. “I already told you,” he said. “I don’t have no report on that guy.”
“He’s missing from the park.”
“Then I’ll do up a report,” Pedro Luz said. He breathed deeply, as if trying to calm himself. “Soon as I get outta here, I’ll make a report.” He took the IV tube out of his mouth. “This stuff’s not so bad,” he said thoughtfully. “Tastes like sugar syrup.” He replaced the tube between his lips and sucked on it loudly.
Joe Winder said, “You’re a moron.”
“What did you say?”
“Make that a submoron.”
Pedro Luz shrugged. “I’d beat the piss out of you, if I didn’t feel so bad. They gave me about a million shots.” He leered woozily and opened his gown. “See, they broke two needles on my stomach.”
Joe Winder couldn’t help but admire Pedro Luz’s physique. He could see the bright crimson spots where the hypodermics had bent against the muscle.
“Least I won’t get the rabies,” said Pedro Luz, drawing merrily on the tube. “You oughta take off, before I start feeling better.”
Winder stood up and slid the chair back to its corner. “Last chance, Hercules. Tell me why you sent a man to the lab yesterday.”
“Or else what?”
“Or we play “This Is Your Life, Pedro Dipshit.” I tell Kingsbury’s people all about your sterling employment record with the Miami Police Department. I might even give them a copy of the indictment. A spine-chilling saga, Pedro. Not for the meek and mild.”
Pedro Luz removed the tube and wiped his lips on the sleeve of his gown. He looked genuinely puzzled. “But they know,” he said. “They know all about it.”
“And they hired you anyway?”
“Course,” said Pedro Luz. “It was Kingsbury himself. He said every man deserves a second chance.”
“I admire that philosophy,” Joe Winder said, “most of the time.”
“Yeah, well, Mr. X took a personal liking to me. That’s why I’m not too worried about all your bullshit.”
“Yes,” said Joe Winder. “I’m beginning to understand.”
“Because you couldn’t get me fired no matter what,” said Pedro Luz. “And you know what else? Don’t never call me a moron again, if you know what’s good for you.”
“I guess I don’t,” said Joe Winder. “Obviously.”
SEVEN
The ticket taker at the Wet Willy attraction was trying to control his temper. Firm, but friendly. That’s how you deal with difficult customers; that’s what they taught in ticket-taker training.
The young man, who was new to the job, said, “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t cut to the front of the line. These other people have been waiting for a long time.”
“These other people,” the man said; “tell me, do they own this fucking joint?”
The ticket taker did not recognize Francis X. Kingsbury, who wore thong sandals, baggy pastel swim trunks and no shirt. He also had a stopwatch hanging from a red lanyard around his neck.
“Now, you don’t want me to call Security,” the ticket taker said.
“Nothing but idiots,” Kingsbury muttered, pushing his pallid belly through the turnstile. He shuffled up two flights of stairs to the launching ramp, and dropped to all fours.
The Wet Willy ride was one of the Amazing Kingdom’s most popular thrill attractions, and one of the cheapest to operate. A marvel of engineering simplicity, it was nothing but a long translucent latex tube. The inside was painted in outrageous psychedelic hues, and kept slippery with drain water diverted at no cost from nearby drinking fountains. The narrow tube descended from a height of approximately six stories, with riders plunging downhill at an average angle of twenty-seven exhilarating degrees.
Francis X. Kingsbury was exceptionally proud of the Wet Willy because the whole contraption had been his idea, his concept. The design engineers at the Amazing Kingdom had wanted something to compete with Disney’s hugely successful Space Mountain ride. Kingsbury had collected all the press clippings about Space Mountain and used a bright yellow marker to emphasize his contempt for the project, particularly the development cost. “Seventeen million bucks,” he had scoffed, “for a frigging roller ride in the dark.”