“Bastard,” said Bud Schwartz. He felt sharp fingers—impressively strong—seize the loose span of flesh where his neck met his shoulder.
“Before I go get the gimper,” said the rent-a-cop, pinching harder, “how about you telling me some portion of the truth.”
“Really I can’t,” said Bud Schwartz. “I’d like to, but it’s just not possible.”
Then the Maglite came down against the top of his forehead, and the shutters of his brain slammed all at once, leaving the interior of his skull very cool, black, empty.
Joe Winder parked at the end of the gravel road and changed out of his work clothes. The necktie was the first thing to come off. He put on a pair of cutoffs, slipped into some toeless sneakers, slathered on some Cutter’s and grabbed his spinning rod out of the car. He found the path through the mangroves—his path, to the water’s edge. He came here almost every day after work, depending on how badly the wind was blowing. Sometimes he fished, sometimes he sat and watched.
Today he made his way quickly, worried about missing the best of the tide. When he got to the shoreline, he put on the Polaroids and swept the shallow flats with his eyes. He spotted a school of small bonefish working against the current, puffing mud about forty yards out. He grinned and waded out purposefully, sliding his feet silently across the marly bottom. A small plane flew over and the rumble of the engine flushed the fish. Joe Winder cursed, but kept his gaze on the nervous wake, just in case. Sure enough, the bonefish settled down and started feeding again. As he edged closer, he counted five in all, small black torpedoes.
As Joe Winder lifted his arm to cast, he heard a woman call out his name. The distraction was sufficient to ruin his aim; the small pink jig landed smack in the middle of the school, causing the fish to depart at breakneck speed for Andros Island and beyond. An absolutely terrible cast.
He turned and saw Nina waving from the shore. She was climbing out of her blue jeans, which was no easy task.
“I’m coming out,” she called.
“I can see that.”
And out she came, in an aqua T-shirt, an orange Dolphins cap, black panties and white Keds. Under these circumstances, it was impossible for Joe Winder to stay angry about the bonefish.
Nina was laughing like a child when she reached him. “The water’s so warm,” she said. “Makes me want to dive in.”
He gave her a left-handed hug. “Did you put on some bug spray?” he asked.
“Designer goo,” said Nina. “Some sort of weird enzyme. The bugs gag on it.”
Joe Winder pointed with the tip of the fishing rod. “See that? They’re mocking me.” Another school of bonefish cavorted, tails flashing, far out of human casting range.
“I’ll take your word for it,” said Nina, squinting. “Joe, what’d you do to your hair?”
“Cut it.”
“With what?”
“A steak knife. I couldn’t find the scissors.”
Nina reached up and touched what was left. “For God’s sake, why?”
“Chelsea said I looked like one of the Manson family.”
Nina frowned. “Since when do you give a hoot what Charlie Chelsea thinks?”
“It’s part of the damn dress code. Kingsbury’s cracking down, or so Charlie says. I was trying to be a team player, like you wanted.” Joe Winder spotted a small bonnet shark cruising the shallows, and cast the jig for the hell of it. The shark took one look and swam away arrogantly.
Joe Winder said, “So now I look like a Nazi.”
“No,” said Nina, “the Nazis had combs.”
“How’s the new routine coming? I assume that’s why you’re here.” It was the time of the week when the girls on the sex-phone line had to update their shtick.
Tell me what you think.” Nina reached into the breast pocket of the T-shirt and pulled out a folded piece of notebook paper. Carefully she unfolded it. “Now, be honest,” she said to Winder.
“Always.”
“Kay, here goes.” She cleared her throat. “You say “Hello.” ”
“Hello!” Joe Winder sang out.
“Hi, there,” said Nina, reading. “I was just thinking about you. I was thinking it would be so nice to go on a train, just you and me. A long, romantic train ride. I love the way trains rock back and forth. At first they start out so slow and hard, but then”—here Nina had scripted a pause—”but then they get faster and stronger. I love the motion of a big locomotive, it gets me so hot.”