Carl Hiaasen – Native Tongue

Molly McNamara ignored the remark. “At the gatehouse I had to tell Officer Andrews a lie. I told him you were my nephews visiting from Georgia. I told him we’d had a fight and that’s why you were trying to sneak out of Eagle Ridge. I told him your parents died in a plane crash when you were little, and I was left responsible for taking care of you.”

“Pitiful,” said Bud Schwartz.

“I told him you both had emotional problems.”

“We’re heading that direction,” Bud Schwartz said.

“I don’t like to lie,” Molly added sternly. “Normally I don’t believe in it.”

“But shooting people is okay?” Danny Pogue cackled bitterly. “Lady, pardon me for saying, but I think you’re goddamn fucking nutso.”

Molly’s eyes flickered. In a frozen voice she said, “Please don’t use that word in my presence.”

Danny Pogue mumbled that he was sorry. He wasn’t sure which word she meant.

“I’m not certain Officer Andrews believed any of it,” Molly went on. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he reported the entire episode to the condominium association. You think you’ve got problems now! Oh, brother, just wait.”

Bud Schwartz removed the towel from his forehead and examined it for bloodstains. Molly said, “Are you listening to me?”

“Hanging on every word.”

“Because I’ve got some very bad news. For all of us.”

Bud Schwartz grunted wearily. What now? What the hell now?

“It was on the television tonight,” Molly McNamara said. “The mango voles are dead. Killed on the highway.”

Nervously Danny Pogue glanced at his partner, whose eyes were fixed hard on the old woman. Waiting, no doubt, to see if she pulled that damn pistol from her sweater.

Molly said, “I don’t know all the details, but I suppose it’s not important. I feel absolutely sick about this.”

Good, thought Bud Schwartz, maybe she’s not blaming us.

But she was. “If only I’d known how careless and irresponsible you were, I would never have recruited you for this job.” Molly took off her rose-framed glasses and folded them meticulously. Her gray eyes were misting.

“The blue-tongued mango voles are extinct because of me,” she said, blinking, “and because of you.”

Bud Schwartz said, “We’re real sorry.”

“Yeah,” agreed Danny Pogue. “It’s too bad they died.”

Molly was downcast. “This is an unspeakable sin against Nature. The death of these dear animals, I can’t tell you—it goes against everything I’ve worked for, everything I believe in. I was so stupid to entrust this project to a couple of reckless, clumsy criminals.”

“That’s us,” said Bud Schwartz.

Danny Pogue didn’t like his partner’s casual tone. He said to Molly, “We didn’t know they was so important. They looked like regular old rats.”

The old woman absently fondled the buttons of her sweater. “There’s no point belaboring it. The damage is done. Now we’ve got to atone.”

“Atone,” said Bud Schwartz suspiciously.

“What does that mean?” asked Danny Pogue. “I don’t know that word.”

Molly said, “Tell him, Bud.”

“It means we gotta do something to make up for all this.”

Molly nodded. “That’s right. Somehow we must redeem ourselves.”

Bud Schwartz sighed. He wondered what crazy lie she’d told the rent-a-cop about their gunshot wounds.

And this condo association—what’s she so worried about?

“Have you ever heard of the Mothers of Wilderness?” asked Molly McNamara.

“No,” said Bud Schwartz, “can’t say that I have.” Danny Pogue said he’d never heard of them, either.

“No matter,” said Molly, brightening, “because as of tonight, you’re our newest members. Congratulations, gentlemen!”

Restlessly Danny Pogue squeezed a pimple on his neck. “Is it like a nature club?” he said. “Do we get T-shirts and stuff?”

“Oh, you’ll enjoy it,” said Molly. “I’ve got some pamphlets in my briefcase.”

Bud Schwartz clutched at the damp towel. This time he pressed it against his face. “Cut to the chase,” he muttered irritably. “What the hell is it you want us to do?”

“I’m coming to that,” said Molly McNamara. “By the way, did I mention that Mr. Kingsbury is offering a reward to anyone who turns in the vole robbers?”

“Oh, no,” said Danny Pogue.

“Quite an enormous reward, according to the papers.”

“How nice,” said Bud Schwartz, his voice cold.

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