Carl Hiaasen – Native Tongue

“But we can stop him, right?” Bud Schwartz was smiling.

“You can help, yes.”

“How?” Danny Pogue demanded. “What do we do?”

Molly said, “I need to know the full extent of Mr. Kingsbury’s financial involvement—you see, there are legal avenues we could pursue, if only we knew.” She flicked off the slide projector and turned on a pair of brass table lamps. “Unfortunately,” she said, “Mr. Kingsbury is a very secretive man. Every document we’ve gotten, we’ve had to sue for. He is extremely wealthy and hires only the finest attorneys.”

From his expression it was clear that Danny Pogue was struggling to keep up. “Go on,” he said.

Bud Schwartz inhaled audibly, a reverse sigh. “Danny, we’re burglars, remember? What do burglars do?”

Danny Pogue glanced at Molly McNamara, who said, “Your partner’s got the right idea.”

“Wait a second,” said Danny Pogue. “More voles?”

“Jesus Christ, no,” Bud Schwartz said. “No more voles.”

By now he was planning ahead again, feeling better about his prospects. He was wondering about Francis X. Kingsbury’s money, and thinking what a shame that a bunch of greedy lawyers should get so much of it, all for themselves.

TEN

Nina didn’t believe him, not for a second.

“You were drinking. You opened your big fat mouth and somebody smacked you.”

“No,” Joe Winder said. “That’s not what happened.”

Well, the truth would only frighten her. He sat up and squinted brutally at the sunlight.

“I’m so disappointed in you,” Nina said. She studied the bruises on his face, and not out of concern; she was looking for clues.

“I wasn’t drinking,” said Joe Winder. That much he had to assert, out of pride. “They were muggers, that’s all.”

Nina pointed to his wallet, which was on the dresser. “Muggers, Joe? Some muggers.”

“A car scared them off.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re only making it worse.”

“What happened to trust?” Winder said. “What happened to true goddamn love?” He got out of bed and tested his legs. Nina watched reproachfully.

“I smell perfume,” she said. “Did you bring a woman home last night?”

“No, a woman brought me. She saw me on Card Sound Road and wanted to go to the police. I told her to bring me here so I could be with the love of my life.”

“Did you screw her?”

“Only six or seven times.” He went to the bathroom and stuck his face under the shower and screamed at the top of his lungs, it hurt so bad. He screamed until his ears reverberated. Then he came out, dripping, and said: “Nina, be reasonable. Who’d make love with me, looking like this?”

“Not me.”

“Not anybody. Besides, I was half blind. I probably would’ve stuck it in her ear by mistake.”

Nina smiled. Finally.

Winder asked her who’d called so damn early. The phone is what woke him up.

“Your employer, Mr. Charles Chelsea. He wanted you to know there was a dead person hanging from the bridge this morning.”

Joe Winder shuffled back to the shower. This time he stepped all the way in and braced his forehead against the tile. He made the water as hot as he could bear. Maybe the dead man was Angel, he thought, or maybe it was the big guy who’d saved him from Angel.

When Winder got out, Nina stood poised with a towel in her hand. She wore a white halter top and no panties. Winder took the towel and draped it over his head.

“Why do you do this to me,” he mumbled.

“Did you hear what I said? About the dead man?” She peeled off the halter and climbed in the shower. “Did you save me some hot water? I’ve got to shave my legs.” She turned the faucet handles and cursed the cold.

“Sorry,” said Joe Winder. Raising his voice over the beating of the water: “So why is Chelsea calling me, just because there’s some dead guy? The bridge is five miles from the Kingdom.”

Nina didn’t answer; just filed the question away and kept on shaving. Joe Winder sat down on the toilet and watched the fixtures fog up. Plenty of hot water, he thought; no problem.

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