“Which word, Charlie?”
“You know. The “F word.”
“I’ve heard children say it. Plenty of times.”
“Not here, you haven’t.” Charles Chelsea sat up straight, trying to radiate authority. “This is a major event for us, Joey. We’ve had a robbery on the premises. Felons invaded the theme park. Somebody could’ve been hurt.”
“Rat-nappers,” Winder remarked. “Not exactly Ted Bundy.”
“Hey,” Chelsea said, tapping a lacquered fingernail on the desk. “Hey, this is serious. Mr. X is watching very closely to see how we do. All of us, Joe, all of us in Publicity are on red alert until this thing blows over. We mishandle it, and it blows up into a story about crime at the Amazing Kingdom. If we can spin it around, it’s a story about a crime against Nature. Nature with a capital “N.” The annihilation of an entire species. Where’s your notebook?”
“Downstairs, on my desk.”
“Listen, you’re my ace in the hole. Whatever gets dumped in my lap gets dumped in yours.”
Joe Winder’s sinuses hurt so much he thought his eyeballs must be leaking from the inside. He didn’t want to be Chelsea’s ace in the hole.
Chelsea said, “And, Joe, while we’re at it, what’d I tell you about the hair? No braids.”
“But it’s all the rage,” Winder said.
“Get it cut before Kingsbury sees you. Please, Joe, you look like a Navajo nightmare.”
“Nice talk, Charlie.”
“Sit down,” said Chelsea, “and put on your writing cap.”
“I’d love to look as spiffy as you, but you bought up all the oxford shirts in Miami. Either that or you wear the same one every day.”
Chelsea wasn’t listening. “Before we begin, there’s some stuff you need to know.”
“Like what?”
“Like their names.”
“Whose names?”
“The voles,” Charles Chelsea said. “Vance and Violet—two helpless, adorable, fuzzy little furballs. Mated for life. The last of their species, Joey.”
With a straight face, Winder repeated the names of the missing creatures. “Vance and Violet Vole. That’s lovely.” He glanced at his wristwatch, and saw that it was half past five. “Charlie,” he said, “you don’t happen to have any Darvons?”
Chelsea said, “I wish you were writing this stuff down.”
“What the hell for?”
“For the story. The story of how Francis X. Kingsbury tried everything in his power to save the blue-tongued mango voles from extinction.”
“Only to be thwarted by robbers?”
“You got it,” said Charles Chelsea. “Stay late if necessary and take a comp day next week—I need a thousand words by tomorrow morning. I promised Corporate a press kit.” He stood up and waited for Joe Winder to do the same. “Get with Koocher for more background on the missing animals. He’s got reams of pictures, too, in case you need inspiration. By the way, did you ever get to see them?”
Winder felt oddly detached. “The voles? No, not in person,” he said. “I wasn’t even aware they had actual names.”
“They do now.”
At the door, Charles Chelsea winked and shook Joe Winder’s hand. “You know, Joe, some people in the organization weren’t too thrilled when we brought you aboard. I mean, after what happened up at Disney.”
Winder nodded politely. Chelsea’s hand felt moist and lifeless, like a slab of cold grouper.
“But, by God, I knew you’d be fine. That speech today was masterful, Joey, a classic.”
“A classic.”
“I need you on this one. The other kids are fine, they can turn a phrase. But they’re right out of school, most of them, and they’re not ready for something so big. For this I need somebody with scars. Combat experience.”
With effort, Joe Winder said, “Guess I’m your man.”
Charles Chelsea chucked him on the arm and opened the door.
“What about a reward?” Winder asked. “In the press release, should I say we’re offering a reward?”
Thinking about it, Chelsea nearly rubbed the tan off his chin. “I guess it couldn’t hurt,” he said finally. “What do you think?”
“For two rats? Ten grand is good.”
“Voles, Joe. Don’t ever say rats. And five grand is plenty.”
Winder shrugged. “The park netted forty-two million dollars last year. I know a few reporters who’d be happy to remind us.”