“A rhino! Well, congratulations.”
“Thank you, cap’n. My first ever. It was quite a thrill.”
“Oh, I’ll bet. You cook him?”
Stoat wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “I’m gettin’ the head mounted,” he went on, “but I jest don’t know where to hang the dang thing—”
“On account a ya’ll runnin’ outta gawdamn wall space!”
“Right.” Stoat gave a brittle chuckle. The big sonofabitch was making fun of him.
“Sit your ass down,” the man said, pointing toward the desk. The leather chair felt cool against Palmer Stoat’s bare back; he tried to cross his flabby thighs but the bath towel was wrapped too snugly. The bearded one-eyed man walked around the desk and stood directly behind the leather chair. The only way Stoat could see the man was to cock his head straight back. From that upside-down vantage, the captain’s visage appeared amiable enough.
“So you’re a lobbyist,” he said to Stoat.
“That’s right.” Stoat began to explain his unsung role in the machinations of representative government, but the one-eyed man slammed a fist so hard on the polished wood that Stoat’s picture frames toppled.
“I know what you do,” the man said mildly. “I know all about the likes of you.”
Palmer Stoat made a mental note to call a Realtor first thing tomorrow and put his house on the market; it had become a chamber of torture, practically every room violated by demented intruders—first the dognapper, then the sadistic Mr. Gash and now this nutty bald cyclops…
“I’ve only got one question,” the man said to Stoat. “Where is this Toad Island?”
“Up the Gulf Coast. I’m not exactly sure where.”
“You’re not sure?”
“No… captain… I’ve never been there,” Stoat said.
“That’s beautiful. You sold the place out. Single-handedly greased the skids so it could be ‘transformed’ into a golfer’s paradise—isn’t that what you told me?”
Stoat nodded wanly. Those had been his exact words.
“Another fabulous golfer’s paradise. Just what the world needs,” the one-eyed man said, “and you did all this having never set foot on the island, having never laid eyes on the place. Correct?”
In a voice so timorous that he scarcely recognized it, Palmer Stoat said: “That’s how it goes down. I work the political side of the street, that’s all. I’ve got nothing to do with the thing itself.”
The man laughed barrenly. ” ‘The thing itself! You mean the monstrosity?”
Stoat swallowed hard. His neck muscles hurt from looking upward at such a steep angle.
“A client calls me about some piece of legislation he’s got an interest in,” he said. “So I make a phone call or two. Maybe take some senator and his secretary out for a nice dinner. That’s all I do. That’s how it goes down.”
“And for that you get paid how much?”
“Depends,” Stoat replied.
“For the Shearwater bridge?”
“A hundred thousand dollars was the agreement.” Palmer Stoat could not help himself, he was such a peacock. Even when faced with a life-threatening situation, he couldn’t resist broadcasting his obscenely exorbitant fees.
The captain said, “And you have no trouble looking at yourself in the mirror every morning?”
Stoat reddened.
“Incredible,” the man said. He came purposefully around the leather chair and with one hand easily overturned the heavy desk. Then he kicked the chair out from under Stoat, dumping him on his butt. The towel came untied and Stoat lunged for it, but the one-eyed man snatched it away and, with a theatrical flair, flung it cape-like across the horns of the stuffed buffalo.
Then he wheeled to stand over Stoat, a bloated harp seal wriggling across the carpet. “I’m going to do this job for your buddy Dick,” the man growled, “only because I don’t see how not to.”
“Thank you,” cheeped the cowering lobbyist.
“As for your dog, if he’s really missing an ear or a paw or even a toenail, I’ll deal appropriately with the young fellow who did it.” The captain paused in contemplation.
“As for your wife—is that her?”—pointing at the upended picture frame on the floor, and not waiting for Stoat’s answer. “If I find her alive,” the man said, pacing now, “I’ll set her loose. What she does then, that’s up to her. But I do intend to advise her to consider all options. I intend to tell her she can surely do better, much better, than the sorry likes of you.”