But he didn’t. Instead he smiled at the woman in the driver’s seat and said, “You’re truly pretty. And aware of it, of course. The guiding force for most of your life, I imagine-your good looks.”
The woman blushed, then toughened.
“Where’d you spend the storm?” Skink asked.
“In a motel. With Mel Gibson there,” the woman said, nodding toward Snapper, “and a hooker.”
“I was tied to a bridge. You should try it sometime.”
“Right.”
Bonnie Lamb said, “He isn’t kidding.”
The woman shifted the .357 to her other hand. “What on earth are you people doing? Who sent you to the house-Tony’s wife?” She turned around on her knees, bracing her gun arm on the front seat. “Bonnie, dear,” she said sharply. “I’d really appreciate some answers.”
“Would you believe I’m on my honeymoon.”
“You’re joking.” The woman glanced doubtfully at Skink.
Bonnie said, “Oh, not him. My husband’s in Mexico.”
“Boy, are you ever lost,” said the woman.
Bonnie shook her head. “Not really.”
The storm had knocked down the traffic signal at Florida City, or what was left of Florida City. A tired policeman in a yellow rainsuit directed traffic at the intersection. Edie Marsh tensed behind the wheel of the Jeep. She told Snapper to make sure the gun was out of sight. As they passed the officer, Bonnie Lamb figured it would be a fine time to poke her head out the window and shout for help, but Skink offered no encouraging signal. His chin had drooped back to his chest. ”
Most of the street signs remained down from the hurricane, but Bonnie saw one indicating they were about to enter the Fabulous Florida Keys. Snapper was apprehensive about possible checkpoints along Highway One, so he instructed Edie Marsh to use Card Sound Road instead.
“There’s a toll,” she noted.
“So?”
“I left my purse at the house.”
Snapper said, “Jesus, I got money.”
“I bet you do.” Edie Marsh couldn’t stop thinking/ about what the one-eyed stranger had said: Snapper assaulting a woman cop and swiping her mother’s ring.
“How much did you get for it?” she asked.
“For what?”
“The ring.” Edie stared ahead at the flat strip of road, which stretched eastward as far as she could see.
Snapper muttered obscenely. He fished in his coat and came out with a plain gold wedding band. He held it three inches from Edie’s face.
“Happy?” he said.
The sight of the stolen ring affected Edie in an unexpected way: She felt repulsed, then dejected. She tried to picture the policewoman, wondered if she was married or had children, wondered what dreadful things Snapper had done to her.
Lord, Edie thought. What a small, disappointing life I’ve made for myself. She wanted to believe it would’ve been different if only she’d talked that shy young Kennedy into the sack. But she was no longer sure.
“I couldn’t pawn it,” Snapper was saying. “Damn thing’s engraved, nobody’ll touch it.”
“What does it say?” Edie asked quietly. “On the ring.”
“Who cares.”
“Come on. What does it say?”
The woman in the back seat sat forward, also curious, as Snapper read the inscription aloud: “‘For My Cynthia. Always.'” He gave a scornful laugh and hung his
bony arm out the window, preparing to toss the ring from the truck.
“Don’t do that,” Edie said, backing off the accelerator.
“The fuck not? If I can’t hock the goddamn thing, I’m gone dump it. Case we get pulled over.”
Edie Marsh said, “Just don’t, OK?”
“Oops. Too late.” He cocked his arm and threw the ring as far as he could. It plopped into a roadside canal, breaking the surface with concentric circles.
Edie saw everything from the corner of her eye. “You lousy prick.” Her voice was as hard as marble. The woman in the back seat felt the Jeep gain speed.
Defiantly Snapper waved the heavy black pistol. “Maybe you never heard of somethin’ called ‘possession of stolen property’-it’s a motherfuckin’ felony, case you didn’t know. Here’s another beauty: Vi-o-lay-shun o’ pro-bay-shun! Translated: My skinny white ass goes straight to Starke, I get caught. Do not pass Go, do not collect any hurricane money. So fuck the cop’s jewelry, unnerstand?”