Jim Tile said it didn’t matter one way or the other. To appear friendly, Edie asked how long he’d been assigned to Miami.
“Ten days.”
“You came for the hurricane?”
“Just like you,” he said, letting her know he had her pegged.
On their way out of the restaurant, he bought her an extra order of fries and a Coke for the road. In the car, Edie tried to keep the conversation moving. She felt more secure when he was talking, instead of staring ahead like a sphinx, working that damn toothpick.
She asked if she could see the bulletproof vest. He said he’d had to turn it in at headquarters, for evidence. She asked if the bullet made a hole and he said no, more of a dimple.
“Bet you didn’t think hurricane duty would be so hairy.”
Jim Tile fiddled with the squelch on the radio.
Edie said, “What’s the craziest thing you’ve seen so far?”
“Besides your geek partner shooting at me?”
“Yeah, besides that.”
“The President of the United States,” he said, “trying to hammer a nail into a piece of plywood. Took him at least nine tries.”
Edie straightened. “You saw the President!”
“Yeah. We had motorcade duty.”
Thoughtfully she munched on a French fry. “Did you see his son, too?”
“They were riding in the same limo.”
“I didn’t know he lived in Miami, the President’s son.”
“Lucky him,” the trooper said.
Edie Marsh, sipping her Coke, trying not to be too obvious: “I wonder where his house is, somebody like that. Key Biscayne probably, or maybe the Gables. Sometimes I wonder about famous people. Where they eat out. Where they get their cars waxed. Who’s their dentist. I mean, think about it: The President’s kid, he still has to get his teeth cleaned. Don’t you ever wonder about stuff like that?”
“Never.” Fat raindrops slapped on the windshield. Still the trooper stayed camped behind the sunglasses.
Edie didn’t give up. “You got a girlfriend?” she asked.
‘Yes.”
Finally, Edie thought. Something to run with. “Where is she?”
“In the hospital,” Jim Tile said. “Your buddy beat her to a pulp.”
“Oh God, no….”
He saw that she’d spilled the Coke, and that she didn’t even know it.
“God, I’m so sorry,” she was saying. “I swear, I didn’t-will she be all right?”
Jim Tile offered a handful of paper napkins. Edie tried to sop the soda off her lap. Her hands were shaky.
“I didn’t know,” she said, more than once. She recalled the engraving on the mother’s wedding band, the one that Snapper had stolen. “Cynthia” was the name on the ring, the mother of the trooper’s girlfriend.
Now Edie felt close to the crime. Now she felt truly sick.
Jim Tile said, “The doctors think she’ll be OK.”
All Edie could do was nod; she was tapped out. The trooper turned up the volume of the police radio. When they reached the mainland, he stopped at a boarded-up McDonald’s. The hurricane had blown out the doors and windows.
A teal-blue compact was parked under a naked palm tree. A man in a green Day-Glo rain poncho was sitting on the hood; from the sharp creases, it appeared that his poncho was brand-new. The man hopped down when he saw the Highway Patrol car.
“Who’s that?” Edie asked.
“Watch out for broken glass,” Jim Tile said.
“You’re leaving me here?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Edie Marsh got out, the man got in. The trooper told him to shut the door and fasten his seat belt. Edie didn’t back away from the car; she just stood there, crossing her arms in a halfhearted sulk. The effect was impaired by the slashing rain, which caused her to blink and squint, and by the stormy wind, which made her hair thrash like a pom-pom.
Through the weather she shouted at Jim Tile: “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Count your blessings,” he said. Then he made a U-turn and headed back toward Key Largo.
Bonnie gave Augustine a nervous kiss before she left camp with Skink. Her husband was on his way. They were to meet at the road.
Alone, Augustine tried to read, huddled in the old ambulance to keep the pages dry. But he couldn’t concentrate. His imagination was inventing dialogue for Bonnie and Max’s reunion. In his head there were two versions of the script; one for a sad good-bye, one for I’m-sorry-let’s-try-again.