“Because you guys know,” Tony said, slapping a mosquito on his blubbery neck, “I’ll be getting quite a wad of dough on account of the hurricane. Insurance dough.”
“Exactly,” Edie Marsh said. “Your place is wrecked, last thing you need is a lawsuit. So Snapper says here’s an idea: Soon as your hurricane money comes in, cut us a piece and we call it even.”
Tony Torres sucked his teeth in amusement. “How big a piece, darling?”
“Whatever we could take you for.”
“Ah,” said Tony.
“We figured you’d just factor us in the insurance claim. Jack up your losses by a few grand, who’d ever know?”
“Beautiful,” Tony said.
“Oh yeah,” said Snapper, “fucking genius. Look how good it worked.”
He and Edie sat with their backs to the living-room wall; Snapper with his long legs drawn up, Edie’s straight out, kneecaps pressed together. A picture of innocence, Tony Torres thought. The runs in her stockings were a nifty touch.
The carpet was sodden from the storm, but Edie Marsh didn’t complain. Snapper felt the wetness creeping through the seat of his dress trousers-the annoyance was sufficient that he might kill Tony Torres, if the opportunity presented itself.
Deep in thought, the salesman slurped at a sweaty bottle of imported beer. He’d offered his captives a quart of warm Gatorade, which they’d refused without comment. A humid breeze blew through the fractures in the walls and rocked the bare sixty-watt bulb on its beam. Edie Marsh tilted her head and saw a spray of stars where Tony’s ceiling had once been. The noise from the portable generator gave Snapper an oppressive headache.
Eventually, Tony Torres said: “You understand there’s no law to speak of. The world’s upside down, for the time being.”
“You could kill us and get clean away with it. That’s what you mean,” Snapper said.
Edie looked at him. “You’re a tremendous help.”
Tony indicated that he preferred not to shoot them. “But here’s my thinking,” he said. “Tomorrow, maybe the day after, somebody from Midwest Casualty will come see about the house. I expect he’ll say it’s a total loss, unless he’s blind as a bat. Anyway, the good news: I happen to own the place free and clear. Paid it off last
March.” Tony paused to stifle a burp. “I was having a good run at the office, so what the hell. I paid the mortgage off.”
Edie Marsh said: “Salesman of the Year.” She had noticed the plaque.
“Mister,” Snapper interjected, “you got somethin’ I can put under my ass? The rug’s all wet. A newspaper maybe?”
“Oh, I think you’ll live,” said the salesman. “Anyhow, since the bank don’t own the house, all the insurance comes to me. As I say, there’s the good news. The bad news is, half belongs to my wife. Her name’s on the deed.”
Snapper asked where she was. Tony Torres said she’d run off three months ago with a parapsychology professor from the university. He said they’d gotten into crystal healing and moved to Eugene, Oregon.
“In a VW van!” he scoffed. “But she’ll be back for her cut. Of that there’s no doubt. Neria will return. See where I’m headed?”
“Yeah,” said Snapper. “You want us to kill your wife.”
“Jesus, what a one-track mind you got. No, I don’t want you to kill my wife.” The salesman appealed to Edie Marsh. “You get it, don’t you? Before they cut a check, the insurance company is gonna need both signatures. Me and the missus. And I also believe the adjuster might want to chat face-to-face. What’d you say your name was?”
“Edie.”
“OK, Edie, you wanna be an actress here’s your chance. When the man from Midwest Casualty shows
up, you be Neria Torres. My loving wife.” Tony smirked at the notion. “Well?”
Edie Marsh asked what was in it for her, and Tony Torres said ten grand. Edie said she’d have to think about it, which took about one one-hundredth of a second. She needed money.
“What about me?” Snapper asked.
Tony said, “I always wanted a bodyguard.”
Snapper grunted skeptically. “How much?”
“Ten for you, too. It’s more than fair.”
Snapper admitted it was. “Why,” he asked, with a trace of scorn, “do you need a bodyguard?”