STORMY WEATHER By CARL HIAASEN

A feral cry rose from the bed of the pickup truck. Jim Tile blinked over the rims of his shades. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs Lamb. You and your husband do what’s right. The captain, he’ll understand.”

Then the trooper drove off.

On the way to the airport hotel, where Max Lamb had reserved a day room for her, Bonnie slid across the front seat and rested her cheek on Augustine’s shoulder. He was dreading this part, saying good-bye. It was always easier as a bitter cleaving, when suitcases snapped shut, doors slammed, taxis screeched out of the driveway. He checked the dashboard clock-less than three hours until her flight.

Through the back window of the truck, Bonnie saw that Skink had pulled the flowered cap over his face and drawn himself into a loose-jointed variation of a fetal curl.

She said, “I wonder what’s on that piece of paper.”

“My guess,” said Augustine, “it’s either a name or an address.”

“Of what?”

“It’s just a guess,” he said, but he told her anyway.

That night he didn’t have to say good-bye, because Bonnie Lamb didn’t go home to New York. She canceled her flight and returned to Augustine’s house. Her phone messages for Max were not returned until after midnight, when she was already asleep in the skull room.

Shortly after noon on August 28, the telephone in Tony / Torres’s kitchen started ringing.

Snapper told Edie Marsh to get it.

“You get it,” she said.

“Real funny.”

Snapper couldn’t walk; the blow from the crowbar had messed up his right leg. He was laid out in the BarcaLounger with his knee packed in three bags of ice, which Edie had purchased for fifty dollars on Quail Roost Drive from some traveling bandit in a fish truck. The fifty bucks came out of Snapper’s big score against the Whitmarks. He didn’t tell Edie Marsh how much money remained in his pocket. He also didn’t mention the trooper’s gun in the Cherokee, in the event she blew her top again.

The phone continued ringing. “Answer it,” Snapper said. “Maybe it’s your Santy Claus boyfriend.”

Edie picked up the phone. On the other end, a woman’s voice said: “Hullo?”

Edie hung up. “It wasn’t Fred,” she said.

“The fuck was it?”

“I didn’t ask, Snapper. We’re not supposed to be here, remember?” She said it sounded like’ long distance.

“What if it’s the insurance company? Maybe the check’s ready.”

Edie said, “No. Fred would tell me.”

Snapper hacked out a laugh. “Fred’s gone, you dumb twat. You scared him off!”

“How much you wanna bet.”

“Right, he can’t stay away, you’re such a fantastic piece a ass.”

“You can’t even imagine,” Edie said, showing some tongue. Maybe she wasn’t hot enough for a young Kennedy, but she was the best thing young Mr Dove had ever seen. Besides, he couldn’t back out of the deal now. He’d already put in for the phony claim.

Again the phone rang. Edie Marsh said, “Shit.”

“For Christ’s sake, gimme a hand.” Snapper writhed irritably on the BarcaLounger. “Come on!”

Bracing a forearm on Edie’s shoulder, he hobbled to the kitchen. She plucked the receiver off the hook and handed it to him.

“Yo,” Snapper said.

“Hullo?” A woman. “Tony, is that you?”

“Hmmphrr,” answered Snapper, cautiously.

“It’s me. Neria.”

Who? Frigid drops from the ice pack dripped down Snapper’s injured leg. The purple kneecap felt as if it were about to burst, like a rotten mango. Edie pressed close, trying to hear what the caller was saying.

“Tony, I been tryin’ to get through for days. What’s with the house?”

Then Snapper remembered: The wife! Tony Torres had said her name was Miriam or Neria, some Cuban thing. He’d also said she’d be coming back for her cut of the insurance.

“Bad connection,” Snapper mumbled into the receiver.

“What’s going on? I call next door and Mister Varga, he said the hurricane totaled our house and now there’s strangers living there. Some woman, Tony. You hear me? And Mister Varga said you shot a hole in the garage. What the hell’s going on down there?”

Snapper held the receiver at arm’s length, like it was a stick of dynamite. His bottom jaw shoveled in and out; / the joints of his face made a popping sound that gave Edie the creeps.

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