STORMY WEATHER By CARL HIAASEN

It hadn’t been the cataclysmic purgative he had hoped for and prophesied. Ideally a hurricane should drive people out, not bring people in. The high number of new arrivals to South Florida was merely depressing; the moral caliber of the fortune-seekers was appalling-low-life hustlers, slick-talking scammers and cold-blooded opportunists, not to mention pure gangsters and thugs. Precisely the kind of creeps who would cave in a lady’s face.

“Do not,” Skink said, “expect me to control my temper.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Augustine.

The light in the guest bedroom went on. Augustine found Bonnie Lamb sitting up in bed. For a nightgown she wore a long white T-shirt that she’d found in a drawer: Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Augustine had purchased it at a concert at the Miami Arena. The woman whom he’d taken to the show, the psychotic doctor who later tried to filet him in the shower, had bought a black shirt to match her biker boots. At the time, Augustine had found the ensemble fetching, in a faux-trashy way.

“Max call yet?” Bonnie asked.

Augustine checked the answering machine. No messages. He returned to the bedroom and told her.

She said, “I’ve been married one week and a day. What’s the matter with me?” She drew her knees to her chest. “I should be home.”

Exactly! thought Augustine. Absolutely right!

“You think my husband’s a jerk?”

“Not at all,” Augustine lied, decorously.

“Then why hasn’t he called.” It was not a question. Bonnie Lamb said, “Come here.”

She made room under the covers, but Augustine positioned himself chastely on the edge of the bed.

“You must think I’m crazy,” said Bonnie.

“No.”

“My heart is upside down. That’s the only way to describe it.”

Augustine said, “Stay as long as you want.”

“I want to go along with you and … him. The kidnapper.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably goes back to Max, or my dad and his model airplanes, or my wretched childhood, even though my memories are quite wonderful. It’s got to be something. Happy normal little girls don’t grow up to dump their husbands, do they?” Bonnie Lamb switched off the lamp. “You want to lie down?”

“Better not,” said Augustine.

In the dark, her hand found his cheek. She said, “Here’s my idea: I think we should sleep together.”

“But we have slept together, Mrs Lamb.” That without missing a beat. Augustine commended himself-a little humor to cut the tension.

Bonnie said, “Come on. You know what I mean.”

“Make love?”

“Oh, you’re a quick one.” She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down. His head came to rest on a pillow. Before he could get up she was on top, pinning his arms. Impishly she planted her chin on his breastbone. In the light slanting through the window, Augustine was able to see her smile, the liveliness of her eyes and-behind her-the wall of gaping skulls.

Bonnie Lamb said, “Making love with you might clear my thinking.”

“So would electroshock therapy.”

“I’m very serious.”

“And very married,” said Augustine.

“Yes, but you’re still getting hard.”

“Thanks for the bulletin.”

She let go of his arms, took his face in both hands. Her smile disappeared, and sadness entered her voice.

“Don’t be such a smartass,” she whispered. “Can’t you understand-I don’t know what else to do. I tried crying; it doesn’t work.”

“I’m sorry-”

“I feel closer to you than I’ve ever felt to Max. That’s not a good sign.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Especially after a week of marriage. My own husband-and already I feel old and invisible when we’re together.” She took his shirt in her fists. “God, you know what? Forget everything I said.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Then you’ve thought about it, too.”

“Constantly,” said Augustine. Then, in a burst of foolish virtue: “But it would sure be wrong.”

Her breasts were lined up just below his rib cage. They rose ever so slightly when she took a breath. Friendship, he reminded himself, could be excruciating.

Bonnie asked, “What happens now?”

“Oh, my erection will eventually go away. Then we can both get some sleep.”

She lowered her eyes. Blushing? In the shadows it was hard to tell. She said, “No, I meant with the governor. What’re you two guys up to?”

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