Reedy? Levon Stichler’s bold determination began to dissolve in a muddle. Something was awry with this particular Tony Torres. Yet Levon had spied the Salesman of the Year plaque on the wall, Prefab Luxury Homes, in raised gold lettering. Had to be the same creep.
Levon Stichler knew he must act swiftly, or lose forever the opportunity to avenge. He removed the concealed weapon from his jacket and raised it, ominously, for the wife to see.
“You better leave,” he advised.
Calmly she set her coffee cup on the counter. Her brow furrowed, but not in fear; more as if she were stymied on a crossword puzzle. “What is that?” Pointing at the thing in Levon Stichler’s hand.
“What’s it look like?”
“A giant screw?”
“It’s an auger spike, Mrs Torres. It was supposed to anchor my trailer in the storm.”
Levon Stichler had choreographed the crime a hundred times in his mind, most recently while sharpening the point of the auger on a whetstone wheel. The fat face of Tony Torres would make an easy target. Either of those cavernous hairy nostrils could be forcibly modified to accept the steel bit, which would (according to Levon’s calculation) extrude well beyond the nasal cavity and into the brainpan.
The barefoot woman said, “Excuse me, but are you fucking nuts?”
Before Levon Stickler could respond, the tall shape of a man materialized in the kitchen doorway. Levon Stichler aimed the spike like a lance, and charged. The woman shouted a sharp warning, and the man threw himself backward onto the wet tile floor. The auger impaled itself in the wooden shelf of a cabinet; with both hands Levon Stichler could not pull it free. Frantically he looked down at his intended victim.
“Oh shit,” he said. “You’re not the one.” He released his grip on the spike. “You’re not the one who sold me the double-wide!”
Another woman-wild-looking and half dressed- burst from’ the bedroom. Together she and the barefoot one helped Snapper rise to his feet.
In an accusatory tone, Levon Stichler said, “You are not Tony Torres.”
“Like hell,” Snapper said.
Edie Marsh moved between the two men. “Honey,” she said, facing Snapper, “Mister Reedy here appears to be nuts.”
“Worse than nuts,” Bridget asserted.
“My name’s not Reedy.”
Edie wheeled on the old man. “Wait a second-you aren’t from Midwest Casualty?”
Levon Stichler, who by now had gotten a close-up look at Snapper’s feral eyes and disfigured mug, felt his brittle old bones turn to powder. “Where’s Mister Torres?” he asked, with noticeably less spunk.
Edie sighed in annoyance. “Incredible,” she said to Snapper. “He’s not Reedy. Can you believe this shit?”
Snapper wanted to be sure for himself. He leaned forward until he was two inches from the old man’s nose. “You’re not from the insurance company? You’re not Dove’s boss?”
Misjudging the situation, Levon Stichler emphatically shook his head no. Edie Marsh stepped out of the way so Snapper could punch him into unconsciousness.
They sat on the rolled-up sleeping bags and waited for the governor to wake up in the palmettos.
Augustine assumed, as men sometimes do when they’ve had a particularly glorious time, that he should apologize.
Bonnie Lamb said, “For what? It was my idea.”
“No, no, no. You’re supposed to say it was all a terrible mistake. You got carried away. You don’t know what got into you. Now you feel rotten and cheap and used, and you want to rush home to your husband.”
“Actually I feel pretty terrific.”
“Me, too.” Augustine kissed her. “Forgive me, but I was raised Catholic. I can’t be sure I’ve had fun unless I feel guilty afterwards.”
“Oh, it’s guilt you’re talking about? Sure I feel guilty. So should you, allowing yourself to be seduced by a newlywed.” She stood up and stretched her arms. “However, Senor Herrera, there’s a big difference between guilt and remorse. I don’t feel any remorse.”
Augustine said, “Me, neither. And I feel guilty that I don’t.”
Bonnie whooped and climbed on his back. They rolled to the ground in an amorous tangle.
Skink came out of the thicket and smiled. “Animals!” he bellowed, evangelically. “No better than animals, rutting in public!”