Stormy Weather

At midnight Augustine heard a cry from the guest room. He correctly surmised that Mrs. Lamb had discovered his skull collection. He found her sitting up, the covers pulled to her chin. She was gazing at the wall.

"I thought it was a dream," she said.

"Please don't be afraid."

"Are they real?"

"Friends send them to me," Augustine said, "from abroad, mostly. One was a Christmas present from a fishing guide in Islamorada." He wasn't sure what Bo

"Body parts?"

"Not fresh ones-artifacts. Believe it or not, a good skull is hard to come by."

That was the line that usually sent them bolting for the door. Bo

"Can I look?"

Augustine took one from a shelf. She inspected it casually, as if it were a cantaloupe in a grocery store. Augustine smiled; he liked this lady.

"Male or female?" Bo

"Male, late twenties, early thirties. Guyanese, circa 1940. Came from a medical school in Texas."

Bo

Lifting it by the eye sockets, Bo

"Nineteen."

She whistled. "And how many are women?"

"None," said Augustine. "They're all young males. So you've got nothing to worry your pretty head about."

She rolled her eyes at the joke, then asked: "Why all males?"

"To remind me of my own mortality."

Bo

"Other times," Augustine said, "when I'm sure my life has gone to hell, I come in here and think about what happened to these poor bastards. It improves my outlook considerably."

She said, "Well, that makes about as much sense as everything else. Can I take a shower?"

Later, over coffee, he told her what the FBI man had said. "They'll treat your husband's disappearance as a kidnapping when there's a credible ransom demand. And he stressed the word 'credible.'"

"But what about the message on the machine? That other man's voice cutting in?"

"Of course they'll listen to it. But I've got to warn you, they're shorthanded right now. Lots of agents got hit hard by the storm, so they're out on personal leave."

Bo

Bo

Augustine said, "I meant we can't rule out anything."

"But you heard that man on the answering machine!"

"Yeah, and I'm wondering why a serious kidnapper would be such a smartass. 'Don't flatter yourself, Max.' And then the guy gets on the line and says, 'I love you, Bo

Bo

"Exactly. The guy's either incredibly stupid, or he's got brass balls—"

"Or he just doesn't care," Bo

"You picked up on that, too."

"It's scary."

Augustine said, "I'm not so sure."

"Don't start again. Max is not faking this!"

"That stuff about having you call Pete at Rodale, the Bronco billboard-was he talking in code or what? Because some maniac kidnaps me, the last thing I'm worried about is keeping up with my ad accounts. What I'm worried about is saving my hide."

Bo

Augustine pushed back from the table. Normally he wasn't wild about women who punched for no good reason.

"What do we do now?" She held the cup with both hands, shaking slightly. "You heard the man's tone."

"Yeah, I did."

"Let's agree he's not your average kidnapper. What is he?"

Augustine shook his head. "How would I know, Mrs. Lamb?"

"It's Bo

Augustine emptied his coffee in the sink. "I think we both need some sleep."

On the way back to Tony Torres's house, Edie Marsh asked Snapper if he had a stopwatch.

"Why?"

"Because I want to put a clock on this jerk," she said, "see how long it takes before he tries to screw me."

Snapper, who had daydreamed of doing the same thing, said: "I give him two days before he makes a move.

"I give him two hours," Edie said. "So what'll you do? Ten grand's ten grand." Edie said, "You better be joking. I'd shove hot daggers in my eyes before I'd let that pig touch me." It was a long bleak slide from dating a Ke

"What if he don't let up?" asked Snapper.

"Then I walk."

"Yeah, but—"

"Hey," Edie said, "you want the money so bad, you fuck him, OK? I think the two of you'd make a very cute couple."

Snapper didn't press the issue. He'd already hatched a backup plan, in case the Torres deal fell apart. Avila was in a happy mood when he'd called the motel. Apparently the santeria saints had informed him he could become very rich by starting his own roofing business. The saints had pointed out that the hurricane left two hundred thousand people without shelter, and that many of these poor folks were so desperate to get their houses repaired that they wouldn't think of asking to see a valid contractor's license, which of course Avila did not possess.