Stormy Weather

Even when she was sober, condoms made Edie laugh. When drunk she found them downright hilarious, the silliest contraptions imaginable. For tonight Fred Dove had boldly chosen a red one, and Edie was no help whatsoever in putting it on. Neither, for that matter, was Fred. Edie's tittering had pretty well shattered the mood, undoing all the good work of the wine.

Flat on his back, the insurance man turned his head away. Edie Marsh slapped his legs apart and knelt between them. "Don't you quit on me," she scolded. "Pay attention, sweetie. Come on." Firmly she took hold of him.

"Could you just-?"

"No." It was always bad form to giggle in the middle of a blow job, and Fred Dove was the sort who'd never recover, emotionally. "Focus," she instructed him. "Remember how good it was last night."

Edie had gotten the condom partially deployed when she heard the electric generator cut off. Out of fuel, she figured. It could wait; Fred Jr was showing signs of life.

She heard a soft click, and suddenly the insurance man's festively crowned penis was illuminated in a circle of bright light. Edie Marsh let go and sat upright. Fred Dove, his eyes shut tightly in concentration, said, "Don't stop now."

In the front doorway stood a man with a powerful flashlight.

"Candles," he said. "That's real fuckin' cozy."

Fred Dove's chest stopped moving, and one hand fumbled for his eyeglasses. Edie Marsh got up and folded her arms across her breasts. She said, "Thanks for knocking, asshole."

"I came back for my car." Snapper played the light up and down her body.

"It's in the driveway, right where you left it."

"What's the hurry," said Snapper, stepping into the house.

Bo

She whispered, "Are you sleeping?"

"Like a log."

"Sorry."

He rolled over to face her. "You need a pillow?"

"I need a hug."

"Bad idea."

"Why?"

"I'm slightly on the naked side. I wasn't expecting company."

"Apology number two," she said.

"Close your eyes, Mrs. Lamb." He got up and pulled on a pair of loose khakis. No shirt, she observed, unalarmed. He slipped under the covers and held her.

His skin was warm and smooth against her cheek, and when he moved she felt a taut, shifting wedge of muscle. Max's physical topography was entirely different, but Bo

She asked Augustine if he'd ever been married. He said no.

"Engaged?"

"Three times."

Bo

"Unfortunately not." In the artificial twilight, Augustine saw she was smiling. "This amuses you?"

"Intrigues me," she said. "Three times?"

"They all came to their senses."

"We're talking about three different women. No repeats?"

"Correct," said Augustine.

"I've got to ask what happened. You don't have to answer, but I've got to ask."

"Well, the first one married a successful personal-injury lawyer-he's doing class-action breast-implant litigation; the second one started an architecture firm and is currently a mistress to a Venezuelan cabinet minister; and the third one is starring on a popular Cuban soap opera-she plays Miriam, the jealous schizophrenic. So I would say," Augustine concluded, "that each of them made a wise decision by ending our relationship."

Bo

"Hey, it's only money."

"And you still watch the soap opera, don't you?"

"She's quite good in it. Very convincing."

Bo

"You feeling better? My personal problems always seem to cheer people up."

She put her head down. "I'm worried about tomorrow, about seeing Max again."

Augustine told her it was normal to be nervous. "I'm a little antsy myself."

"Will you bring the gun?"

"Let's play it by ear." He seriously doubted if the governor would appear, much less deliver Bo

"Are you scared?" When she spoke, he could feel her soft breath on his chest.

"Restless," he said, "not scared."

"Hey."

"Hey what?"

"You getting excited?"

Augustine shifted in embarrassment. What did she expect? He said, "My turn to apologize."

But she didn't move. So he took a slow quiet breath and tried to focus on something else ... say, Uncle Felix's fugitive monkeys. How far had they scattered? How were they coping with freedom?

Augustine's self-imposed pondering was interrupted when Bo

Augustine thought: Something's happened, all right. You can damn sure bet on it.

But what he told Bo

CHAPTER TWELVE

Skink said, "Care for some toad?"

The shock collar had done its job; Max Lamb was unconditionally conditioned. If the captain wanted him to smoke toad, he would smoke toad.

"It's an offer, not a command," Skink said, by way of clarification.

"Then no, thanks."

Max Lamb squinted into the warm salty night. Somewhere out there, Bo