Stormy Weather

But he didn't. He kept taping, becoming more and more excited, until Bo

In one gutted house she spotted an old woman, her mother's age, stepping through splintered bedroom furniture. The woman was calling the name of a pet kitten, which had disappeared in the storm. Bo

Later, resolved to confront her husband, Bo

Two hours passed with no sign of Max, and Bo

Another squall came, and Bo

She saw the helicopters wheeling overhead, heard the chorus of sirens in the distance, yet on the streets of the neighborhood there were no policemen, no soldiers, no proper authority to which a missing husband could be reported. Exhausted, Bo

She lay there stu

"Let me help," he said.

Bo

The man was in his early thirties, with good shoulders and ta

"Do you live around here?" she asked.

The man shook his head. "Coral Gables."

"Is the gun loaded?"

"Sort of," the man said, without elaborating.

"My name is Bo

"I'm Augustine."

"What are you doing out here?" she asked.

"Believe it or not," he said, "I'm looking for my monkeys."

Bo

Max Lamb woke up with a headache that was about to get worse. He found himself stripped to his underwear and bound to a pine tree. The tall man with the glass eye, the man who'd snatched him off the street as if he were a wayward toddler, was thrashing and flopping in a leafy clearing by the campfire. When the impressive seizure ended, the kidnapper gathered himself in a lotus position. Max Lamb noticed a thick black collar around the man's neck. In one hand he held a shiny cylinder that reminded Max of a remote control for a model car. The cylinder had a short rubber ante

The one-eyed man was mumbling: "Too much juice, too much..." He wore a cheap plastic shower cap on his head. Max would have assumed he was a street person, except for the teeth; the kidnapper displayed outstanding orthodontics.

He seemed unaware that his captive was observing him. Deliberately the man extended both legs to brace himself, inhaled twice deeply, then pushed a red burton on the remote-control cylinder. Instantly his body began to jerk like an enormous broken puppet. Max Lamb watched helplessly as the stranger writhed through the leaves toward the fire. His boots were in the flames when the fit finally ended. Then the man rose with a startling swiftness, stomping his huge feet until the soles cooled.

One hand went to his neck. "By God, that's better."

Max Lamb concluded it was a nightmare, and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, much later, he saw that the campfire was freshly stoked. The one-eyed kidnapper crouched nearby; now his neck was bare. He was feeding Oreo cookies to the larcenous monkey, which appeared to be regaining its health. Max was more certain than ever that what he'd witnessed earlier was a dream. He felt ready to assert himself.

"Where's my camera?" he demanded.

The kidnapper stood up, laughing through his wild beard. "Perfect," he said. "'Where's my camera?' That's just perfect."

In a hazardously patronizing tone, Max Lamb said: "Let me go, pardner. You don't really want to go to jail, do you?"

"Ha," the stranger said. He reached for the shiny black cylinder.

A bolt of fire passed through Max Lamb's neck. He shuddered violently and gulped for breath. His tongue tasted of hot copper. Crimson spears of light punctured the night. Max warbled in fear.

"Shock collar," the kidnapper explained, u

Max felt it now, stiff leather against the soft skin of his throat.

"State of the art," said the stranger. "You a bird hunter?"

Max mouthed the word "no."

"Well, trust me. Field trainers swear by these gizmos. Dogs get the message real quick, even Labs." The stranger twirled the remote control like a baton. "Me, I couldn't put one of these on an animal. Fact, I couldn't even try it on you without testing it myself. That's what a big old softy I am."