Stormy Weather

The governor yanked the Bill Blass suitcase from under his butt. He positioned it in front of Snapper and opened it with a gay flourish. "Drool away," he said.

Snapper rose to his haunches. The suitcase was packed with money: bank-wrapped bundles of twenties.

"Ninety-four thousand dollars," Skink reported.

"Plus assorted shirts, socks and casual wear. Two packs of French condoms, a set of gold cuff links, a tube of generic lubricant-what else? Oh yes, personal papers."

He probed in the luggage. "Bank statements, newspaper clippings about the hurricane. And this ..."

It was a glossy color sales brochure for a real estate project called Gables-on-the-Bay. Skink sat next to Snapper and opened the brochure.

"There's our boy. Christophe Michel. 'Internationally renowned construction engineer.' See, here's his picture."

Snapper recognized him as the dork at the Circle K.

"What would you do," Skink mused, "if you designed all these absurdly expensive homes-and they fell down in the first big blow. I believe a smart person would grab the money and split, before subpoenas started flying. I believe that was Monsieur Michel's plan."

Snapper didn't give two shits about the Frenchman. He was transfixed by the sight of so much money. He would have gaped rapturously even if his jaws weren't bolted open. He remembered a Sally Jessy, or maybe it was a Donahue, with some hotel maid from Miami Beach who'd found like forty-two grand under a bed. The maid, for some reason, instead of grabbing the dough she'd turned it in to the manager! That's how come she'd got on Sally Jessy; the theme that day was "honest people." Snapper remembered shouting at the TV screen: What a dumb cunt! They'd showed a picture of the cash, and he'd almost come in his pants.

And here he was staring at twice as much. In person.

"Whhrrrrooog

"Good question, Lester."

Without warning, the one-eyed freak stood up, unbuttoned his army trousers, whipped out his unit and-to Snapper's mortification-urinated prodigiously upon the hurricane money.

Woefully Snapper rocked on his heels. He felt sick. Skink tucked himself in and went for the monkey rifle. He opened the chamber, peered inside. Then he strolled over to Snapper, flipped him on his belly and shot a tranquilizer dart into his ass. Right away the fog rolled in and Snapper got drowsy. The last thing he heard came from Skink.

"Who wants to go for a swim?"

Bo

As he stepped into the water, she said: "What about the crocodiles?"

"They won't bother us. There aren't enough of them left to bother anybody. I wish there were."

Serenely he sank beneath the surface, then burst into the air, shaking bubbles and spray from his beard. He was as brown as a manatee, and so large he seemed to bridge the creek. Edie was unprepared for the sight of his body: the lodgepole arms and broad chest, his bare neck as thick as a cypress trunk. The baggy army fatigues had given none of it away.

"Coming in?"

"Only if we can talk," she said.

"What else would we do?"

Edie thought: There's that damn smile again. She asked him to turn around while she took off her clothes.

He heard her slip into the creek. Then he felt her slender arms and legs; she was clinging to his back. As he moved into deeper water, she wrapped herself around his thighs.

"I'm a little scared," she said.

"Haw! You and I are the scariest beasts in the jungle."

Edie's mouth was at his ear. "I want to go back to Miami."

"So go."

"But I don't know the way out."

The governor was treading against the push of a strong tidal current. It cleaved around their bobbing heads as if they were dead stumps in the creek.

Edie's breath quickened from the thrill of being in fast water. She said, "From the minute you and Pol-lya

"Nature imposes hierarchy. Always," Skink said.

Edie, in a taut whisper: "Please. Show me the way out of here."

"And I was so sure you'd be angling for that suitcase."

"No way," she said, although it fleetingly had crossed her mind. Instead she'd decided to concentrate on getting out of the Keys alive.

A small silver fish jumped nearby. Playfully Skink swiped at it. He said, "Edie, your opinion of men-it's not good. That much we share. Christ, imagine what Florida would look like today if women had been in charge of the program! Imagine a beach or two with no ugly high-rises. Imagine a lake without golf courses." He clapped his hands, making a merry splash.

Edie said, "You're wrong."

"Darling, I can dream." He felt her lips feather against his neck. Then a tongue, followed by the unsub-tle suggestion of a nibble. He said, "And what was that?"

"What do you think."

When she kissed him again, they went down. The saltiness burned her eyes, but she opened them anyway. He was smiling at her, blowing bubbles. They surfaced together and laughed. Carefully she repositioned herself, climbing around him as if he were a tree-hanging from his rock-hard forearms and shoulders, bracing her knees against his hipbones as she swung to the front. All the time she felt him easing toward a shallower spot in the creek, so he could stand while holding her.

Now they were eye-to-eye, green water foaming up between them. Edie said, "Well?"

"Weren't you the one worried about crocodiles?"

"He'd have to eat both of us, wouldn't he?"

"At the moment, yes."

"That means he'd have to be awfully big and hungry."

Skink said, "We should be quiet, just in case. Certain noises do attract them." He sounded serious.

"How quiet?" Lightly she brushed her nipples along the lines of his ribs.

"Very quiet. Not a sound."

"That's impossible." She felt his hands on the curve of her bottom. He was lifting her, keeping her in a gentle suspension. Then he was inside her. Just like that.