Native Tongue Part 52

"No singing," Carrie said, picking up the pace. "They've got newspapers in Orlando, don't they?"

"Oh no, you don't."

"It'd be good for you, Joe. Write about the important things, whatever p.i.s.ses you off. Just write something. Otherwise you'll make me crazy, and I'll wind up killing you in your sleep."

The Card Sound Bridge rose steeply ahead. A handful of crabbers and snapper fishermen sleepily tended slack lines. Joe and Carrie took the sidewalk. For some reason she stopped and gave him a long kiss.

Halfway up the rise, she tugged on his hand and told him to turn around.

There it was: the eastern sky aglow, fat clouds roiling unnaturally under a pulsing halo of wild pink and orange. Baleful columns of tarry smoke rose from the Amazing Kingdom of Thrills.

Joe Winder whistled in amazement. "There's arson," he said, "and then there's arson."

Bud Schwartz and Danny Pogue were surprised to find Molly McNamara wide awake, propped up with a stack of thin hospital pillows. She was brus.h.i.+ng her snowy hair and reading the New Republic when the burglars arrived.

"Pacemaker," Molly reported. "A routine procedure."

"You look so good," said Danny Pogue. "Bud, don't she look good?"

"Hush now," Molly said. "Sit down here, the news is coming on. There's a story you'll both find interesting." Without being asked, Danny Pogue switched the television to Channel 10, Molly's favorite.

Bud Schwartz marveled at the old woman in bed. Days earlier, she had seemed so weak and withered and close to death. Now the gray eyes were as sharp as a hawk's, her cheeks shone, and her voice rang strong with maternal authority.

She said, "Danny, did you get the bullets?"

"Yes, ma'am." He handed Molly the yellow box.

"These are.22-longs," she said. "I needed shorts. That's what the gun takes."

Danny Pogue looked lamely toward his partner. Bud Schwartz said, "Look, we just asked for.22s. The guy didn't say nothin" about long or short."

"It's all right," Molly McNamara said. "I'll pick up a box at the range next week."

"We don't know diddly about guns," Danny Pogue reiterated. "Neither of us do."

"I know, and I think it's precious." Molly put on her rose-framed gla.s.ses and instructed Bud Schwartz to adjust the volume on the television. A nurse came in to check the dressing on Molly's st.i.tches, but Molly shooed her away. She pointed at the TV and said, "Look here, boys."

The news opened with videotape of a colossal raging fire. The scene had been recorded at a great distance, and from a helicopter. When the TV reporter announced what was burning, the burglars simultaneously looked at one another and mouthed the same profane exclamation.

"Yes," Molly McNamara said rapturously. "Yes, indeed."

Danny Pogue felt mixed emotions as he watched the Amazing Kingdom burn. He recalled the gaiety of the promenade, the friendliness of the animal characters, the circus colors and bra.s.sy music, the wondrous sensation of being inundated with fun. Then he thought of Francis X. Kingsbury killing off the b.u.t.terflies and crocodiles, and the conflagration seemed more like justice than tragedy.

Bud Schwartz was equally impressed by the destruction of the theme parka"not as a moral lesson, but as a feat of brazen criminality. The torch artist had been swift and thorough; the place was engulfed in roaring, implacable flames, and there was no saving it. The man on TV said he had never witnessed such a fierce, fast-moving blaze. Bud Schwartz felt relieved and lucky and wise.

"And you wanted to stay," he said to Danny Pogue. "You wanted to ride the Jungle Jerry again."

Danny Pogue nodded solemnly and slid the chair close to the television. "We could be dead," he murmured.

"Fried," said his partner. "Fried clams."

"Hush now," Molly said. "There's no call for melodrama."

She announced that she wasn't going to ask why they'd gone to the Amazing Kingdom that night. "I don't like to pry," she said. "You're grown men, you've got your own lives."

Danny Pogue said, "It wasn't us who torched the place."

Molly McNamara smiled as if she already knew. "How's your foot, Danny?"

"It don't hardly hurt at all."

Then to Bud Schwartz: "And your hand? Is it better?"

"Gettin" there," he said, flexing the fingers.

Molly removed her gla.s.ses and rested her head against the pillows. "Nature is a wonder," she said. "Such power to renew, or to destroy. It's an awesome paradox."

"A what?" said Danny Pogue.

Molly told them to think of the fire as a natural purge, a cyclical scouring of the land. Bud Schwartz could hardly keep a straight face. He jerked his chin toward the flickering images on television, and said, "So maybe it's spontaneous combustion, huh? Maybe a bolt a lightning?"

"Anything's possible," Molly said with a twinkle. She asked Danny Pogue to switch to the Discovery Channel, which just happened to be showing a doc.u.mentary about endangered Florida manatees. A mating scene was in progress as Danny Pogue adjusted the color tint.

Not tonight, thought Bud Schwartz, and got up to excuse himself.

Molly said, "There's a Dodgers game on ESPN. You can watch across the hall in Mr. McMillan's rooma"he is in what they call a nonresponsive state, so he probably won't mind."

"Swell," Bud Schwartz muttered. "Maybe we'll go halfsies on a keg."

Danny Pogue heard none of this; he was already glued to the tube. Bud Schwartz pointed at his partner and grinned. "Look what you done to him."

Molly McNamara winked. "Go on now," she said. "I think Ojeda's pitching."

Trooper Jim Tile braked sharply when he saw the three green Jeeps. The wildlife officers had parked in a precise triangle at the intersection of Card Sound Road and County 905.

"We'll be out of the way in a minute," said Sergeant Mark Dyerson.

The rangers had gathered between the trucks in the center of the makes.h.i.+ft triangle. Jim Tile joined them. He noticed dogs pacing in the back of one of the Jeeps.

"Look at this," Sergeant Dyerson said.

In the middle of the road, illuminated by headlights, was a battered red collar. Jim Tile crouched to get a closer look.

"Our transmitter," the ranger explained. Imprinted on the plastic was the name Telonics MOD-500."

"What happened?" Jim Tile asked.

"The cat tore it off. Somehow."

"That's one tough animal."

"It's a first," Sergeant Dyerson said. "We've never had one that could bust the lock on the buckle."

Another officer asked, "What now?" It was the wretched plea of a man being devoured by insects.

"If the cat wants out this bad," said Sergeant Dyerson, "I figure we'll let him be."

From the south came the oscillating whine of a fire truck. Sergeant Dyerson retrieved the broken panther collar and told his men to move the Jeeps off the road. Minutes later, a hook-and-ladder rig barreled past.

Jim Tile mentioned that the theme park was on fire.

"It's breaking my heart," Sergeant Dyerson said. He handed the trooper a card. "Keep an eye out. My home number is on the back."

Jim Tile said, "All my life, I've never seen a panther."

"You probably never will," said the ranger, "and that's the crime of it." He tossed the radio collar in the back of the truck and slid behind the wheel.

"Not all the news is bad," he said. "Number Nine's got a litter of kittens over in the Fokahatchee."

"Yeah?" Jim Tile admired the wildlife officer's outlook and dedication. He was sorry his old friend had caused the man so much trouble and confusion. He said, "So this is all you doa"track these animals?"

"It's all I do," Sergeant Dyerson said.

To Jim Tile it sounded like a fine job, and an honorable one. He liked the notion of spending all day in the deep outdoors, away from the homicidal ma.s.ses. He wondered how difficult it would be to transfer from the highway patrol to the Game and Fish.

"Don't you worry about this cat," he told Sergeant Dyerson.

"I worry about all of them."

"This one'll be all right," the trooper said. "You've got my word."

As soon as he spotted the police car, Joe told Carrie to hike up her gown and run. She followed him down the slope of the bridge and into a mangrove creek.

Breathlessly they clung to the slippery roots; only their heads stayed dry.

"Don't move," Joe Winder said.

"There's a June bug in your ear."

"Yes, I'm aware of that." He quietly dunked his face, and the beetle was swept away by the milky-blue current.

She said, "May I raise the subject of snakes?"

"We're fine." He wrapped his free arm around her waist, to hold her steady against the tide. "You're certainly being a good sport about all this," he said.

"Will you think about Orlando?"

"Sure." It was the least he could do.

The metronomic blink of the blue lights grew stronger, and soon tires crunched the loose gravel on the road; the siren died with a tremulous moan.

Winder chinned up on a mangrove root for a better view. He saw a highway patrol cruiser idling at an angle on the side of the road. The headlights dimmed, and the trooper honked three times. They heard a deep voice, and Winder recognized it: Jim Tile.

"We lucked out," he said to Carrie. "Come on, that's our ride." They climbed from the creek and sloshed out of the mangroves. Before reaching the road, they heard another man's voice and the slam of a door.

Then the patrol car started to roll.

Joe Winder sprinted ahead, waving both arms and shouting for the trooper to stop. Jim Tile calmly swerved around him and, by way of a farewell, flicked his lights as he drove past.

Winder clutched his aching rib cage and cursed spiritedly at the speeding police car. Carrie joined him on the centerline, and together they watched the flas.h.i.+ng blue lights disappear over the crest of the Card Sound Bridge.

"Everyone's a comedian," Joe Winder said.

"Didn't you see who was in the back seat?"

"I didn't see a d.a.m.n thing."

Carrie laughed. "Look what he threw out the window." She held up a gooey stick of insect repellent. The top-secret military formula.

"Do me first," she said. "Every square inch."

EPILOGUE.

A team of police divers recovered the body of PEDRO LUZ from the whale tank at the Amazing Kingdom of Thrills. The Monroe County medical examiner ruled drowning as the official cause of death, although the autopsy revealed "minor bite marks, contusions and chafing of a s.e.xual nature."

JAKE HARP recovered from his gunshot wound and rejoined the professional golfing circuit, although he never regained champions.h.i.+p form. His next best finish was a tie for 37th place at the Buick Open, and subsequently he set a modern PGA record by missing the cut in twenty-two consecutive tournaments. Eventually he retired to the Seniors' Tour, where he collapsed and died of a cerebral hemorrhage on the first hole of a sudden-death play-off with Billy Casper.

With his payoff money from the mob, BUD SCHWARTZ started a private security company that specializes in high-tech burglar-alarm systems for the home, car and office. Bearing a letter of recommendation from Molly McNamara, DANNY POGUE moved to Tanzania, where he is training to be a game warden at the Serengeti National Park.

After Francis X. Kingsbury's murder, AGENT BILLY HAWKINS was docked a week's pay, and given a written reprimand for taking an unauthorized leave of absence. A month later he was transferred to the FBI office in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. He endured one winter before resigning from the Bureau and returning to Florida as an executive consultant to Schwartz International Security Services Ltd.

NINA WHITMAN quit the phone-s.e.x syndicate after three of her poems were published in the New Yorker. A later collection of prose and short fiction was praised by Erica Jong as a "fresh and vigorous rea.s.sessment of the female s.e.xual dynamic." Shortly after receiving the first royalty statement from her publisher, Nina gave up poetry and moved to Westwood, California, where she now writes motion-picture screenplays. Her husband owns the second-largest Chevrolet dealers.h.i.+p in Los Angeles County.

The estate of FRANCIS X. KINGSBURY, aka FRANKIE KING, was sued by the Walt Disney Corporation for copyright infringement on the characters of Mickey and Minnie Mouse. The lawsuit was prompted by accounts of a p.o.r.nographic tattoo on the decedent's left forearm, as described by newspaper reporters attending the open-casket funeral. After deliberating only thirty-one minutes (and reviewing a coroner's photograph of the disputed etching), an Orlando jury awarded the Disney company $1.2 million in actual and punitive damages. PENNY KINGSBURY is appealing the decision.

CHARLES CHELSEA accepted a job as executive vice president of public relations for Monkey Mountain. Four months later, disaster struck when a c.o.ked-up podiatrist from Ann Arbor, Michigan, jumped a fence and attempted to leg-wrestle a male chacma baboon. The podiatrist was swiftly killed and dismembered, and the animal park was forced to close. Chelsea retired from the public-relations business, and is now said to be working on a novel with Gothic themes.

At his own request, TROOPER JIM TILE was rea.s.signed to Liberty County in the Florida Panhandle. With only 5.1 persons per square mile, it is the least densely populated region of the state.

d.i.c.kIE THE DOLPHIN survived the fire that destroyed the Amazing Kingdom of Thrills, and was temporarily relocated to a holding pen at an oceanfront hotel near Marathon. Seven months later, a bankruptcy judge approved the sale of the frisky mammal to a marine attraction in Hilton Head, South Carolina. No swimming is allowed in d.i.c.kie's new tank.

After the Amazing Kingdom closed, UNCLE ELY'S ELVES never worked together again. Veteran character actor MOE STRICKLAND branched into drama, taking minor roles in television soap operas before miraculously landing the part of Big Daddy in a Scranton dinner-theater production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. A freelance critic for the Philadelphia Inquirer described Strickland's performance as "gutsy and brooding."