Amber declined an offer to inspect the evidence. Shiner shrunk away in embarrassment.
"You shot a mean ole bunny rabbit." Chub, with a sneer. "Or maybe a killer mouse."
Amber rose. Chub asked where she was going.
"To get some sleep. You mind?" She walked to the lean-to and lay down beneath the tarp.
Chub said, "We got us a Girl Scout. She made her own tent."
Bode told Shiner to go back out in the boat. "I need to talk to Major Chub alone."
"Don't call me that," Chub grumped. The camos looked absurd; the cuffs were six inches short, and the seat was about to rip out of the trousers. Yet he couldn't work up much indignation, he was still so high from the marine glue. He announced he was beat and headed for the lean-to to join his dream girl.
Bode intercepted him. "Not right now." Then, under his breath: "You got the tickets, right?"
"Yeah. Somewheres." Chub gingerly probed at his nose, which felt scalded on the inside. "I think they's still in the boat."
"You think?"
Wordlessly Shiner did what he was told. He stretched out next to Amber, whose lovely eyes were closed. The wind had dropped off noticeably, and the rain had waned to an irregular drizzle that made whispers on the oilskin. Shiner was half dozing when he heard Amber's voice:
"It's going to be OK."
"I don't think so."
"Don't underestimate yourself," she told him.
Nothing could have puzzled Shiner more.
They waited until the kid and the waitress were asleep before checking the Reel Luv.The lottery tickets were safe in the console. Bodean Gazzer returned the precious condom to his wallet. Chub rolled up the other ticket, the stolen one, and slipped it into an empty bullet chamber in the .357. He laughed dopily at his own cleverness.
"Bang bang," he said.
Bode was buoyed by the sight of Chub in camouflage, even if it wasn't a tailored fit. At least they were finally dressed like an honest-to-God militia; Bode, Chub, Amber and Shiner.
Shiner, God Almighty ...
They'd lucked out again. Thanks to the heavy weather, nobody seemed to have heard the kid's reckless shooting or the girl's scream. No planes or boats had come out to the island to investigate. The group's secret position seemed safe, for now.
Bode said to Chub: "The dumb fuckup, he's gonna get us killed."
"No shit."
"I say we cut him loose."
"You got my vote."
They agreed Shiner had outlived his usefulness to the White Clarion Aryans. While he'd faithfully backed up their story for the Lotto scam and delivered Amber to Jewfish Creek as ordered, he had become a security risk. It was only a matter of time before he'd blow away one of them by mistake.
"Maybe even the girl," Chub said, though in truth he was more worried about Shiner putting the moves on Amber than shooting her. Not that she'd ever sleep with a zit-faced skinhead, but she did seem awful protective of the kid. Chub didn't go for that one bit.
He said, "We kick him out, he's like to rat on us. How 'bout we kill him."
Bode flatly said no. "I'll never shoot no Christian white man, I can help it."
"Then let's pay the fucker off."
"How much?"
"I dunno. A grand?" Glue fumes always made Chub generous.
Bode Gazzer said, "You gotta be jokin.' "
A thousand dollars wouldn't put a ding in the $28 million, but it was still too much money for a half-wit. Especially since Bode still suspected Shiner as a possible leak in the organization. What if the kid was working undercover for the Black Tide? What if the nutball shooting sprees were an act and he was actually using the guns to signal the Negroes? Bode had no proof, but the doubts nagged at him like an itch.
He said, "How about this: A thousand bucks, less what it costs for a new quarter panel on my pickup. On account a the bullet holes he made."
"Fair by me. Tell him he gets his money soon as we get ours," Chub said, "long as he keeps his trap shut."
The decision was made to inform Shiner of his expulsion first thing in the morning. Chub would transport him by boat to the Overseas Highway, where he could hitch a ride up to Homestead and retrieve his car.
"Meanwhiles I can pick up s'more beer," Chub said.
"Cigarets, too. And ice." And A1 sauce for my scrambly eggs."
Bode Gazzer said, "I better make a list."
"You do that now."
Chub took out the grocery bag containing the tube of marine adhesive. He squeezed out a moist curlicue and offered a hit to Bode, who declined. Chub buried his face in the bag and luxuriantly sucked in the vapors.
Bode said, "Easy."
Chub whooped. He had a rubber patch stuck on one eye and a rotting crab claw poking through one hand, and still he felt fucking wonderful. He wasn't the least tiny bit worried about the Black Tide or NATO or the Tri-fucking-Lateral Commission, no siree. Nobody was gonna find 'em out here on this faraway island, not even the trickiest niggers. It was OK to get wasted tonight because him and Bode was white and free and well-armed, and best of all they was goddamn m-millionaires.
"You imagine?" Chub wheezed with glee.
Bode refrained from reminding him that the lottery proceeds were to be used strictly for militia building. There would be a better time for that conversation.
"Little Amber," Chub was saying. "You shoulda seed her face when I tole her about the money. All of a sudden she wants to go for a walk in the woods tomorrow, just her and me."
"Aw, shit," Bode said. He should've seen it coming. "What all did you tell her?"
"Only that I's worth fourteen million dollars. You might say it changed her opinion a me."
So would a bath, Bode thought.
"That look she give me," Chub went on dreamily, "like she could suck a golf ball through a garden hose."
"Careful what you say to her. Understand?"
With a hiccup Chub thrust the paper bag to his face.
"Knock that shit off!" Bode said. "Now listen: Pussy's fine, but there's a time and a place. Right now we're in a battle for the heart and soul of America!"
Chub made a noise like a tire going flat. "Hilton Head," he rasped euphorically.
"What?"
"I wanna buy Amber and me a condo up at Hilton Head. That's a island, too, and it beats the hell outta thisone."
"You serious?"
But later, after Chub had nodded off, Bode Gazzer caught himself warming to his partner's fantasy. Strolling a sunny Carolina beach with a half-naked Hooters girl on your arm sounded much more appealing than sharing a frigid concrete pillbox with a bunch of hairy white guys in Idaho.
Bode couldn't help wondering what Amber's attitude toward him might be if she knew that he, too, was about to become a tycoon.
22
When JoLayne Lucks woke up, Tom Krome was sighting the shotgun across his kneecaps. That's when she realized the screaming wasn't part of a dream.
"What do you see?" she asked in a low voice. "Honey, don't forget the safety."
"It's off." He squinted down the barrel, waiting. "Did you hear the shots?"
"How many?"
"Five or six. Like a machine gun."
JoLayne wondered if the rednecks shot the waitress. Or possibly they shot each other while fighting overthe waitress.
As long as the waitress didn't shoot them.Not until I get my Lotto ticket back, JoLayne thought.
Tom said, "Listen!"
His shoulders tightened; he moved his finger on the trigger.
JoLayne heard it, too in the woods, something running.
"Wait, it's small." She touched Tom's elbow. "Don't fire."
The rustling got closer, changed direction. Krome followed the noise with the barrel of the Remington. The movement came to a halt behind an ancient buttonwood trunk.
JoLayne grabbed the flashlight and crawled out of the makeshift blanket. She said, "Don't you go shooting me by accident. I blend in pretty good with the night."