It figures, thought Kingsbury. Your basic South Florida clientele.
The man said, "I felt kinda lousy, but what the hell. Opportunity knocks, right? I mean, since I had to be here anyway "
"Mr. Rossiter, do I look like a priest? All this stuff, I don't need to hear it "
"Hey, call me Lou," the man said, "and I'll call you Frankie." From his Sansibelt slacks he withdrew a .38-caliber pistol with a silencer.
Francis Kingsbury's cheeks went from pink to gray. "Don't tell me," he said.
"Yeah," said Lou, "can you believe it?"
THIRTY-SIX
Francis X. Kingsbury asked the hit man not to shoot.
"Save your breath," said Lou.
"But, look, a fantastic new world I built here. A place for little tykes, you saw for yourself roller coasters and clowns and talking animals. Petey Possum and so forth. I did all this myself."
"What a guy," said Lou.
Kingsbury was unaccustomed to such bald sarcasm. "Maybe I make a little dough off the operation, so what? Look at all the fucking happiness I bring people!"
"I enjoyed myself," Lou admitted. "My wife, she's crazy about the Twirling Teacups. She and her mother both. I almost spit up on the damn thing, to be honest, but my wife's got one a them cast-iron stomachs."
Kingsbury brightened. "The Twirling Teacups, I designed those myself. The entire ride from scratch."
"No shit?"
The hit man seemed to soften, and Kingsbury sensed an opening. "Look, I got an idea about paying back the Zubonis. It's a big construction deal, we're talking millions. They'd be nuts to pass it up can you make a phone call? Tell 'em it's once in a lifetime."
Lou said, "Naw, I don't think so."
"Florida waterfront that's all you gotta say. Florida fucking waterfront, and they'll be on the next plane from Newark, I promise."
"You're a good salesman," said the hit man, "but I got a contract."
Kingsbury nudged the plaid travel bag across the desk. "My old lady, she wanted me to go on a trip Europe, the whole nine yards. I was thinking why not, just for a couple months. She's never been there."
Lou nodded. "Now's a good time to go. The crowds aren't so bad."
"Anyhow, I emptied the cash registers after the parade." Kingsbury patted the travel bag. "This is just from ticket sales, not concessions, and still you're talking three hundred and forty thousand. Cash-ola."
"Yeah? That's some vacation, three hundred forty grand."
"And it's all yours if you forget about the contract."
"Hell," said Lou, "it's mine if I don't."
Outside there was a bang, followed by a hot crackling roar. When Kingsbury spun his chair toward the window, his face was bathed in flickering yellow light.
"Lord," he said.
The Wet Willy was on fire hundreds of feet of billowed latex, squirming and thrashing like an eel on a griddle. White sparks and flaming bits of rubber hissed into the tropical sky, and came down as incendiary rain upon the Amazing Kingdom of Thrills. Smaller fires began to break out everywhere.
Francis Kingsbury shivered under his hairpiece.
Lou went to the window and watched the Wet Willy burn. "You know what it looks like?"
"Yes," Kingsbury said.
"A giant Trojan."
"I know."
"It ain't up to code, that's for sure. You must've greased some county inspectors."
"Another good guess," Kingsbury said. Why did the alarm cut off? he wondered. Where did all the firemen go?
Lou farted placidly as he walked back to the desk. "Well, I better get a move on."
Kingsbury tried to hand him the telephone. "Please," he begged, "call the Zuboni brothers."
"A deal's a deal," Lou said, checking the fit of the silencer.
"But you saw for yourself!" Kingsbury cried. "Another five years, goddamn, I'll be bigger than Disney."
Lou looked doubtful. "I wasn't gonna say anything, but what the hell. The car and the prizes are great, don't get me wrong, but the park's got a long ways to go."
Petulantly, Kingsbury said, "Fine, let's hear it."
"It's the bathrooms," said Lou. "The fuckin" Port Authority's got cleaner bathrooms."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, and it wouldn't hurt to keep an extra roll a toilet paper in the stalls."
"Is that it? That's your big gripe?"
Lou said, "People notice them things, they really do." Then he stepped toward Francis X. Kingsbury and raised the pistol.
Joe Winder led her through the dense hammock, all the way to the ocean's edge. It took nearly an hour because Carrie wore high heels. The gown kept snagging on branches, and the insects were murder.
"I'm down two pints," she said, scratching at her ankles.
"Take off the shoes. Hurry." He held her hand and waded into the water.
"Joe!" The gown rose up around her hips; the sequins sparkled like tiny minnows.
"How deep are we going?" she asked.
At first the turtle grass tickled her toes, then it began to sting. Winder kept walking until the water was up to his chest.
"See? No more bugs."
"You're full of tricks," Carrie said, clinging to his arm. From the flats it was possible to see the entire curving shore of the island, including the naked gash made by the bulldozers at Falcon Trace. She asked if the trees would ever come back.
"Someday," Joe Winder said, "if the bastards leave it alone."
Stretching toward the horizon was a ribbon of lights from the cars sitting bumper-to-bumper on County Road 905 the exodus of tourists from the Amazing Kingdom. Winder wondered if Skink had waited long enough to make his big move.
He listened for the distant sound of sirens as he moved through the shallows, following the shoreline south. The warm hug of the tide soothed the pain in his chest. He pointed at a pair of spotted leopard rays, pushing twin wakes.
"What else do you see?" Carrie said.
"Turtles. Jellyfish. A pretty girl with no shoes." He kissed her on the neck.
"How far can we go like this?" she asked.
"Big Pine, Little Torch, all the way to Key West if you want."
She laughed. "Joe, that's a hundred miles." She kicked playfully into the deeper water. "It feels so good."
"You sang beautifully tonight. Watch out for the coral."
When Carrie stood up, the water came to her chin. Blowing bubbles, she said, "I didn't know you liked opera."
"I hate opera," Winder said, "but you made it wonderful."
She splashed after him, but he swam away.
They didn't leave the ocean until the road was clear and the island was dark. They agreed it would be best to get out of Monroe County for a while, so they took Card Sound Road toward the mainland. The pavement felt cool under their feet. They wanted to hold hands, but it hampered their ability to defend themselves against the swarming mosquitoes. Every few minutes Winder would stop walking and check the sky for a change in the light. One time he was sure he heard a helicopter.
Carrie said, "What's your feeling about all this?"
"Meaning Kingsbury and the whole mess."
"Exactly."
"There's thousands more where he came from."
"Oh, brother," Carrie said. "I was hoping you'd gotten it all out of your system."
"Never," said Winder, "but I'm open to suggestions."
"All right, here's one: Orlando."
"God help us."
"Now wait a second, Joe. They're shooting commercials at those new studios up there. I've got my first audition lined up for next week."
"What kind of commercial?"
"The point is, it's national exposure."
"Promise me something," Winder said. "Promise it's not one of those personal-hygiene products."
"Fabric softener. The script's not bad, all things considered."
"And will there be singing?"
"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 pisses 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.