He strolled out to the pavilion, where he found a group of tourists milling around the empty mango-vole exhibit. A tarpaulin had been hung to cover the mess, but somebody had lifted a corner to peek inside the enclosure, which was littered with glass and smudged with fingerprint dust. A yellow police ribbon lay crumpled like a dead snake on the porch of the vole hutch. Some of the tourists were snapping pictures of the scene of the crime.
A voice behind Joe Winder said, "You work here?"
It was an old woman wearing a floppy pink Easter hat and a purse the size of a saddlebag. She eyed Joe Winder's ID badge, which was clipped to his belt.
"You a security man?" the woman asked.
Winder tried to remember what Chelsea had told him about speaking to park visitors; some gooey greeting that all employees were supposed to say. Welcome to the Amazing Kingdom. How can I help you? Or was it: How may I help you? No, that wasn't it. How can we help you?
Eventually Joe Winder said, "I work in Publicity. Is something wrong?"
The old lady made a clucking noise and foraged in her enormous purse. "I've got a little something for you."
In a helpful tone Winder said, "The Lost and Found is down by the killer-whale tank."
"This isn't lost and it isn't found." The old lady produced an envelope. "Here," she said, pressing it into Joe Winder's midsection. "And don't try to follow me."
She turned and scuttled off, one hand atop her head, holding the Easter hat in place. Winder stuffed the envelope into his pocket and started after her. "Hey! Wait a second."
He had taken only three steps when a fist came out of somewhere and smashed him behind the right ear. He pitched forward on the walkway, skidding briefly on his face. When he awoke, Joe Winder was staring at shoes: Reeboks, loafers, sandals, Keds, orthopedics, Hush Puppies, flip-flops. The tourists had gathered in a murmuring semicircle around him. A young man knelt at his side, asking questions in German.
Winder sat up. "Did anybody see who hit me?" His cheek stung, and he tasted Hood on his lower lip.
"Beeg orange!" sputtered a woman wearing two cameras around her neck. "Beeg orange man!"
"Swell," Winder said. "Did he have a cape? A ray gun?"
The young German tourist patted him on the shoulder and said: "You okay, ja?"
"Yah," Winder muttered. "Fall down go boom."
He picked himself up, waved idiotically at his audience and retreated to the men's room. There he tore open the old lady's envelope and studied the message, which was typed double-spaced on ordinary notebook paper. It said: "WE DID IT. WE'RE GLAD. LONG LIVE THE VOLES."
It was signed by the Wildlife Rescue Corps.
With copies, Joe Winder noted glumly, to every major news organization on the planet.
Bud Schwartz shook Danny Pogue awake and said, "Look who's here. I told you not to worry."
Molly McNamara was in the kitchen, fussing around. Danny Pogue was on the sofa in the living room. He had fallen asleep watching Lady Chatterley IV on Cinemax.
Bud Schwartz sat down, grinning. "She brought the money, too," he said.
"All of it?"
"No, just the grand. Like she said before."
"You mean the two grand," Danny Pogue said. "One for each of us." He didn't entirely trust his partner.
Bud Schwartz said, "Yeah, that's what I meant. A thousand bucks each."
"Then let's see it."
Molly came in, drying her hands on a flowered towel. She looked at Danny Pogue as if he were a dog that was supposed to stay off the good furniture. She said, "How's that foot?"
"Hurts." Danny Pogue frowned. "Hurts like a bitch."
"He's all out of them pills," added Bud Schwartz.
"Already?" Molly sounded concerned. "You finished the whole bottle?"
"Danny's got what you call a high resistance to pharmaceuticals," Bud Schwartz said. "We had to double the dose."
"Bull," said Danny Pogue. "Bud here just helped hisself."
"Is that true?" asked Molly McNamara. "Did you take some of your friend's pills?"
"Aw, come on," said Bud Schwartz. "Jesus Christ, there's nothing else to do around here. I was bored stiff."
"That was prescription medicine," Molly said sternly.
She went back to the kitchen and got her handbag. It was the largest handbag that Bud Schwartz or Danny Pogue had ever seen. Molly took out another plastic bottle of codeine pills and handed them to Danny Pogue. Then she took out her gun and shot Bud Schwartz once in the left hand.
He fell down, shaking his arm as if it were on fire.
In a whisper Danny Pogue said, "Oh Lord Jesus." He felt the blood flooding out of his brain, and saw the corners of the room get fuzzy.
Molly said, "Am I getting through to you fellows?" She returned the gun to her purse. "There will be no illegal drug activity in this condominium, is that clear? The owners' association has very strict rules. Here, take this." She handed Danny Pogue two packets of cash. Each packet was held together with a fresh bank wrapper.
"That's one thousand each, just like I promised," she said. Then, turning to Bud Schwartz: "Does it hurt?"
"The fuck do you think?" He was squeezing the wounded purple hand between his knees. "Damn right it hurts!"
"In that case, you may borrow your friend's pills. But only as needed." Then Molly McNamara put on her floppy pink Easter hat and said good night.
Nina was naked, kneeling on Joe Winder's back and rubbing his shoulders. "See, isn't this better than sex?"
"No," he said, into the pillow. "Good, but not better."
"It's my night off," Nina said. "All week long, all I do is talk about it."
"We don't have to talk," Joe Winder mumbled. "Let's just do."
"Joe, I need a break from it." She kneaded his neck so ferociously that he let out a cry. "You understand, don't you?"
"Sure," he said. It was the second time in a week that they'd had this conversation. Winder had a feeling that Nina was burning out on her job; practically nothing aroused her lately. All she wanted to do was sleep, and of course she talked in her sleep, said the most tantalizing things.
It was driving Joe Winder crazy. "I had a particularly lousy day," he said. "I was counting on you to wear me out."
Nina climbed off his back. "I love you," she said, slipping her long legs under the sheets, "but at this moment I don't have a single muscle that's the least bit interested."
This, from the same wonderful woman who once left fingernail grooves in the blades of a ceiling fan. Winder groaned in self-pity.
From the other side of the bed came Nina's delicious voice: "Tell me the weirdest thing that happened to you today."
It was a bedtime ritual, exchanging anecdotes about work. Joe Winder said: "Some creep claimed he found the missing voles, except they weren't voles. They were baby rabbits. He was trying to con us." Winder left out the grisly details.
"That's a tough one to beat," Nina remarked.
"Also, I got slugged in the head."
"Really?" she said. "Last night I had a caller jerk himself off in eleven seconds flat. Miriam said it might be a new world's record."
"You timed it?"
"Sort of." Playfully she reached between his legs and tweaked him. "Miriam has an official Olympic stopwatch."
"Nina, I want you to get another job. I'm serious."
She said, "That reminds me – some strange guy phoned for you this afternoon. A doctor from the park. He called twice."
"Koocher?"
"Yeah," said Nina. "Interesting name. Anyway, he made it sound important. I told him to try you at the office, but he said no. He wouldn't leave a message, either, just said he'd call back. The second time he said to tell you a man from Security was in the lab."