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sbury。
He said； 〃There's nothing we can do？ Just let him go ahead and murder off them butterflies and snails？〃 Molly had given him a magazine clipping about the rare tropical snails of Key Largo。
She said； 〃I didn't say we're giving up…〃
〃Because we should talk to Bud。 He〃ll think a something。〃
〃Every day we lose precious time；〃 Molly said。 〃Every day they're that much closer to pouring the concrete。〃
Danny Pogue nodded。 〃Let's talk to Bud。 Bud's sharp as a tack about stuff like this…〃
Molly stopped rocking and raised a hand。 〃I heard something； didn't you？〃
From the kitchen came muffled percussions of a struggle…men grunting； something heavy hitting a wall； a jar breaking。
Danny Pogue was shaking when he stood up。 The bum foot made him think twice about running。
〃Hand me the purse；〃 Molly said。 〃I'll need my gun。〃
But Danny Pogue was frozen to the pine floor。 His eyelids fluttered and his arms stiffened at his side。 All he could think was： Somebody's killing Bud！
〃Danny； did you hear me？ Get me my purse！〃
A block of orange appeared in the hallway。 It was a tall man in a bright rainsuit and a moldy…looking shower cap。 He had a damp silvery beard and black wraparound sunglasses and something red fastened to his neck。 The man carried Bud Schwartz in a casual way； one arm around the midsection。 Bud Schwartz was limp； gasping； flushed in the face。
Danny Pogue's tongue was as dry as plaster when the stranger stepped out of the shadow。
〃Oh； it's you；〃 Molly McNamara said。 〃Now be careful； don't hurt that young man。〃
The stranger dropped Bud Schwartz butt…first on the pine and said； 〃I caught him putting somebody's fingertip in a Mason jar。〃
〃I'm the one who told him to；〃 said Molly。 〃Now； Governor； you just settle down。〃
〃What happened to you？〃 the stranger demanded。 〃Who did this to you； Miss McNamara？〃
He took off the sunglasses and glared accusingly at Danny Pogue； who emitted a pitiful hissing noise as he shook his head。 Bud Schwartz； struggling to his feet； said： 〃It wasn't us； it was some damn Cuban。〃
〃Tell me a name；〃 said the stranger。
〃I don't know；〃 said Molly McNamara； 〃but I got a good bite out of him。〃
〃The finger；〃 Bud Schwartz explained； still gathering his breath。
The stranger knelt beside the rocking chair and gently examined the raw…looking cuts and bruises on Molly's face。 〃This is。。。intolerable。〃 He was whispering to himself and no one else。 〃This is barbarism。〃
Molly touched the visitor's arm and said； 〃I'll be all right。 Really。〃
Bud Schwartz and Danny Pogue had seen men like this only in prison； and not many。 Wild was the only way to describe the face。。。wild and driven and fearless； but not necessarily insane。 It would be foolish； perhaps even fatal； to assume the guy was spaced。
He turned to Bud Schwartz and said； 〃How about giving me that Cuban's nub。〃
〃I dropped it on the floor。〃 Bud Schwartz thought： Christ； he's not going to make me go pick it up； is he？
Danny Pogue said； 〃No sweat； I'll find it。〃
〃No；〃 said the man in the orange rainsuit。 〃I'll grab it on the way out。〃 He squeezed Molly's hands and stood up。 〃Will you be all right？〃
〃Yes； they're taking good care of me。〃
The stranger nodded at Bud Schwartz； who couldn't help but notice that one of the man's eyes was slipping out of the socket。 The man calmly reinserted it。
〃I didn't mean to hurt you；〃 he said to Bud Schwartz。 〃Well； actually； I did mean to hurt you。〃
Molly explained： 〃He didn't know you fellows were my guests； that's all。〃
〃I'll be in touch；〃 said the stranger。 He kissed Molly on the cheek and said he would check on her in a day or two。 Then he was gone。
Bud Schwartz waited until he heard the door slam。 Then he said： 〃What the hell was that？〃
〃A friend；〃 Molly replied。 They had known each other a long time。 She had worked as a volunteer in his gubernatorial campaign； whipping up both the senior…citizen vote and the environmental coalitions。 Later； when he quit office and vanished； Molly was one of the few who knew what happened； and one of the few who understood。 Over the years he had kept in touch in his own peculiar way…sometimes a spectral glimpse； sometimes a sensational entrance； jarring cameos that were as hair…raising as they were poignant。
〃Guy's big；〃 said Danny Pogue。 〃Geez； he looks like…did he do time？ What's his story？〃
〃We don't want to know；〃 Bud Schwartz said。 〃Am I right？〃
〃You're absolutely right；〃 said Molly McNamara。
Shortly before midnight on July 23； Jim Tile received a radio call that an unknown individual was shooting at automobiles on Card Sound Road。 The trooper told the dispatcher he was en route； and that he'd notify the Monroe County Sheriff's Office if he needed back…ups…which he knew he wouldn't。
The cars were lined up on the shoulder of the road a half…mile east of the big bridge。 Jim Tile took inventory from the stickers on the bumpers： two Alamos； a Hertz； a National and an Avis。 The rental firms had started putting bumper plates on all their automobiles； which served not only as advertisement but as a warning to local drivers that a disoriented tourist was nearby。 On this night； though； the bright stickers had betrayed their unsuspecting drivers。 Each of the vehicles bore a single 。45…caliber bullet hole in the left…front fender panel。
Jim Tile knew exactly what had happened。 He took brief statements from the motorists； who seemed agitated by the suggestion that anyone would fire at them simply because they were tourists。 Jim Tile assured them that this sort of thing didn't happen every day。 Then he called Homestead for tow trucks to get the three rental cars whose engine blocks had been mortally wounded by the sniper in the mangroves。
One of the drivers； a French…Canadian textile executive； used a cellular phone to call the Alamo desk at Miami International Airport and explain the situation。 Soon new cars were on the way。
It took Jim Tile several hours to clear the scene。 A pair of Monroe County deputies stopped by and helped search for shell casings until the mosquitoes drove them away。 After the officers had fled； and after the tourists had motored north in a wary caravan of Thunderbirds； Skylarks and Zephyrs； Jim Tile got in his patrol car and mashed on the horn with both fists。 Then he rolled up the windows； turned up the air conditioner and waited for his sad old friend to e out of the swamp。
〃I'm sorry。〃 Skink offered the trooper a stick of EDTIAR insect repellent。
〃You promised to behave；〃 said Jim Tile。 〃Now you've put me in a tough position。〃
〃Had to blow off some steam；〃 Skink said。 〃Anyway； I didn't hurt anybody。〃 He took off his sunglasses and tinkered unabashedly with the fake eyeball。 〃Haven't you ever had days like this？ Days where you just had to go out and shoot the shit out of something； didn't matter what？〃
Jim Tile sighed。 〃Rental cars？〃
〃Why the hell not。〃
The tension dissolved into weary silence。 The men had talked of such things before。 When Clinton Tyree was the governor of Florida； Jim Tile had been his chief bodyguard…an unusually prestigious assignment for a black state trooper。 After Clinton Tyree resigned； Jim Tile immediately lo