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ound saying it's a damn crime； what Clapley's set to do to this island。〃
〃Crime？〃 Mr。 Gash was amused。
〃Crime against nature； the young man said。 I believe he's some kind a biologist。〃 Nils Fishback paused to readjust his dental bridge。 Slivers of orange soap were visible between his front teeth。
He said； 〃Tree…hugger type； that's the rumor。〃
〃But he works for Roothaus；〃 said Mr。 Gash； 〃who works for Clapley。 Ha！〃 Mr。 Gash knit his brow。 〃What ever happened to good old…fashioned loyalty？ This is excellent coffee； by the way。〃
Fishback said： 〃Thanks。 The young fella's name is Brinkman or Brickman。 Somethin' like that。 They say he's a doctor of biology。〃
〃I appreciate the information。〃
Fishback fingered his sodden beard apprehensively。 〃Keep in mind； it's only a rumor。 I don't wanna see nobody get hurt； because there might be nothin' to it。 People say all kinds a crazy shit when they drink。〃
Mr。 Gash rose and handed his empty cup to Fishback。 〃Well； these sorts of stories need to be checked out。 Where you moving to； Mayor？〃
〃Vegas。〃
〃Whoa。 Land of opportunity。〃
〃No； it's just I got sinus problems。〃 Mr。 Gash smiled encouragingly。 〃You'll love it there。〃
Krimmler had warned Dr。 Steven Brinkman to curtail his drinking； but it wasn't easy。 Brinkman was depressed so much of the time。 He had nearly pleted the biological survey of Toad Island without documenting one endangered species。 That was splendid tidings for Roger Roothaus and Robert Clapley； but not for the remaining wildlife； not for the ospreys or the raccoons； not for the gray squirrels or the brown tree snails； not for the whip…tailed lizards or the western sandpipers。 Because now； Brinkman knew； there was no way to block the Shearwater resort。 The creeps who'd bulldozed the tiny oak toads would do the same to all other creatures in their path； and no law or authority could stop them。 So Dr。 Brinkman's exhaustively detailed catalog of Toad Island's birds； mammals； reptiles； amphibians； insects and flora was for all practical purposes a death list； or that's how the young biologist had e to think of it。 Sometimes； at night； he would sneak into the construction trailer to brood over the impressive Shearwater mock…up…how verdant and woody the layout looked in miniature！ But Brinkman knew it was an illusion created by those two immense golf courses…a wild； rolling splash of green rimmed by houses and condos； a chemical hue of emerald found nowhere in nature。 And the suckers were lining up to buy！ Occasionally Brinkman would crouch by the scale model in mordant contemplation of Clapley's 〃nature trail〃…a linear quarter…mile trek through a scraggle of pines at the north hook of the island。 And there was the scenic little saltwater creek； for kayaks and canoes。 In the mock…up the creek was painted sky blue； but in real life （Brinkman knew） the water would be tea…colored and silted。 A school of mullet would be cause for great excitement。 Meanwhile Clapley's people would be leveling hundreds of acres for home…sites； parking lots； the airstrip； the heliport and that frigging shooting range； they'd be dredging pristine estuary for the yacht harbor and water…sports plex and desalinization plants。 Along the beach rose the dreaded high…rises； on the model； each sixteen…story tower was the size of a pack of Marlboro mediums。
Steven Brinkman felt awful about his plicity in the Shearwater juggernaut； and about his career calling in general。 Go with the private sector…that's what his old man had advised him。 His old man； who'd spent twenty…six years with the U。S。 Forest Service and had nothing positive to say about government work。 If I had it to do all over again； he'd grumble； I'd jump on that job with the timber pany。 Private sector； son； all the way！
And though it was the handsome salary that had induced Steven Brinkman to sign on with Roger Roothaus； he also honestly thought he could make a difference。 Fresh out of school； he naively believed it was possible to find middle ground between the granola…head bunny lovers and the ruthless corporate despoilers。 He believed science and mon sense could bring both sides together； believed wholeheartedly in the future of 〃environmental engineering。〃
Then they put him to work counting butterflies and toads and field mice。 And before long； Brinkman was also counting the days until he could go home。 He didn't want to be on Toad Island when the clearing started。 And he would never return afterward； to see if it ended up looking like the scale model。
For living quarters； Roothaus had provided a secondhand Winnebago but Steven Brinkman rarely used it； choosing instead to sleep under the stars in the doomed woods。 Here he could drink recklessly without drawing Krimmler's ire。 Most evenings he'd build a campfire and play R。E。M。 on the small boom box that his sister had given him。 The locals had long ago pegged Brinkman as a flake； and let him be。
Rarely was his outdoor solitude interrupted by anything noisier than a hoot owl； so he was therefore surprised to see a stocky stranger clomping into his camp。 The man's blond hair was eccentrically spiked； but it was the houndstooth suit that put Brinkman on edge； even after half a quart of Stoli。
〃I'm looking for a dog；〃 the man announced； in a voice that was almost soothing。
Brinkman tottered to his feet。 〃Who're you？〃
〃A black Labrador retriever is what I'm looking for。〃
Brinkman shrugged。 〃No dog here。〃
〃Possibly with one ear cut off。 I don't suppose you'd know anything about that。〃
〃No…〃
In a flash the man pinned him against the trunk of a pine tree。 〃I work for Mr。 Robert Clapley；〃 he said。
〃Me； too；〃 said Brinkman。 〃What's the matter with you？〃
〃Are you Steven Brinkman？〃
〃Dr。 Brinkman。 Yeah； now…〃
〃The troublemaker？〃
Brinkman struggled to break free。 〃What？ I'm a field biologist。〃
The spiky…haired man grabbed him by the throat。 〃Where's the goddamn dog； Doctor？〃
Brinkman spluttered a protest but Clapley's man knocked him down with a punch to the gut。 〃Jesus； you don't know what I'm talking about；〃 the man said disgustedly。 He kicked through the campsite； swearing。 〃You don't have the goddamn dog。 You're not the one。〃
〃No。〃 Brinkman was on his knees； gasping。
〃But you're still a troublemaker。 Mr。 Clapley doesn't like troublemakers。〃 The man took out a pistol。 〃And you're trashed on top of it。 Not good。〃
Brinkman fearfully threw up his dirt…smeared palms。 〃There was a guy here； a couple days ago。 He had a black Lab。〃
〃Go on。〃 The man brushed a moth off his lapel。
〃On the beach。 Guy my age。 Very tan。 He had a big black Lab。〃
〃How many ears？〃
〃Two； I think。〃 Brinkman was pretty sure he would've remembered otherwise。
〃What else； doctor？〃
The man placed the gun to Brinkman's temple。 Brinkman had been drinking so heavily that he couldn't even pee in his pants； couldn't make neurotransmitter contact with his own bladder。
He said； 〃The guy drove a black pickup truck。 And there was a woman。〃
〃What'd she look like？〃
〃Beautiful；〃 Brinkman said。 〃Outstanding。〃 The Stoli was kicking in magnificently。
The spiky…haired man whacked him with the butt of the pistol。 〃 'Beautiful' covers a