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〃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 lot of territory； doesn't it？〃
Brinkman tried to collect himself。 He felt a warm bubble of blood between his eyebrows。 〃She was a brunette； in her early thirties。 Hair so long〃…Brinkman； using both hands to indicate the length…〃and the dog seemed to be hers。 The Lab。〃
〃So they weren't； like； a couple。〃
〃Is it Mr。 Clapley's dog？ Those people…did they steal it？〃
The man in the checked suit smirked。 〃Do I look like a person who wastes his time chasing lost pets？ Seriously？ Would I need a gun for that？ Here； whistle dick； have another drink。〃
He shoved the Stoli bottle at Steven Brinkman； who took a swig and pondered what the blond man had said。 He was a professional killer； of course。 Clapley had sent him to the island to murder somebody； over something to do with a dog。 Brinkman was too drunk to find it anything but hilarious； and he began to giggle。
The man said； 〃Shut up and tell me the guy's name。〃
〃He never said。〃 Again Brinkman felt the cold poke of the gun barrel against his temple。
〃They never gave their names。 Neither one；〃 he told the spiky…haired man。 〃Why would I lie？〃
〃I intend to find out。〃
Then； as sometimes happened with vodka； Steven Brinkman experienced a precipitous mood plunge。 He remembered that he'd sort of liked the tan young man and the outstandingly beautiful woman with the friendly black dog。 They had seemed entirely sympathetic and properly appalled about what was happening out here； the burying of the toads； for instance。 Not everyone cared about toads。
And now here I am； Brinkman thought morosely； ratting them out to some punk…headed hit man。 Just like I ratted out Bufo quercicus to Krimmler。 Ratted out the whole blessed island。 What a cowardly dork I am！ Brinkman grieved。
〃The name；〃 said the killer。 〃I'm counting to six。〃
〃Six？〃 Brinkman blurted。
〃It's a lucky number for me。 Three is another good one；〃 the killer said。 〃Want me to count to three instead？ One 。。。 two 。。。 〃
Brinkman wrapped one hand around the gun barrel。 〃Look； I don't know the guy's name； but I know where he's camping tonight。〃
〃That would be progress。〃 Clapley's man holstered the gun and motioned for Brinkman to lead the way。
The biologist picked up a gas lantern and set off through the woods； though not stealthily。 He was exceedingly tipsy and barely able to hoist his feet； much less direct them on a course。 As he plowed ahead； pinballing off tree trunks and stumbling through scrub； Brinkman heard the blond stranger cursing bitterly from behind。 Undoubtedly the pine boughs and thorny vines were taking a nappy toll on the houndstooth suit。
Brinkman's idea…it would hardly qualify as a plan…was to tromp along until he found a clearing in which he could wheel around and clobber Clapley's man with the lantern。 Only fine vodka could have imbued Brinkman with such grandiose estimations of his own strength and agility； but the anger in his heart was true and untainted。 The spiky…headed intruder had bee an ideally crude and lethal symbol for Shearwater and its attendant evils。 Wouldn't it be cool to knock out the bastard and turn him over to the cops？ And then？ Sit back and watch Robert Clapley squirm；； trying to explain such shenanigans to the media…a hired thug with a gun； turned loose to hunt down 〃troublemakers〃 on the island！ Brinkman grinned； somewhat prematurely； at the headline。
Suddenly he found himself stepping out of the pines and into a broad opening； which filled with the lantern's pale yellow light。 Brinkman saw squat machines； furrows and mounds of dry dirt…and； beneath his boots； a corrugated track。 He knew where he was； a good place to do it； too。 He gulped for the cool salty air and quickened his pace。
〃Hey； shithead。〃 It was Clapley's man。
Dr。 Brinkman didn't turn all the way around； but from the corner of an eye he spotted the shadow…a flickery figure projected by lantern light on the blade of a bulldozer； like a puppet on a wall。
〃Hey； you think this is funny？〃
Clapley's man； striding faster now； ing up behind him。 Dr。 Brinkman deliberately slowed his pace； laboring to clear the buzz from his head； straining to gauge the proximity of the killer's footsteps； knowing the timing of this grand move had to be absolutely flawless 。。。 flawless timing； unfortunately； not being a typical side effect of massive vodka consumption。
So that when Steven Brinkman spun and swung the hefty lantern； Clapley's man was still five yards from reaching him； and safely out of range。 Centrifugal physics whirled Brinkman almost 360 degrees； an involuntary rotation halted only by the force of the lantern striking the tire of a four…ton backhoe。 Brinkman saw a white…pink flash and then a bright blue flash； heard one sharp pop and then another louder one…the lantern exploding； followed by something else。 Brinkman went down in darkness； finding it fascinating （in a way that only a drunk man could） to feel the onrushing dampness of his own blood yet no pain from the bullet。 He tried to run without getting up； his legs cycling haplessly in the dirt until he was breathless。
The clearing had bee shockingly silent； and Brinkman momentarily rejoiced in the possibility that Clapley's man had taken him for dead and run off。 But then Brinkman heard the bulldozer start； backfiring once before lurching into gear。 Then he knew。 Even with his brain awash in Stoli； he knew what was ing next； knew he should have been terrified to the marrow。 But Steven Brinkman mainly felt tired； so tired and chilly and wet that all he wanted now was to sleep。 Anyplace would do； anyplace where he could lie down would be dandy。 Even someplace deep in the ground； among tiny man…mulched toads。
14
Twilly dreamed about Marco Island。 He dreamed he was a boy； jogging the bone white beach and calling out for his father。 The long strand of shore was stacked as far as he could see with ghastly high…rise apartments and condominiums。 The structures rose super…naturally into the clouds； blocking the sunshine and casting immense chilly shadows over the beach where young Twilly ran； a shoe box full of seashells tucked under his arm。
In the dream； the first he could ever remember； Twilly heard Little Phil from somewhere on the far side of the high…rises； a voice echoing gaily along the concrete canyon。 Twilly kept running； searching for a way between the buildings。 But there was no path； no alley； no beckoning sliver of light： Each tower abutted the next； forming a steep unbroken wall…infinitely high； infinitely long…that served to blockade the island's entire shore。
Twilly Spree ran and ran； shouting his father's name。 Above the boy's head flew laughing gulls and ring…billed gulls and sandwich terns； and around his bare legs skittered sanderlings and dowitchers and plovers。 He noticed the tide was rising unmonly fast； so he ran harder； kicking up soft splashes。 In the dream Twilly couldn't make out his father's words； but the tone suggested that Little Phil was not addressing his lost son but closing a real…estate deal； Twilly recognized t