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〃Johnny Gallagher。 He's Speaker Pro Tem of the House。〃
〃Oh。 Right。〃 Palmer Stoat mumbled something conciliatory and hung up。 Goddamn kids these days； he fumed； can't even get a job without the old man's juice。
Stoat opened the cigar box and peeked again at the dog paw。 〃Jesus； what next；〃 he said； slapping the lid shut。
He tried to remember what the guy had looked like that night at Swain's； passing him that snarky note。 The suntan； the flowered shirt 。。。 Stoat had figured the guy for a boat bum； a mate on a yacht。 But the face？ He was young； Stoat remembered。 But the bar had been smoky； Stoat had been half…trashed； and the kid had been wearing dark shades； so 。。。 no luck with the face。 Desie was the one nasty Mr。 Gash should consult。 She's the one who'd spent time with the dognapper。
But the thought of Mr。 Gash alone with Desirata made Palmer Stoat cringe。 What a scary little prick he was！ Stoat wondered if the disgusting baby rat was still alive…mewling and crawling half…blind through his cereal cupboard； no doubt！ It was unbelievable。 Shocking； really。 One of the most powerful human beings in the state of Florida； and here his lofty shining universe had been reduced to a tabloid freak show…dog dismemberers and Barbie…doll fetishists and armed punk…haired sadists who crammed rodents down his gullet！
Thank God they didn't know about it； all those people who feared and needed and sucked up to Palmer Stoat； big…time lobbyist。 All those important men and women clogging up his voice mail in Tallahassee 。。。 the mayor of Orlando； seeking Stoat's deft hand in obtaining 45 million in federal highway funds…Disney World； demanding yet another exit off Interstate 4； the president of a slot…machine pany； imploring Stoat to arrange a private dinner with the chief of the Seminole Indian tribe； a United States congresswoman from West Palm Beach； begging for box seats to the Marlins home opener （not for her personally； but for five sugar…pany executives who'd persuaded their Jamaican and Haitian cane pickers to donate generously…well beyond their means； in fact…to the congresswoman's reelection account）。
That was Palmer Stoat's world。 Those were his people。 This other sicko shit； it had to stop。 It would stop； too； once Porcupine Head tracked down the creep who was holding poor Boodle。
Stoat opened the top drawer of his desk and found a favorite stack of sex Polaroids。 He had taken them in Paris； while he and Desie were on a weeklong junket paid for by a multinational rock…mining conglomerate。 There wasn't much of Desie to be seen in the photographs…here a thigh； there a shoulder…but it was enough to give her husband a pang in his heart and a tingle in his groin。 Where the hell was she？
Palmer Stoat noticed the message light blinking on his answering machine。 He punched the play button and leaned back。 The first message was from Robert Clapley； sounding uncharacteristically edgy and out of breath。
〃It's about that rhino powder；〃 he said on the tape。 〃Call me right away； Palmer。 Soon as you get this message！〃
The second call； thirty minutes later； also from Clapley： 〃Palmer； you there？ I gotta talk to you。 It's the Barbies； they're 。。。 Call me； OK？ No matter how late。〃
The third message on Stoat's machine was from Desie。 When he heard her voice； he quickly rocked forward and turned up the volume。
〃Palmer； I'm all right。 I'm going to be gone for a few days。 I just need some time away。 Please don't worry； uh 。。。 we'll talk when I get home； OK？〃
She didn't sound upset or frightened。 She sounded perfectly calm。 But there was something quite alarming on the tape…a noise in the background。 It happened the moment before Desie said good…bye。
Palmer Stoat listened to the message three times； to be sure。 The noise was familiar and unmistakable： a dog barking。
Not just any dog； either。 It was Boodle。
Stoat moaned and pressed his fleshy knuckles to his forehead。 Now the sick bastard had gone and snatched his wife！
Again。
On a warm breezy morning in late April； twelve Japanese men and women stepped from an air…conditioned charter bus that had parked on the shoulder of a two…lane road in North Key Largo。 The travelers paired off and climbed into half a dozen candy…colored canoes。 Under a creamy porcelain sky they began paddling down a winding creek called Steamboat toward Barnes Sound； where they planned to eat box lunches and turn around。 The entire trip was supposed to take four hours； but the canoeists went missing for almost three days。 Eventually they were found trudging along County Road 905 in the dead of night and； except for a few scrapes and insect bites； were all found to be in excellent health。 Oddly； though； they refused to tell police what had happened to them； and fled from reporters seeking interviews。
The men and women were employed by Matsibu； one of Tokyo's most prolific construction panies。 Timber being scarce and exorbitant in Japan； Matsibu imported millions of board feet annually from the United States； specifically； Montana and Idaho； where entire mountains had been clear…cut； essentially razed down to dusty bald domes； for the purpose of enhancing Tokyo's skyline and； not incidentally； Matsibu's profit margin。 Having weathered Asia's financial upheaval in relatively robust shape； the pany rewarded a dozen of its top executives with a group vacation to Florida。 They would begin the week at unavoidable Walt Disney World and finish down in the Keys； at the upscale （and safely Republican） Ocean Reef Club。 Ironically； the Matsibu executives expressed an interest in ecotourism activities； and so the Steamboat Creek canoe trip was arranged。 The men and women were told they might e across manatees； indigo snakes； bald eagles and perhaps even the elusive North American crocodile （which lived in the mangrove lakes and grew to a length of fourteen feet）。 Many rolls of film were purchased in anticipation。
When the Japanese failed to return on time from the expedition； an intense search was launched using ultralight planes； airboats； skiffs and swamp buggies。 Governor Dick Artemus even dispatched a pair of state helicopters to assist （a modest favor； in his view； pared to the free membership he'd been given at Ocean Reef on the day of his inauguration）。 Meanwhile； Florida tourism officials gloomily pondered how many millennia it would take for the industry to recover if it came to pass that twelve foreign business executives had been devoured by crocodiles…or perished under some equally horrific circumstances…while vacationing in the Sunshine State。
Publicly； authorities stuck to the theory that the Japanese visitors were 〃lost〃 in the mangrove creek system； although reporters found no shortage of locals who were both skeptical and happy to be quoted。 Steamboat Creek was about as plicated to navigate as Interstate 95； and a thousand times safer。 Fear of foul play rose with the ominous discovery of the missing canoes； shot full of holes and strung together with blue ski rope。 The canoes had been hung off the Card Sound Bridge to dangle and spin high over the Intracoastal Waterway； like the baubled tail of an oversized kite。 Boaters stopped to snap pictures until police showed up a