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〃Oh； he's full of surprises。〃 Edie leaned back and closed her eyes。 The sunshine felt good on her face。
The hurricane had transformed the trailer court into a sprawling aluminum junkyard。 Ira Jackson found Lot 17 because of the bright yellow tape； that police had roped around the remains of the double…wide mobile home where his mother； Beatrice； had died。 After identifying her body at the morgue； Ira Jackson had driven directly to Suncoast Leisure Village； to see for himself。
Not one trailer had made it through the storm。
From the debris； Ira Jackson pulled his mother's Craftmatic adjustable bed。 The mattress was curled up like a giant taco shell。 Ira Jackson crawled inside and lay down。
He recalled； as if it were yesterday； the morning he and his mother met with the salesman to close the deal。 The man's name was Tony。 Tony Torres。 He was fat； gassy and balding； yet extremely self…assured。 Beatrice Jackson had been impressed with his pitch。
〃Mister Torres says it's built to go through a hurricane。〃
〃I find that hard to believe； Momma。〃
〃Oh yes； Mister Jackson； your mother's right。 Our prefabricated homes are made to withstand gusts up to one hundred twenty miles per hour。 That's d U。S。 government regulation。 Otherwise we couldn't sell 'em！〃
Ira Jackson was in Chicago； beating up some scabs for a Teamsters local； when he'd heard about the hurricane headed for South Florida。 He'd phoned his mother and urged her to move to a Red Cross shelter。 She said it was out of the question。
〃I can't leave Donald and Maria；〃 she told her son。
Donald and Maria were Mrs。 Jackson's beloved miniature dachshunds。 The hurricane shelter wouldn't allow pets。
So Ira's mother had stayed home out of loyalty to her。 dogs and a misplaced confidence that the mobile…home salesman had told the truth about how safe it was。 Donald and Maria survived the hurricane by squeezing under an oak credenza and sharing a rawhide chew toy to pass the long night。 A neighbor had rescued them the next morning and taken them to a vet。
Beatrice Jackson was not so lucky。 Moments after the hurricane stripped the north wall off her double…wide； she was killed by a flying barbecue that belonged to one of her neighbors。 The imprint of the grill remained visible on her face； peaceful as it was； lying in the Dade County morgue。
Beatrice's death had no effect whatsoever on the mood of her dachshunds； but her son was inconsolable。 Ira Jackson raged at himself for letting his mother buy the trailer。 It had been his idea for her to move to Florida…but that's what guys in his line of work did for their widowed mothers； got them out of the cold weather and into the sunshine。
God help me； Ira Jackson thought； tossing restively on the mechanical mattress。 I should've held off another year。 Waited till I could afford to put her in a condo。
That cocksucker Torres。 A…hundred…twenty…mile…per…hour gusts。 What kind of scum would lie to a widow？
〃Excuse me！〃
Ira Jackson bolted upright to see a gray…haired man in a white undershirt and baggy pants。 Skin and bones。 Wire…rimmed eyeglasses that made him look like a heron。 In one arm he carried a brown shopping bag。
〃Have you seen an urn？〃 he asked。
〃Jesus； what？〃
〃A blue urn。 My wife's ashes。 It's like a bottle。〃
Ira Jackson shook his head。 〃No； I haven't seen it。〃 He rose to his feet。 He noticed that the old man was shaking。
〃I'm going to kill him；〃 he said angrily。
Ira Jackson said； 〃Who？〃
〃That lying sonofabitch who sold me the double…wide。 I saw him here after the hurricane； but he took off。〃
〃Torres？〃
〃Yeah。〃 The old man's cheeks colored。 〃I'd murder him； swear to God； if I could。〃
Ira Jackson said； 〃You'd get a medal for it。〃 Humoring the guy； hoping he'd run out of steam and go away。
〃Hell； you don't believe me。〃
〃Sure I do。〃 He was tempted to tell the old man to quit worrying； Senor Tony Torres would be taken care of。 Most definitely。 But Ira Jackson knew it would be foolish to draw attention to himself。
The old man said： 〃My name's Levon Stichler。 I lived four lots over。 Was it your mother that died here？〃
Ira Jackson nodded。
Levon Stichler said； 〃I'm real sorry。 I'm the one found her two dogs…they're at Dr Tyler's in Naranja。〃
〃She'd appreciate that； my mother。〃 Ira Jackson made a mental note to pick up the dachshunds before the vet's office closed。
The old man said； 〃My wife's ashes blew away in the hurricane。〃
〃Yeah； well； if I e across a blue bottle…〃
〃What the hell could they do to me？〃 Levon Stichler wore a weird quavering smirk。 〃For killing him； what could they do？ I'm seventy…one goddamn years old… what； life in prison？…Big deal。 I got nothing left anyhow。〃
Ira Jackson said； 〃I was you； I'd put it out of my mind。 Scum like Torres； they usually get what they deserve。〃
〃Not in my world；〃 said Levon Stichler。 But the widow Jackson's son had taken the wind out of his sails。 〃Hell； I don't know how to find the sonofabitch anyhow。 Do you？〃
〃Wouldn't have a clue；〃 Ira Jackson said。
Levon Stichler shrugged in resignation； and returned to the heap that once was his home。 Ira Jackson watched him poking through the rubble； stooping every so often to examine a scrap。 All around the trailer court； other neighbors of the late Beatrice Jackson could be seen hunched and scavenging； picking up pieces。
Her son opened his wallet； which contained： six hundred dollars cash； a picture of his mother taken in Atlantic City； three fake driver's licenses； a forged Social Security card； a stolen Delta Airlines frequent flyer card； and numerous scraps of paper with numerous phone numbers from the 718 area code。 The wallet also held a few legitimate business cards； including one that said：
Antonio Torres
Senior Sales Associate
PreFab Luxury Homes
（305） 555…2200
The trailer salesman had jotted his home number on the back of the business card。 Ira Jackson kicked through his mother's storm…soaked belongings until he found a Greater Miami telephone directory。 The salesman's home number matched the one belonging to an A。 R。 Torres at 15600 Calusa Drive。 Ira Jackson tore the page from the phone book。 Carefully he folded it to fit inside his wallet； with the other important numbers。
Then he drove his fraudulently registered Coupe de Ville to a convenience store； where he purchased a Rand McNally road map of Dade County。
CHAPTER SIX
The vagabond monkey chose to forgo the airboat experience。 Max Lamb was given no choice。 The one…eyed man strapped him to the passenger seat and off they went at fifty miles an hour； skimming the grass； cattails and lily pads。 For a while they followed a canal that paralleled a two…lane highway； Max could make out the faces of motorists gaping at him in his underwear。 It didn't occur to him to signal for help； the electrified dog collar had conditioned total passivity。
Riding high in the driver's perch； the man who called himself Skink sang at the top of his lungs。 It sounded like 〃Desperado；