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ipshit？〃
The newspaper article said the Dade State Attorney was appointing a special squad of prosecutors to crack down on dishonest contractors preying on hurricane victims。
〃One phone call；〃 said Whitmark； 〃and you're on your way to the buttfuck motel。〃
Avila bowed his head。 The sight of his blackened fingernails reminded him of the buried Tupperware box。 Hell； there was only twelve； maybe thirteen grand left in it。 He was screwed。
〃My wife's still a wreck from what your people did。 You wouldn't believe the goddamn pharmacy bill。〃 Whitmark pointed at the door and told Avila good…bye。 〃We'll talk；〃 he said； ominously。
On the way home； Avila dejectedly mulled his options。 How often could he turn to Chango without offending Him； or appearing selfish？ Yet the santero priest who trained Avila had mentioned no numerical limit on supernatural requests。 Tonight； Avila decided； I'll do a goat…no； two goats！
And tomorrow I will hunt that bastard Snapper。
The Church of High Pentecostal Rumination； headquartered in Chicoryville； Florida； attended all natural disasters in the western hemisphere。 Earthquake； flood and hurricane zones proved fertile territories for conversion and recruitment of sinners。 Less than thirty…six hours after the killer storm smashed Dade County； an experienced team of seven Ruminator missionaries was dispatched in a leased Dodge minivan。 Hotel beds were scarce； so they shared a room at a Ramada Inn off the Turnpike。 There was no plaining。
Every morning； the missionaries preached； consoled and distributed pamphlets。 Then they stood in line for free army lunches at the tent city； and returned to the motel for two hours of quiet contemplation and gin rummy。 The Ramada offered free cable TV； which allowed the Ruminators to view a half…dozen different religious broadcasts at any time of day。 One afternoon； in the absence of a pure Pentecostal preacher； they settled on Pat Robertson and the 700 Club。 The Ruminators didn't share Robertson's paranoid worldview； but they admired his life…or…death style of fund…raising and hoped to pick up some pointers。
Toward the end of the program； Reverend Robertson closed his eyes and prayed。 The Ruminators joined hands…no easy task； since four of them were on one bed and three were on the other。 The prayer was not one they recognized from the Scriptures； evidently Reverend Robertson had posed it personally； since it contained several references to his post office box in Virginia。 Nonetheless； it was a pretty good prayer； fervently rendered； and the Ruminator missionaries were enjoying it。
No sooner had Reverend Robertson exhaled the word 〃Amen〃 when the motel room was rocked by a muffled detonation； and the television set exploded before the missionaries' startled eyes。 Reverend Robertson's squinting visage vaporized in a gout of acrid blue smoke； and his whiny beseechment faded in a sprinkle of falling glass。 The Ruminators scrambled off the beds； dropped to their knees and burst into a hymn； 〃Nearer My God to Thee。〃 That's how the manager of the Ramada found them； fifteen minutes later； when he came to apologize。
〃Some asshole downstairs shot off a 。357；〃 he announced。
All singing ceased。 The motel manager pushed the broken television away from the wall and pointed to a ragged hole in the carpet。 〃From the bullet；〃 he explained。 〃Don't worry。 I kicked 'em out。〃
〃A gun？〃 cried a Ruminator elder； springing to his feet。
〃That ain't the worst of it；〃 the motel manager said。 〃They had dogs in the room！ You believe that？ Chewin' up the bedspreads and God knows what。〃 He promised to bring the Ruminators another TV set； but warned them to keep their hymn singing at a low volume； so as not to disturb other guests。
〃Everybody's on edge；〃 the manager added； unnecessarily。
After he left； the missionaries locked the door and held a solemn meeting。 They agreed they'd done all they could for the good people of South Florida； and quickly packed their bags。
〃Well； that was brilliant。〃
Snapper told Edie Marsh to shut up and quit beating it to death。 What's done is done。
〃No； really；〃 she said； 〃getting us thrown out of the only hotel room between here and Daytona Beach。 Absolute genius。〃
With a gaseous hiss； Snapper sagged into the Barca…Lounger。 She had some nerve giving him shit； after the way she'd fucked up his leg with that crowbar。 Who wouldn't be in a lousy mood； their goddamn knee all swollen up like a Georgia ham。
He said； 〃It's your fault； you and them dogs。 Hey； get me a Coors。〃
On the drive back to the Torres house； they had stopped at a 7…Eleven for gas； ice and supplies。 Fred Dove had purchased Tylenol and peppermint Tic Tacs before lugubriously departing for a busy afternoon of storm…damage estimates。 He drove off with the hollow stare of a man whose life had abruptly gone to ruin。
Edie Marsh pulled a beer from the cooler and tossed it underhanded at Snapper。 〃We're lucky we're not in jail；〃 she said for the fifth time。
〃Dogs wouldn't shut up。〃
〃So you shot a hole in the ceiling。〃
〃Damn straight。〃 Snapper arranged his lower jaw to acmodate the stream of Coors。 He reminded Edie of Popeye in the old Saturday cartoons。
〃I'm gonna do them fuckin' mutts；〃 he said。 〃Tonight when you're sleeping。 That'll leave me three bullets； too； so don't get no ideas。〃
〃Wow； a math whiz；〃 said Edie； 〃on top of all your other talents。〃
〃You don't believe me？〃
〃The dogs are tied outside。 They're not bothering anybody。〃
When Snapper finished the beer； he crumpled the can and tossed it on the carpet。 Then he took out the pistol and started spinning the cylinder； something he'd obviously picked up from a movie。 Edie Marsh ignored him。 She went to the garage to put more gasoline in the generator…they needed electricity to run the TV； without which Snapper would bee unmanageable。
Sure enough； by the time she returned to the living room； he was contentedly camped out in front of Oprah。
〃Hookers；〃 he reported； riveted to the screen。
〃Your lucky day。〃
Edie Marsh felt gummy with perspiration。 The hurricane had eviscerated the elaborate ductwork of Tony Torres's air…conditioning system。 Even if the unit had worked； there were no doors； windows or roof to keep cooled air in the house。 Edie went to the bedroom and changed from her banking dress to a pair of Mrs。 Torres's expensive white linen shorts and a beige short…sleeved pullover。 She would have been inconsolable if the borrowed clothes had fit her； but thank God they didn't； Mrs。 Torres was easily three sizes larger。 The bagginess provided weled ventilation in the tropical humidity； and was not entirely unattractive。
Edie Marsh was appraising her new look in the mirror when the phone started ringing。 Snapper hollered for her to pick up； goddammit！
Not given to premonitions； Edie experienced a powerful one that proved true。 When she answered the telephone； a long…distance operator asked if she would accept collect charges from a 〃Neria in Memphis。〃
Memphis。 The witch was heading south！
〃I don't know