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r； do we not？〃
〃I got no problems in that department；〃 Snapper said； though he could not look the stranger in the face。 〃Are you some fuckin' preacher or what？〃
Edie Marsh cut in： 〃Mister； I don't mean to be rude； but we've got to be on our way。 We've got an appointment downtown。〃
The stranger had a darkly elusive charm； a dangerous and disorganized intelligence that put Edie on edge。 He appeared content at the prospect of physical confrontation。 The pretty young woman； tame and fine…featured； seemed an unlikely partner； Edie wondered if she was a captive。
The tall stranger cocked back his head and deftly reinserted the glass eye。 Then； blinking for focus； he said； 〃OK； kids。 Let's have a peek in that snazzy Jeep。〃
Snapper whipped out the 。357 and pointed it at a button in the center of the man's broad chest。 〃Get in；〃 he snarled。
Again the stranger grinned。 〃We thought you'd never ask！〃 The young woman clutched one of his arms and tried to suppress her trembling。
Augustine noticed a young towheaded boy； rigid in a shredded patio chair outside a battered house。 Most of the roof was gone； so a skin of cheap blue plastic had been stapled to the beams for shade and shelter。 It puckered and flapped in the breeze。
The towheaded boy looked only ten or eleven years old。 He held a stainless…steel Ruger Mini…14； which he raised from his lap as Augustine passed on the sidewalk。 In a thin high pitch； the boy yelled： 〃Looters will be shot！〃
The warning matched a message spray…painted in two…foot letters on the front wall： lootersbewair！！
Augustine turned to face the child。 〃I'm not a looter。 Where's your father？〃
〃Out for lumber。 He told me watch the place。〃
〃You're doing a good job。〃 Augustine stared at the powerful rifle。 A bank robber had used the same model to shoot down five FBI agents in Suniland； a few years back。
The boy explained： 〃We had looters； night after the hurry…cane。 We were stayin' with Uncle Rick； he lives somewheres called Dania。 They came through while we's gone。〃
Augustine slowly stepped forward for a closer look。 The clip was fitted flush in the Ruger； all systems Go。 The boy wore a severe expression； squinting at Augustine as if he stood a hundred yards away。 The boy fidgeted in the flimsy chair。 One side of his mouth wormed into a creepy lopsided frown。 Augustine half expected to hear banjo music。
The boy went on： 〃They got our TVs and CD player。 My dad's toolbox； top。 I'm 'posed to shoot the bastards they e back。〃
〃Did you ever fire that gun before？〃
〃All the time。〃 The child's hard gray…blue eyes flickered with the lie。 The Mini…14 was heavy。 His little arms were tired from holding it。 〃You better go on now；〃 he advised。
Augustine nodded； backing away。 〃Just be careful； all right？ You don't want to hurt the wrong person。〃
〃My dad said he's gone booby…trap everything so's next time they'll be damn sorry。 He went to the hardware store。 My mom and Debbie are still up at Uncle Rick's。 Debbie's my half…sister； she's seven。〃
〃Promise you'll be careful with the gun。〃
〃She stepped on a rusty nail and got infected。〃
〃Promise me you'll take it easy。〃
〃OK；〃 said the boy。 A droplet of sweat rolled down a pink； sunburned cheek。 It surely tickled； but the boy never took a hand off the rifle。
Augustine waved good…bye and went on up the road。 When he arrived at the house where he'd left Bonnie Lamb and the governor； he found it empty。 Across the street； at 15600 Calusa； the black Jeep Cherokee was gone from the driveway。
CHAPTER TWENTY…TWO
Augustine sprinted across the street。 He pulled the pistol when he reached the doorway。 There was no answer when he called Bonnie's name。 Cautiously he went through the house。 It was empty of life。 The air was stale； mildew and sweat； except for one of the bedrooms…strong perfume and sex。 A hall closet was open； revealing nothing unusual。 A plaque on the living…room wall indicated the house belonged to a salesman； Antonio Torres。 The hurricane had done quite a number on the place。 In the backyard Augustine saw two miniature dachshunds tied to a sprinkler。 They barked excitedly when they spotted him。
He sat down in a Naugahyde recliner and tried to reconstruct what could have happened in the twenty minutes he'd been gone。 Obviously something had inspired the governor to make his move。 Surely he'd ordered Bonnie to wait across the street； but she'd probably followed him just the same。 Augustine had to assume they were now in the Jeep with the bad guy； headed for an unknown destination。
Augustine tore through the house once more； searching for clues。 In the rubble of the funky…smelling bedroom was an album of water…stained photographs： the salesman； his spouse； and a multitude of well…fed relatives。 Brenda Rourke had not recalled her attacker as an overweight Hispanic male； and the pictures of Antonio Torres showed no obvious facial deformity。 Augustine decided it couldn't be the same man。 He moved to the kitchen。
Hidden in a large saucepan； in a cupboard over the double sink； was a woman's leather purse。 Inside was a wallet containing a Florida driver's license for one Edith Deborah Marsh； white female。 Date of birth： 5…7…63。 The address was an apartment in West Palm Beach。 The picture on the license was unusually revealing： a pretty young lady with smoky； predatory eyes。 The photo tech at the driver's bureau had outdone himself。 Folded neatly in the woman's purse were pink carbons of two insurance settlements from Midwest Casualty； one for 60；000 and one for 141；000。 The claims were for hurricane damage to the house at 15600 Calusa； and bore signatures of Antonio and Neria Torres。 Interestingly； the insurance papers were dated that very day。 Augustine was intrigued that Ms Edith Marsh would have these documents in her possession； and took the liberty of transferring them to his own pocket。
It was an interesting twist； but Augustine doubted it would help him locate Bonnie and the governor。 The key to the mystery was the creep with the crooked jaw。 He'd be the one carrying Brenda Rourke's service revolver。 He'd be the one at the wheel of the Cherokee。 Yet the house yielded no traceable signs。
With every passing moment； the creep was getting farther away。 Augustine experienced a flutter of panic； thinking of what might happen。 It was inconceivable that the governor would be cooperative during an abduction。 Resistance was in the man's blood。 A 。357 aimed at his forehead would only enhance the challenge。 And if he screwed up； Bonnie Lamb would be lost。
Augustine ached with dread。 His impulse was to get in the truck and start driving； desperate widening grids and circles； in a wild hope of spotting the Jeep。 The creep had only a short head start； but also the considerable advantage of knowing which direction he was going。
Then Augustine thought of Jim Tile； the state trooper。 One shout on the police radio and every cop in South Florida would know to keep an eye open for the Cherokee。 Augustine had made a point of memorizing the new tag： PPZ…350。 Save the Manatee。