"Bullshit."

"Guy used to work days at the Grab N'Go. Billy was his name. He looked awful white, Colonel."

Bode was steaming. He walked over to Shiner and kicked him in the side of the head. Shiner cried out and toppled across Amber's lap. Chub looked on, abject with envy.

Leaning over, Bode took Shiner by the chin. "Listen, you pimple-faced little shitweasel. Ain't no such thing on God's earth as a white Meskin named Billy or Hay-zoos or any other damn thing. They's no white Cubans or Spaniards, neither."

"But Spain isin Europe." Amber, calm as you please, stroking Shiner's bestubbled scalp.

Chub, who was tired of being left out, declared: "She got a point there." Then, turning with a smirk toward the girl: "And here's a man won't even say the word 'nigger.' "

Bodean Gazzertook a deep breath and walked a slow circle around the campfire. He had to cool off; he had to be the calm, clear-thinking one.

"When I talk about Euro-Caucasians," he said, "I'm referrin' to whitewhite people, all right? That's the easiest way to explain it. I'm talkin' about Aryan ancestry, which is something all four of us share."

Impatiently Chub said, "Get on with it." To his immense relief, Shiner sat up, uncluttering Amber's thighs. The glow of the flames gave a delicious sheen to her nylon stockings; it was all Chub could do to restrain himself from stroking them. It was, in fact, only a matter of moments before he tried.

When he did, Amber whacked him in the face. "Look what you did!" she exclaimed.

The aborted grope had snagged Chub's hand in her hose. It was the crab claw, he was disheartened to see.

"What's the matter with you!" Amber said, and took another swipe. She wanted the kidnappers to know she was a fighter and that every touch would cost them dearly. It was a cardinal rule of waitressing: Defend your dignity.

Chub knocked over his beer as he fumbled to disentangle himself. "I'lldo it," Amber snapped.

In disgust Bode Gazzer spit a chunk of jerky into the campfire. Shiner was stunned by the scene. Amber's fear of a rape no longer seemed farfetched; the same could not be said of Shiner's gallant vow to protect her. Chub was so much stronger and meaner; short of killing him in his sleep, Shiner's options were limited.

The crab pincers left a ragged hole in Amber's nylons.

"Damn," she muttered. Then to Chub: "Hope you're happy, Romeo." It was the sort of asshole stunt that boyfriend Tony might pull, pawing at her crotch in public.

Chub told her to chill. He dug in the cooler for another beer. Then he opened the chamois and tackled (with a scathing cackle) the reassembly of the AR-15. Bode pretended not to pay attention.

Amber picked up a flashlight and went into the woods to change clothes. She came out wearing one of Bode Gazzer's camouflage jumpsuits; Mossy Oak.

Instantly a gloom settled over Chub. He pined for the cutoff T-shirt and the silky shorts. He tried to imagine Kim Basinger as a bear hunter and could not. Bodean Gazzer, however, found himself helplessly intoxicated by the flickering vision in mottled camos. Hiscamos. The dainty white Keds added a devastating element.

"Meeting's over," he said, and sat down heavily.

Amber, who was soundly apprehensive, resolved not to let it show. She walked forthrightly up to Chub and said: "We need to talk."

"Gimme a minute with this rifle."

"No. Right now."

She took his hand – the claw-hobbled hand! – and led him into the shadows of the mangroves. Shiner was dumbfounded. Was the girl crazy?

Bode Gazzer didn't like it, either. He caught himself grinding his molars; the only thing that could make him do that was a woman. Don't get stupid, he warned himself. It's no time to grow horns. Yet he couldn't stop thinking about her; about what the Mossy Oak jumpsuit would smell like after she removed it. Or after Chub tore it off, in which case Bode might have to blow the man's brains out. Purely for the sake of maintaining discipline.

Twenty yards into the woods, Amber turned and put the flashlight on Chub's face. She said, "I know what you want."

"It don't take a genius."

"Well, this can go two ways," she told him. "You can be a pig and rape me, and I'll hate your guts forever. Or we can get to know each other and see what happens."

With his good eye Chub squinted against the spear of light, trying to read Amber's expression. He said, "I thought you already liked me jest fine. Seemed that way at the resty-rant."

"Let me explain something: Just because I smile at a customer doesn't mean I want to fuck him."

The word rocked Chub on his heels.

"And if you rape me," Amber said, "it will be the worst time you ever had with a woman. The worst."

"Wh-why?"

"Because I'm not moving a muscle, I'm not making a sound. I'm going to lie there like a cold sack of mud, bored out of my mind. I might even timeyou." She held up her wrist, so he could get a glimpse of her watch.

Chub said, "Jesus Willy." Feeling himself wither, he now wished he'd put on some pants.

"Or we can try to be friends," Amber said. "Think you can handle that?"

"Sure." His ears were buzzing. He slapped at them.

"Bugs," Amber said. She shooed them away.

"Thanks."

"We got a deal?" She held out her hand. Chub took it. Briefly he considered throwing her down and sticking it to her right there, but he decided against it. Fucking a cold sack of mud didn't sound like much fun, even if the sack looked like a movie star. He thought: Hell, at least hookers actedlike they were having a good time.

"What kinda guys you go for?" he asked. "Your boyfriend don't seem all too polite, neither."

Amber said, "Sometimes he's not."

"Then how come you stay with him? He rich?"

"He does all right." A big fat lie.

"I bet I'm richer," Chub said.

"Oh, sure."

"How does fourteen million damn dollars sound?"

The flashlight clicked off. In the shadows he heard Amber say, "You're kidding." The smell of perfume was stronger than before, as if she'd moved closer.

"No, I ain't kidding. Fourteen million."

Amber said, "I want to hear all about it."

There was a break in the rolling clouds, and for a few moments Chub could see her eyes by the light of the stars. He felt himself twitching back to life; inadvertently his claw hand went to his groin.

She said, "Maybe tomorrow we can go for a walk. Just the two of us."

"Fine by me." The excitement made him light-headed.

The next time Amber spoke, it was a whisper: "Oh, I've got something for you." She took his unwounded hand – the one clenched at his side – opened it gently and pressed something soft into the palm.

Even in the blackness Chub knew what it was.

Her orange Hooters shorts.

"A little token of our friendship," she said.