The governor replied with a murmur of disappointment. "It's that fucking Willie Vasquez-Washington, isn't it? He wants something else from me."
Palmer Stoat rose off his chair. "You think I'd make up something like this – a dogabduction, for Chrissake! – to cover for a greedy two-bit cocksucker like Willie V? He's nothing to me, Dick, a jigaboo gnat on the fucking windshield of life!"
"OK, keep it down." Three hundred Brownie scouts were touring the governor's mansion, and Dick Artemus preferred that their tender ears be spared Stoat's profane braying.
"This is my reputation I'm talking about," Stoat continued. "My marriage, my financial situation, my whole future – "
"What kind of dog?" the governor asked.
"Black Lab."
Dick Artemus smiled fondly. "Aw, they're great. I've had three of 'em."
"Then you know," Stoat said.
"Yeah, yeah. I sure loved those hounds, Palmer, but I wouldn't have tanked a twenty-eight-million-dollar public works project for one. I mean, there's love and then there's love." The governor raised his palms.
Stoat said, "I'm not talking about killingthe bridge project, my friend. You sign a line-item veto next week. Maybe Clapley screams and hollers for a little while. Same for Roothaus. My crazy dognapper reads in the papers how the Shearwater deal is suddenly DOA, and he lets Boodle go free and everything's hunky-dory."
"Boodle?" Dick Artemus said quizzically.
"That's his name – long story. Anyhow, soon as I get back my dog, here's what you should do, Dick. You call the legislature back to Tallahassee for a special session."
"All for a bridge? You can't be serious. I'll get slaughtered by the press."
In agitation Stoat lunged for a fresh bottle of wine. "Dick, in the immortal words of Jethro Tull, sometimes you're as thick as a stick."
The governor glanced at his wristwatch and said, "How about cutting to the chase."
"OK," said Stoat. "You're not calling a special session for one lousy bridge, you're calling it for education.You aren't happy with how your colleagues in the House and Senate hacked up your education package – "
"That's the truth."
" – and so you're bringing them back to Tallahassee to finish the job, on behalf of all the children of Florida. You say they deserve bigger classrooms, more teachers, newer books, and so on. You follow me?"
The governor grinned. "Let me guess. Robert Clapley intends to build a public school on Shearwater Island."
"I expect he'll be receptive to the idea, yes."
"But school buses are heavy vehicles, aren't they?"
"Especially when they're full, that's absolutely right." Palmer Stoat was pleased. There was hope yet for Dick Artemus. "You can't have a bus loaded with innocent little kids going back and forth across the bay on a rickety old bridge."
"Too dangerous," the governor agreed.
"Risky as hell. And how can you put a price tag on a child's safety?"
"You can't," said Dick Artemus.
Stoat's voice rose melodramatically to the occasion. "Try telling Mom and Dad that little Jimmy doesn't deserve a safe new bridge for his first school bus ride to Shearwater Elementary. See if they don't think twenty-eight million dollars is a small price to pay ... "
The governor's eyes twinkled. "You're a stone genius, Palmer."
"Not so fast. We've got lots of phone calls to make."
The governor canted one eyebrow. "We?"
"Hell, Dick, you saidyou liked dogs."
This is craziness, thought Dick Artemus, whacko world. That he was even considering such a scheme was a measure of how desperately he wanted to keep Palmer Stoat on his side.
Said the governor: "I assume Bob Clapley's on board for all this nonsense."
"Oh, I'll handle Clapley," Stoat said with the flick of a hand. "He doesn't give a damn how he gets the bridge, as long as he gets it. Don't you worry about Clapley."
"Fine, then."
"In fact, I'd keep my distance from him until we get this ironed out."
"You're the man, Palmer."
They talked about basketball and hunting and women until they were done with dessert, homemade pecan pie topped with vanilla ice cream. Stoat was putting on his coat when the governor said: "Your kooky dognapper – how do you know he's not fulla shit?"
"Because he sent me a goddamn ear, that's how," Stoat said. "An ear off a real dog."
The governor was dumbfounded. "Yours?"
"I don't know for sure. It's very possible," Stoat acknowledged, "but even if it isn't Boodle's ear, you see what I'm up against. He hacked the damn thing off a dog, somedog somewhere.That's the point. An actual ear, Dick, which he then sent to me via Federal fucking Express. Just so you appreciate what we're dealing with."
"Yes. I get the picture." The governor looked shaken. He was thinking: Again with the "we"?
11
Palmer took Desie to a seafood restaurant on Las Olas Boulevard, where she was so distracted by his table manners that she hardly ate a bite. He'd ordered two dozen oysters, slurping them with such sibilant exuberance that customers at nearby tables had fallen silent in disgust. Now Palmer was arranging the empty oyster shells around the rim of his plate, six identical piles of four. He was chattering away, seemingly unaware of his deviant tidying. Desie was as perplexed as she was embarrassed. Wasn't this the same slob who had, on the drive to the restaurant, lobbed an empty coffee cup and three handfuls of junk mail out of the Range Rover? Desie didn't know the clinical name of her husband's disorder, but the symptoms were not subtle; anything he couldn't eat, drink or reorganize got chucked.
"You're not listening to me," said Palmer Stoat.
"Sorry."
"What're you staring at?"
"Nothing."
"Is there something wrong with your scrod?"
"It's fine, Palmer. Go on, now. Tell me what Dick said."
"He said he'll do it."
"Are you serious?" Desie had assumed there was no chance.
"For me, he'll do it," said Stoat self-importantly. "He'll kill the bridge."
"That's fantastic."
"Yeah, well, it's gonna cost me big-time. Bob Clapley'll want my testicles on a key chain before this is over, and he won't be alone. Twenty-eight million bucks buys an army of enemies, Des."
She said, "What's more important – another stupid golf resort or saving your dog's life?"
"Fine. Fine. When do we get the big guy back?"
"When it makes the newspapers, about the bridge veto. That's when the kidnapper will let Boodle go. He said he'll be in touch in the meantime."
"Wonderful." Stoat signaled for the check. "Too bad you didn't get his name."
"Palmer, he's a criminal. They don't give out business cards." Desie didn't understand why she continued to protect Twilly Spree, but it was no time to change her story.
Stoat said, "I'm just curious is all. It's gotta be somebody who knows me. Somebody I pissed off somewhere up the line. Seriouslypissed off, to break into my house and snatch my goddamn Labrador."
"What's the difference?" she said. "You said everything's set. Governor Dick's going to do what you asked, then we get Boodle back and all the fuss is over. Right?"
"That would be the plan," said her husband.
Then, turning to the waiter: "Could you please see that my wife's entree is taken off our bill? The scrod was so freezer-burned she couldn't eat it."
"For heaven's sake," Desie said.
Driving home, Palmer slid his free hand beneath her skirt. "You proud of me?" he asked.
"I am." Involuntarily she pressed her knees together.
"How proud?"
Desie felt her chest tighten. She locked her eyes straight ahead, as if watching the traffic.
"Proud enough for a little you-know-what?"