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re goes： 〃'I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity…I belong to the earth！ I say that lying on my pillow and I can feel the horns sprouting from my temples。'〃
After a scratchy pause： 〃Bonnie； honey； it sounds worse than it is。 Please don't tell my folks a thing…I don't want Dad all worked up for no reason。 And please call Pete and； uh； ask him to put me down for sick leave； just in case this situation drags out。 And tell him to stall the sixth floor on the Bronco meeting next week。 Don't forget； OK？ Tell him under no circumstances should Bill Knapp be brought in。 It's still my account。。。。〃
Max Lamb's voice dissolved into fuzzy pops and echoes。 Augustine hung up。 He walked Bonnie back to the pickup。
She got in and said； 〃This is making me crazy。〃
〃We'll call again from my house and get it on tape。〃
〃Oh； I'm sure it'll jolt the FBI into action。 Especially the poetry。〃
〃Actually I think it's from a book。〃
〃What does it mean？〃 she asked。
Augustine reached across her lap and placed the 。38 Special in the glove partment。 〃It means；〃 he said； 〃your husband probably isn't as safe as he thinks。〃
By and large； the Highway Patrol troopers based in northern Florida were not overjoyed to learn of their temporary reassignment to southern Florida。 Many would have preferred Beirut or Somalia。 The exception was Jim Tile。 A trip to Miami meant precious time with Brenda Rourke； although working double shifts in the hurricane zone left them scarcely enough energy to collapse in each other's arms。
Jim Tile hadn't counted on an intrusion by the governor； but it wasn't totally surprising。 The man worshipped hurricanes。 Ignoring his presence would have been selfish and irresponsible； the trooper didn't take the friendship that lightly； nor Skink's capacity for outstandingly rash behavior。 Jim Tile had no choice but to try to stay close。
In the age of political correctness； a large black man in a crisply pressed police uniform could move at will through the corridors of white…cracker bureaucracy and never once be questioned。 Jim Tile took full advantage in the days following the big storm。 He mingled authoritatively with Dade County deputies； Homestead police； firelighters； Red Cross volunteers； National Guardsmen； the Army mand and antsy emissaries of the Federal Emergency Management Agency。 Between patrol shifts； Jim Tile helped himself to coffee and A…forms； 911 logs； puter printouts and handwritten incident reports… he scanned for nothing in particular； just a sign。
As it happened； though； madness flowed rampant in the storm's wake。 Jim Tile leafed through the paperwork； and thought： My Lord； people are cracking up all over town。
The machinery of rebuilding doubled as novel weapons for domestic violence。 Thousands of hurricane victims had stampeded to purchase chain saws for clearing debris； and now the dangerous power tools were being employed to vent rage。 A gentleman with a Black 8c Decker attempted to truncate a stubborn insurance adjuster in Homestead。 An old woman in Florida City used a lightweight Sears to silence a neighbor's garrulous pet cockatoo。 And in Sweetwater； two teen…aged gang members successfully detached each other's arms （one left； one right） in a brief but spectacular duel of stolen Homelites。
If chain saws ruled the day； firearms ruled the night。 Fearful of looters； vigilant home owners unloaded high…caliber semiautomatics at every rustle； scrape and scuff in the darkness。 Preliminary casualties included seven cats； thirteen stray dogs； two opossums and a garbage truck； but no actual thieves。 Residents of one rural neighborhood wildly fired dozens of rounds to repel what they described as a troop of marauding monkeys… an episode that Jim Tile dismissed as mass hallucination。 He resolved to limit his investigative activities to daytime hours； whenever possible。
Nearly all the missing persons reported to authorities were locals who had fled the storm and lost contact with concerned relatives up North。 Most turned up safe at shelters or in the homes of neighbors。 But one case caught Jim Tile's attention： a man named Max Lamb。
According to the information filed by his wife； the Lambs drove to Miami on the morning after the hurricane struck。 Mrs。 Lamb told police that her husband wanted to see the storm damage。 The trooper wasn't surprised…the streets were clogged with out…of…towners who treated the hurricane zone as a tourist attraction。
Mr。 Max Lamb had left his rental car； in pursuit of video。 It seemed improbable to Jim Tile that anybody from Manhattan could get lost on foot in the flat simple grid of a Florida subdivision。 The trooper's suspicions were heightened by another incident； lost deep in the stack of files。
A seventy…four…year…old woman had called to say she had witnessed a possible assault。 It was summarized in two short paragraphs； taken over the telephone by a dispatcher：
〃Caller reports suspicious subject running along 10700 block of Quail Roost Drive； carrying another subject over his shoulder。 Subject One is described as w/m； height and weight unknown。 Subject Two is w/m； height and weight unknown。
〃Caller reports Subject B appeared to be resisting； and was possibly nude。 Subject A reported to be carrying a handgun with a flashing red light （？？）。 Search of area by Units 2334 and 4511 proved negative。〃
Jim Tile knew of no pistols with blinking red lights； but most hand…held video cameras had one。 From a distance； a frightened elderly person might mistake a Sony for a Smith & Wesson。
Maybe the old woman had witnessed the abduction of Mr。 Max Lamb。 Jim Tile hoped not。 He hoped the Quail Roost sighting was just another weird Dade County roadside altercation and not the act of his volatile swamp…dwelling friend； who was known to hold ill…mannered tourists in low esteem。
The trooper made a copy of Mrs。 Lamb's report and slipped it in his briefcase along with several others。 When he had some free time； he'd try to interview her。
There was only twenty minutes left for lunch with Brenda； before both of them had to start another shift。 Being able to see her； even briefly； was well worth the ordeal of working the batty streets of South Florida。
Jim Tile was most displeased； therefore； to personally witness the hijacking of a Salvation Army truck while he was driving to the Red Lobster restaurant where Brenda waited。 The trooper was obliged to give chase； and by the time it was over he'd missed his luncheon date。
As he disarmed and handcuffed the truck hijacker； Jim Tile wondered aloud why anybody with half a brain would use a MAC…10 to steal a truck full of secondhand clothes。 The young man said his original intention was to spray…paint a gang insignia on the side of the Salvation Army truck； but before he could finish his tagging the driver took off。 The young man explained that he'd had no choice； as a matter of self…respect； but to pull his submachine gun and； yo； steal the motherfucking truck。
As Trooper Jim Tile assisted the talkative hijacker into the cage of his patrol car； he silently vowed to redouble his efforts to persuade Brenda Rourke to transfer out of this hellhole called Miami； to a more civilized hellhole where they could work together。
Snapper was proud of how he'd acquired the Jeep Cherokee； but Edie Marsh showed no interest in his conquest。
〃What's the story？〃 Snapper pointed at the dachshunds。
〃Donald and Maria；〃 Edie said； annoyed。 The animals were pulling her back and forth across Tony Torres's front yard and peeing with wild abandon。 Edie was amazed at the power in their stubby Vienna…sausage legs。
〃By the way；〃 she said； straining against the leashes； 〃it took that asshole all of three minutes before he grabbed my tits。〃
〃Big deal； so you win the bet。〃
〃Take these damn dogs！〃
Snapper backed away。 Numerous encounters with police German shepherds had left him with permanent scars； physical and mental。 Over the years； Snapper had bee a cat person。
〃Just let 'em go；〃 he said to Edie。
The moment she dropped the leashes； the two dachshunds curled up at her feet。
〃Beautiful；〃 Snapper said with a grunt。 〃Hey； look what I found。〃 He flashed the chrome…plated pistol he'd taken from the gangsters。 Palming the cheap gun； he noticed the chambers were empty。 〃Damn spades；〃 he said； heaving it into the murky swimming pool。
Edie Marsh told Snapper about the tough guy with the New York accent who came for Tony Torres。 〃You picked a peachy time to disappear；〃 she added。
〃Shut the fuck up。〃
〃Well； Tony's gone。 Even his damn beach chair。 Figure it out yourself。〃
〃Shit。〃
〃He won't be back；〃 Edie said gravely。 〃Not in one piece； anyway。〃
A concrete block occupied the spot where Tony's chaise had been。 Snapper cursed his rotten timing。 The ten grand was history。 Even in the unlikely event that the salesman returned； he'd never pay。 Snapper had fucked up big…time； he wasn't cut out to be a bodyguard。
He said； 〃I don't guess you got a new plan。〃
A siren drowned Edie's reply； which she punctuated with a f