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make it fast。 It went like this：
〃Mom； something's happened。〃
〃I guessed as much。〃
〃Between Max and me。〃
〃Oh no。〃 Bonnie's mother； laboring to sound properly dismayed； when Bonnie knew how she truly felt。
〃What'd he do； sweetie？〃
〃Nothing； Mom。 It's all me。〃
〃Did you have a fight？〃 her mother asked。
〃Listen； I've met two unusual men。 I believe I've fallen in love with one of them。〃
〃On your honeymoon； Bonnie？〃
〃I'm afraid so。〃
〃What does he do？〃
〃He's not certain；〃 Bonnie said。
〃These men； are they dangerous？〃
〃Not to me。 Mom； they're totally different from anyone I've ever known。 It's a very 。。。 primitive charisma。〃
〃Let's not mention that last part to your father。〃
Next Bonnie phoned the apartment in New York。 When she got back to the Seville； she told Skink to go on without her。
〃Max left a message on the machine。〃 She didn't look at Augustine when she said it。 Couldn't look at him。
Bonnie repeated her husband's message。 〃He says it's over if I don't meet with him。〃
〃It's over regardless；〃 Skink said。
〃Please。〃
〃Call back and leave your own message。〃 The governor gave her the details…the place； the time； who would be there。
After Bonnie finished with the phone； Skink made another call himself。 When they got back in the car； Augustine punched the accelerator and peeled rubber。 Bonnie put her hand on his arm。 He gave a tight； rueful smile。
They made the 905 turnoff in the nick of time。 Already the northbound traffic was stacked past Lake Surprise； Skink surmised that the police had raised the Jewfish Creek drawbridge for their roadblock。 He predicted they'd set up another one at Card Sound； as soon as more patrol cars arrived from the mainland。
Edie Marsh said； 〃So where are we going？〃
〃Patience。〃
The two of them sat together in the back seat。 On the governor's lap was a Bill Blass suitcase； removed from the Cadillac's trunk to make space for the blacked out Snapper。
Skink said； 〃Driver； dome light！ Por favor。〃 Augustine began pushing dashboard buttons until the ceiling lights came on。 Skink broke the locks off the suitcase and opened it。
〃What have we here！〃 he said。
The troopers waited all night at Jewfish Creek。 As Jim Tile predicted the black Jeep Cherokee never appeared； nor did the silver Cadillac stolen from a customer at a Key Largo convenience store。 The French victim had dryly described the armed carjacker as 〃a poster boy for TMJ。〃
At daybreak the cops gave up the roadblock and fanned through the Upper Keys。 It would take three days to locate the Seville； abandoned on a disused smugglers' trail off County Road 905； only a few miles from the exclusive Ocean Reef Club。 The police would wait another forty…eight hours before announcing the discovery of the vehicle。 They omitted mention of the bullet hole in its dashboard； as they didn't wish to unduly alarm Ocean Reef's residents and guests； which included some of the most socially prominent； politically influential and chronically impatient taxpayers in the eastern United States。 Many were already in a cranky mood； due to the inconvenient damaging of their vacation homes by the hurricane。 News that a murderous criminal might be lurking in the mangroves would touch off heated high…level muniques with Tallahassee and Washington； D。C。 The Ocean Reef crowd didn't mess around。
As it turned out； there was no danger whatsoever。
Most newly married men； faced with unexpected desertion； would have been manic with grief； jealousy and anger。 Max Lamb； however； was blessed by a hearty； blinding preoccupation with his career。
A nettlesome thought kept scrolling across his mind； and it had nothing to do with his runaway wife。 It was something the nutty kidnapper had told him： You need a legacy。
They'd been riding in the back of a U…Haul truck； discussing unforgettable advertising slogans。 Max hadn't anything zippy to brag about except the short…lived Plum Crunchies ditty。 Since the failure of the cereal campaign； the sixth floor had deployed him more often for billboard concepts and print graphics； and not as much on the verbally creative side。
Which stung； because Max considered himself a genuinely glib and talented wordsmith。 He believed it was well within his reach to write an advertising catchphrase that would embed itself in the national lexicon…one of those classics the kidnapper had mentioned。 A legacy； if you will。
Now that Bronco cigarets were history； Max was left to review the potential of his other accounts。 The hypercarbonated soda served on the plane to Miami put him in mind of Old Faithful Root Beer。 Old Faithful's popularity had peaked in the summer of 1962； and since then its share of the global soft…drink market had fizzled to a microscopic sliver。 Rodale's mission was to revive Old Faithful in the consciousness of the consumer； and to that end the eccentric Mormon family that owned the pany was willing to spend a respectable seven…figure sum。
Around Rodale & Burns； the Old Faithful Root Beer account was regarded as a lucrative but hopeless loser。 Nobody liked the stuff because one sixteen…ounce bottle induced thunderous belching that often lasted for days。 At a party； Pete Archibald drunkenly offered a joke slogan： 〃The root beer you'll never forget…because it won't let you！〃
Lying there alone in Augustine's house； Max Lamb savored the prospect of single…handedly resuscitating Old Faithful。 It was the sort of coup that could make him a legend on Madison Avenue。 For inspiration he turned on the Home Shopping Network。 Into the wee hours he tinkered determinedly with beverage…related alliterations； allusions； puns； verses and metaphors。 Bonnie didn't cross his mind。
Eventually Max struck on a winner； something that sounded like good silly fun to kids； and at the same time titillating to teens and young adults： 〃Old Faithful Root Beer…Makes You Tingle in Places You Didn't Know You Had Places！〃
Max Lamb was so excited he couldn't sleep。 Once more he tried calling the apartment in New York。 No Bonnie； but the answering machine emitted a telltale beep。 He punched the three…digit code and waited。
Bonnie had gotten his message…and left him a reply that caused him to forget temporarily about the Old Faithful account。 The flesh under Max's shirt collar prickled and perspired； and stayed feverish until dawn。
He wasn't surprised by the symptoms。 The downside of seeing his wife would be seeing the deranged kidnapper again。 Only an idiot wouldn't be scared shitless。
CHAPTER TWENTY…NINE
Snapper regained consciousness with the dreamy impression of being someplace he hadn't been in twenty…two years…a dentist's chair。 He sensed the dentist hovering； and felt large deft hands working inside his mouth。 The last time Snapper had a cavity filled； he'd reflexively chomped off the top joint of the dentist's right thumb。 This time he was becalmed by the ejaculate of the dart rifle。
〃Lester Maddox Parsons！〃 The dentist； attempting to wake him。
Snapper opened his eyes in a fog bank。 Looming out of the psychedelic mist was a silvery…bearded grin。 A dentist in a plastic shower cap？ Snapper squirmed。
〃Whhaannffrr？〃 he inquired。
〃Relax； chief。〃
The dentist's basso chuckle rolled like a freight train through Snapper's cranium。 His jaws were wedged wide； as if awaiting the drill。 e on； he thought； get it over with。
He heard buzzing。 Good！
But the buzzing wasn't in his mouth； it was in his ears。 Bugs。 Fucking bugs flying in his ears！
〃Hrrrnnnff！〃 Snapper shook his head violently。 It hurt。 All of a sudden he was drenched by a wave of salty water。 What he didn't cough up settled as a lukewarm puddle in his protruded mandible； which functioned as a natural cistern。
Now he was pletely awake。 Now he remembered。 The fog cleared from his mind。 He saw a campfire。 Edie； sweaty and barefoot。 And the young broad； Bonnie； with her arms around the asshole punk who'd shot him。
〃Yo； Lester。〃 It was the giant one…eyed fruitcake； holding an empty bucket。 There was no dentist。
But Snapper definitely felt a cold steel object bracing his jaws open； digging into the roof of his mouth； pinching the tender web of flesh beneath his tongue； something so heavy that it caused his head to nod forward； something that extended diagonally upward from his chin to beyond his forehead。
A heavy bar of some type。 Snapper crossed his eyes to put it in focus。 The bar was red。
Oh fuck。
He wailed； trying to rise。 His legs tangled。 With rubbery arms he flailed uselessly at the thing locked in his mouth。
Skink held up a small chrome key and said； 〃Accept no imitations。〃
〃Nnnnngggggoooo！！〃
〃You shot my friend。 You called him a nigger。〃 Skink shrugged in resignation。 〃You beat up a lady； stole her momma's wedding ring； dumped her on the roadside。 What choice have you left me？〃
He took Snapper by the hair and dragged him； blubbering； to the shore of a broad milky…green creek。
〃What choice？〃 Skink repeated； so