old man。 He won't learn。 He'll get out of prison and go right back to it。
A son looks a man square in the eye and calls him pathetic； pathetic； any other father would curse or cry or take a punch at the kid。 Not mine。 By God； not when there's drug money needs collecting。 So how about it； A。G。？
Fuck him； thought Augustine。 Not because of what he'd done or what he'd been hauling； but because his stupid selfish greed had outlived the crime。 Fuck him； Augustine thought； because it's hopeless。 He was supposed to raise me； god dammit； I wasn't supposed to raise him。
And then the plane took off。
And then the plane went down。
And nothing was ever the same about the way Augustine saw the world； or his place in it。 Sometimes he wasn't sure if it was the accident that had changed him； or the visit with his father at Fox Hill Prison。
At FBI headquarters； Bonnie Lamb spent an hour talking with maddeningly polite agents。 One of them dialed her answering machine and dubbed Max's queer kidnap message。 They urged her to notify the Bureau as soon as she received a credible ransom demand。 Then； and only then； would a kidnap squad take over the case。 The agents instructed Bonnie to check her machine often and be careful not to erase any tapes。 They expressed no strong views about whether she ought to remain in Miami and search for her husband； or return to New York and wait。
The agents let Bonnie Lamb borrow a private office； where she tried with no luck to reach Max's parents； who were traveling in Europe。 Next Bonnie phoned her own parents。 Her mother sounded sincere in her alarm； her father； as usual； sounded helpless。 He half…heartedly offered to fly to Florida； but Bonnie said it wasn't necessary。 All she could do was wait for Max or the kidnapper to call again。 Bonnie's mother promised to FedEx some cash and an eight…by…ten photograph of Max； for the authorities。
Bonnie Lamb's last call was to Peter Archibald at the Rodalp 8c Burns advertising agency in Manhattan。 Max Lamb's colleague was shocked at Bonnie's news； but vowed to maintain the confidentiality requested by the FBI。 When Bonnie passed along her husband's frantic instructions about the cigaret billboard； Peter Archibald said： 〃You married a real trouper； Bonnie。〃
〃Thank you； Peter。〃
Augustine took her to a fish house for lunch。 She ordered a gin…and…tonic； and said： 〃I want your honest opinion about the FBI guys。〃
〃OK。 I think they had problems with the tape。〃
〃Max didn't sound scared enough。〃
〃Possibly；〃 Augustine said； 〃and； like I mentioned； he seemed a little too worried about the Marlboro account。〃
〃It's Broncos；〃 Bonnie corrected。 From the way she winced at the gin； Augustine could tell she wasn't much of a drinker。 〃So they blew me off as a jilted wife。〃
〃Not at all。 They started a file。 They're the best darn file…starters in the world。 Then they'll send your tape to the audio lab。 They'll probably even make a few phone calls。 But you saw how deserted the place was…half their agents are home cleaning up storm damage。〃
She said； angrily； 〃The world doesn't stop for a hurricane。〃
〃No；〃 Augustine said； 〃but it wobbles like a sonofa…bitch。 I'm having the shrimp； how about you？〃
Mrs。 Lamb didn't speak again until they were in the pickup truck； heading south to the hurricane zone。 She asked Augustine to stop at the county morgue。
He thought： She couldn't have gotten this brainstorm before lunch。
Snapper had neither the ambition nor the energy to be a predator in the classic criminal mold。 He saw himself strictly as a canny opportunist。 He wouldn't endeavor to mit a first…degree felony unless the moment presented itself。 He believed in serendipity； because it suited his style of minimal exertion。
He heard the kids ing long before he saw them。 The souped…up Cherokee blasted Snoop Doggy Dogg through the neighborhood； rattling the few windows that the hurricane had not broken。 The kids drove by once； circled the block； and cruised past again。
Snapper smiled to himself； thinking： It's the damn pinstripes。 They think I'm carrying money。
He kept walking。 When the Cherokee came around a third time； the rap music had been turned off。 Stupid； Snapper thought。 Why not take out a billboard： Watch us mug this guy！
As the Jeep rolled up behind him； Snapper stepped to the side and slowed his pace。 He slipped Tony Torres's garden hose off his shoulder and carried it coiled in front of him。 The Cherokee came alongside。 One of the kids was hanging out the passenger window。 He waved a chrome…plated pistol at Snapper。
〃Hey； mud…fuckah；〃 the kid said。
〃Good mornin'；〃 said Snapper。 He deftly looped a coil of the garden hose around the kid's head and jerked him out of the truck。 When the kid hit the pavement； hedropped the gun。 Snapper picked it up。 He stepped on the kid's chest and began twisting the hose tightly on the kid's throat。
The other muggers piled out of the Cherokee with the intention of rescuing their friend and killing the butt…ugly geek in the shiny suit； but the plan changed when they saw who had the pistol。 Then they ran。
Snapper waited until the kid on the ground was almost unconscious before loosening the hose。 〃I need to borrow some gas；〃 said Snapper； 〃to watch Sally Jessy。〃
The kid sat up slowly and rubbed his neck； which bled from the place where his three gold chains had cut into his flesh。 He wore a tank top to show off the tattoos on his left biceps…a gang insignia and the nickname 〃BabyRaper。〃
Snapper said； 〃Baby； you got a gas can？〃
〃Fuck no。〃 The kid answered in a raw whisper。
〃Too bad。 I'll have to take the whole truck。〃
〃I don't care。 Ain't mine。〃
〃Yeah； that was my hunch。〃
The kid said； 〃Man； wus wrong wid yo face？〃
〃Excuse me？〃
〃I axed what's wrong wid yo mud…fuckin face。〃
Snapper went in the Cherokee and removed the Snoop Doggy Dogg pact disc from the stereo。 He used the shiny side of the CD like a small mirror； pretending to admire himself in it。
〃Looks fine to me；〃 he said； after several moments。
The kid smirked。 〃Sheeeiiit。〃
Snapper put the pistol to the kid's temple and ordered him to get on his belly。 Then he yanked the mugger's pants down to his ankles。
A Florida Power and Light cherry picker came steaming down the street。 The kid shouted for help； but the driver kept going。
Twisting to look over his shoulder； Baby Raper saw Snapper hold the CD up to the sky； like a chrome munion wafer。
Snapper said： 〃Worst fuckin' excuse for music I ever heard。〃
〃Man； whatcha gone do wid dat？〃
〃Guess。〃
Ira Jackson stood with his back to the sun。 Tony Torres squinted； shielding his brow with one hand。
The salesman said： 〃Do I remember you？ Course I remember you。〃
〃My mother was Beatrice Jackson。〃
〃I said I remember。〃
〃She's dead。〃
〃So I heard。 I'm very sorry。〃 Stretched in the chaise； Tony Torres felt vulnerable。 He raised both knees to give himself a brace for the shotgun。
Ira Jackson asked Tony if he remembered anything else。 〃Such as what you promised my mother about the double…wide being as safe as a regular CBS house？〃
〃Whoa； sport； I said no such thing。〃 Tony Torres was itching to get to his feet； but that was a major project。 One wrong move； and the flimsy patio chair could collapse under his weight。 〃'Government approved；' is what I told you； Mister Jackson。 Those were my exact words。〃
〃My mother's dead。 The double…wide went to pieces。〃
〃Well； it was one hellacious hurricane。 The Storm of the Century； they said on TV。〃 Tony was beginning to wonder if this dumb ape didn't see the Remington aimed at his dick。 〃We're talking about a major natural disaster； sport。 Look how it wrecked these houses。 My house。 Hell； it blew down the entire goddamn Homestead Air Force Base！ There's no hiding from something like that。 I'm sorry about your mother； Mister Jackson； but a trailer's a trailer。〃
〃What happened to the tie…downs？〃
Oh Christ； Tony thought。 Who knew enough to look at the fucking tie…downs？ He struggled to appear indignant。 〃I've got no idea what you're talking about。〃
Ira Jackson said； 〃I found two of 'em hanging off a piece of the double…wide。 Straps were rotted。 Augers cut off short。 No anchor disks…this shit I saw for myself。〃
〃I'm sure you're mistaken。 They passed inspection； Mister Jackson。 Every home we sold passed inspection。〃 The confidence was gone from the salesman's tone。 He was uneasy； arguing with a faceless silhouette。
〃Admit it；〃 Ira Jackson said。 〃Somebody cut the damn augers to save a few bucks on installation。〃
〃Keep talkin' that way；〃 warned Tony Torres； 〃and I'll sue your ass for slander。〃
Even before it was made a specified condition of his parole； Ira Jackson had never possessed a firearm。 In his many years as a professional goon； it had been his experience that men who brandished guns invariably got shot with one。 Ira Jackson favored the more personal touch afforded by crowbars； aluminum softball bats； nunchaku sticks； piano wire；