Native Tongue Part 10

"When?"

"Midnight sharp." Nina s.h.i.+fted her weight from one leg to the other, rippling the water. "You're not going," she said. "Please?"

Joe Winder looked back across the flats, lifeless in the empty auburn dusk. "No sign of those fish," he said. "I believe this tide is officially dead."

EIGHT.

Bud Schwartz didn't have to open his eyes to know where he was; the scent of jasmine room freshener a.s.sailed his nostrils. He was in Molly McNamara's place, lying on the living-room sofa. He could feel her stare, unblinking, like a stuffed owl.

"I know you're awake," she said.

He elected not to open his eyes right away.

"Son, I know you're there."

It was the same tone she had used the first time they met, at one of the low points in Bud Schwartz's burglary career; he had been arrested after his 1979 Chrysler Cordoba stalled in the middle of 163rd Street, less than a block from the duplex apartment he had just burglarized with his new partner, Danny Pogue. The victim of the crime had been driving home when he saw the stalled car, stopped to help and immediately recognized the Sony television, Panasonic clock radio, Amana microwave and Tandy laptop computer stacked neatly in the Cordoba's back seat. The reason the stuff was lying in the back seat was because the trunk was full of stolen Neil Diamond ca.s.settes that the burglars could not, literally, give away.

Bud Schwartz had been smoking in a holding cell of the Dade County Jail when Molly McNamara arrived.

At the time, she was a volunteer worker for Jackson Memorial Hospital and the University of Miami Medical School; her job was recruiting jail inmates as subjects for medical testing, a task that suited her talent for maternal prodding. She had entered the holding cell wearing white rubber-soled shoes, a polyester nurse's uniform and latex gloves.

"I'm insulted," Bud Schwartz had said.

Molly McNamara had eyed him over the top of her gla.s.ses and said, "I understand you're looking at eighteen months."

"Twelve, tops," Bud Schwartz had said.

"Well, I'm here to offer you a splendid opportunity."

"And I'm here to listen."

Molly had asked if Bud Schwartz was interested in testing a new ulcer drug for the medical school.

"I don't have no ulcers."

"It doesn't matter," Molly had said. "You'd be in the control group." A pill a day for three months, she had explained. Sign up now, the prosecutor asks the judge to chop your time in half.

"Your friend's already agreed to it."

"That figures," Bud Schwartz had said. "I end up with ulcers, he'll be the cause of it."

When he'd asked about possible side effects, Molly read from a printed page: headaches, high blood pressure, urinary-tract infections.

"Run that last one by me again."

"It's unlikely you'll experience any problems," Molly had a.s.sured him. They've been testing this medication for almost two years."

"Thanks, just the same."

"I know you're smarter than this," Molly had told him in a chiding tone.

"If I was really smart," Bud Schwartz had said, "I'd a put new plugs in the car."

A week later she had returned, this time without the rubber gloves. Pulled his rap sheet out of her purse, held it up like the Dead Sea Scrolls.

"I've been looking for a burglar," she had said.

"What for?"

"Ten thousand dollars."

"Very funny," Bud Schwartz had said.

"Call me when you get out. You and your friend."

"You serious?"

"It's not what you think," Molly had said.

"I can't think of anything. Except maybe you're some kinda snitch for the cops."

"Be serious, young man." Again with the needle in her voice, worse than his mother. "Don't mention this to anyone."

"Who the h.e.l.l would believe it? Ten grand, I swear."

"Call me when you get out."

"Be a while," he said. "Hey, is it too late to get me in on that ulcer deal?"

That was six months ago.

Bud Schwartz touched the place on his brow where the rent-a-cop's flashlight had clobbered him. He could feel a scabby eruption the size of a golf ball. "d.a.m.n," he said, opening his eyes slowly.

Molly McNamara moved closer and stood over him. She was wearing her reading gla.s.ses with the pink roses on the frames. She said, "Your friend is in the bedroom."

"Danny's back?"

"I was on my way here when I spotted him at the Farm Stores. He tried to get away, buta""

"You didn't shoot him again?" Bud Schwartz was asking more out of curiosity than concern.

"No need to," said Molly. "I had the Cadillac. I think your friend realized there's no point in getting run over."

With a wheeze, Bud Schwartz sat up. His ears pounded and stomach juices bubbled up sourly in his throat. As always, Molly was prompt with the first aid. She handed him a towel filled with chipped ice and told him to pack it against his wound.

Danny Pogue clumped into the living room and sat on the other end of the sofa. "You look like s.h.i.+t," he said to Bud Schwartz.

"Thank you, Tom Selleck." From under the towel Bud Schwartz glared with one crimson eye.

Molly McNamara said, "That's enough, the both of you. I can't begin to tell you how much trouble you've caused."

"We was trying to get out of your hair is all," said Danny Pogue. "Why're you keeping us prisoners?"

Molly said, "Aren't we being a bit melodramatic? You are not prisoners. You're simply two young men in my employ until I decide otherwise."

"In case you didn't hear," said Bud Schwartz, "Lincoln freed the slaves a long time ago."

Molly McNamara ignored the remark. "At the gatehouse I had to tell Officer Andrews a lie. I told him you were my nephews visiting from Georgia. I told him we'd had a fight and that's why you were trying to sneak out of Eagle Ridge. I told him your parents died in a plane crash when you were little, and I was left responsible for taking care of you."

"Pitiful," said Bud Schwartz.

"I told him you both had emotional problems."

"We're heading that direction," Bud Schwartz said.

"I don't like to lie," Molly added sternly. "Normally I don't believe in it."

"But shooting people is okay?" Danny Pogue cackled bitterly. "Lady, pardon me for saying, but I think you're G.o.dd.a.m.n f.u.c.king nutso."

Molly's eyes flickered. In a frozen voice she said, "Please don't use that word in my presence."

Danny Pogue mumbled that he was sorry. He wasn't sure which word she meant.

"I'm not certain Officer Andrews believed any of it," Molly went on. "I wouldn't be surprised if he reported the entire episode to the condominium a.s.sociation. You think you've got problems now! Oh, brother, just wait."

Bud Schwartz removed the towel from his forehead and examined it for bloodstains. Molly said, "Are you listening to me?"

"Hanging on every word."

"Because I've got some very bad news. For all of us."

Bud Schwartz grunted wearily. What now? What the h.e.l.l now?

"It was on the television tonight," Molly McNamara said. "The mango voles are dead. Killed on the highway."

Nervously Danny Pogue glanced at his partner, whose eyes were fixed hard on the old woman. Waiting, no doubt, to see if she pulled that d.a.m.n pistol from her sweater.

Molly said, "I don't know all the details, but I suppose it's not important. I feel absolutely sick about this."

Good, thought Bud Schwartz, maybe she's not blaming us.

But she was. "If only I'd known how careless and irresponsible you were, I would never have recruited you for this job." Molly took off her rose-framed gla.s.ses and folded them meticulously. Her gray eyes were misting.

"The blue-tongued mango voles are extinct because of me," she said, blinking, "and because of you."

Bud Schwartz said, "We're real sorry."

"Yeah," agreed Danny Pogue. "It's too bad they died."

Molly was downcast. "This is an unspeakable sin against Nature. The death of these dear animals, I can't tell youa"it goes against everything I've worked for, everything I believe in. I was so stupid to entrust this project to a couple of reckless, clumsy criminals."

"That's us," said Bud Schwartz.

Danny Pogue didn't like his partner's casual tone. He said to Molly, "We didn't know they was so important. They looked like regular old rats."

The old woman absently fondled the b.u.t.tons of her sweater. "There's no point belaboring it. The damage is done. Now we've got to atone."

"Atone," said Bud Schwartz suspiciously.

"What does that mean?" asked Danny Pogue. "I don't know that word."

Molly said, "Tell him, Bud."

"It means we gotta do something to make up for all this."

Molly nodded. "That's right. Somehow we must redeem ourselves."

Bud Schwartz sighed. He wondered what crazy lie she'd told the rent-a-cop about their gunshot wounds.

And this condo a.s.sociationa"what's she so worried about?

"Have you ever heard of the Mothers of Wilderness?" asked Molly McNamara.

"No," said Bud Schwartz, "can't say that I have." Danny Pogue said he'd never heard of them, either.

"No matter," said Molly, brightening, "because as of tonight, you're our newest members. Congratulations, gentlemen!"

Restlessly Danny Pogue squeezed a pimple on his neck. "Is it like a nature club?" he said. "Do we get T-s.h.i.+rts and stuff?"

"Oh, you'll enjoy it," said Molly. "I've got some pamphlets in my briefcase."

Bud Schwartz clutched at the damp towel. This time he pressed it against his face. "Cut to the chase," he muttered irritably. "What the h.e.l.l is it you want us to do?"

"I'm coming to that," said Molly McNamara. "By the way, did I mention that Mr. Kingsbury is offering a reward to anyone who turns in the vole robbers?"

"Oh, no," said Danny Pogue.

"Quite an enormous reward, according to the papers."

"How nice," said Bud Schwartz, his voice cold.

"Oh, don't worry," Molly said. "I wouldn't dream of saying anything to the authorities."