“No, a real looker,” said Bud. “Asks what the fuck I think I’m doing on private property, can’t I read the signs? I tell her about the photos, even show her my real estate paperwork. Doesn’t care, just waves the gun. Orders me to turn my car around and drive off this little sandy spur that leads God-knows-where. The road goes deeper and deeper into back country and we come to another stilt house, totally secluded in the salt flats and mangroves. Makes me get out of the car and walk around behind the house to a patio, where she makes me sit in this lounger with my back to the building. Tells me not to turn around or she’ll shoot. Then she climbs the stairs and goes inside. I’m really shaking now, all kinds of horrible stuff running through my mind. You wouldn’t even have to dispose of a body there, just let nature take its course. I’m about to make a run for it when I hear a door open and footsteps on the stairs. Then this scraping noise. She’s dragging another lounger and sets it up right next to mine. I look out the corner of my eye and can’t believe what I’m seeing. She’s completely naked. And
“So did she kill you?” asked Coleman.
“No. But I didn’t move a muscle for an hour. Finally she gets up, grabs the gun and goes in the house. I wait a few minutes just to make sure, then take off running like a bastard. I get around the side of the house and there she is, walking back up the road from the mailbox, still buck naked, nonchalantly thumbing through envelopes, the gun dangling upside down by the trigger guard from one of her fingers. Doesn’t even look up, just says, ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ So I’m back on that lounger. Another hour goes by, and suddenly there’s this crashing in the brush and some big lumberjack type in jeans and tattoos jumps out and charges at me, screaming and swinging a baseball bat. Chases me all over the yard. We make several circles around the naked woman on the lounger, and she’s just reading her magazine, la-de-dah, and finally says like she’s really bored, ‘You wanna fool around or you wanna fuck?’ She puts down her magazine and skips off into the swamp. The guy drops the bat and runs after her undoing his pants. I made a break for it, never looked back.” Bud took a long sip from his draft. “And that, my friend, is No Name Key.”
“Whoa,” said Coleman. “Some story!”
“That’s not even the best,” said Rebel. “There’s this drug kingpin who lives over there named—”
“Shhhhhh!” said Shirtless Bob.
“Give me a break!” said Sop Choppy. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to even say his name!”
“Keep your voice down,” said Bud.
“I don’t even believe he exists,” said Sop Choppy.
“You better,” said Rebel.
13
THE PETITE WOMAN took off her sunglasses for the first time. She dabbed tears, put them back on. She turned her head in the direction of No Name Key. “I just know he was behind this.”
“Keep your voice down,” said the man sitting across from her. He scooted his chair closer. “Of course he’s behind it. That’s why we have to get you some place safe. And a new identity.”
“I’m not going to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.”
“You need to start making plans.”
“I’m still thinking about Janet.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“I never should have let her leave the truck stop. If only I’d driven faster…”
ANNA LOOKED AT the speedometer. A hundred and five. She took the second exit off the Interstate and raced east down a county road with cattle fencing and no street lights. Anna knew the area; she turned up an unmarked dirt road. The Trans Am had what’s known as racing suspension, which means it’s bad. Especially doing fifty without pavement. The uneven earth threw the car around. It seemed like forever, but the road soon dumped into a pasture. A dark aluminum building came into view at the edge of the Australian pines. Janet’s car was already there. Janet waiting inside. Good. Anna pulled nose-to-nose with the other car. What was up with Janet’s windshield? Those would be bullet holes. Thirty.
Headlights came on from an unseen car behind the building, two tubes of lighted fog across the field.
