what he did to Derrick? Knock his head off, man!'
I approached him carefully. He was big enough, plus he had that look of fast-twitch quickness. A more compelling reason was that Tomlinson's paranoid assessment was probably accurate: the kid had the pinched manner of someone who enjoyed cruelty. It is a hyena furtiveness; a snap-at-the-heels, eat-them-when-they're- down demeanor that is subde but unmistakable.
If Tony got me on the ground, he wouldn't stop. That was my guess. He'd damage me and enjoy it. Maybe even kill me if he allowed it to go too far. He would probably enjoy that, too. What I had to do was find a way to hurt him badly enough so he'd no longer pose a threat to me and Nora.
At least, that's what I told myself. When emotion takes control, when the roaring comes into my ears, it is difficult to say what is true and what is justification for my behavior.
I listened to him say, 'Dude, let's drop the sticks. You got the balls for that? Just you and me, using our hands.'
I stopped as if considering. Let him see me relax for a moment, which is when he swung the shovel hard at my face.
It was not a surprise.
I ducked under the shovel, moving to my left, and used the tree limb to hammer him hard just above the pelvis, kidney high. The limb Derrick had chosen had a sapling springiness to it. The spring added a whipping effect. Wood hitting flesh made a hollow sound like bamboo smashing a pumpkin.
Tony moaned, dropped to one knee-then tried to cut my legs out from under me when I took a step closer. 'Fucker, you hurt me.'
'Put down the shovel, I'll stop.'
'Sure-after I knock your head off!' He lunged at me as he got to his feet; took a series of wild cuts, driving me toward the mangroves. I backed away, sucking my stomach in, feeling the wind off the blade, he was that close. He had a split grip; the rhythm was consistent. When I got the timing down, I anticipated his backswing and smashed his right hand, then his left elbow, with a kayaklike stroke.
He dropped the shovel, moaning.
I took one step toward him, and put much of my weight behind a golf stroke that caught him just above the knee. His scream was a terrible thing to hear, and he fell to the ground in a fetal position.
'Stop it! You're going to kill him!' Tisha had gone from cheerleader to protector.
No, I wasn't going to kill him. But I was going to get some information out of him.
To Nora, I said, 'I'm really getting tired of her noise.'
I liked her quick reaction. She seemed to know instantly what I wanted her to do-stay between the hysterical girl and myself. I didn't want to be put in the position of having to light her off.
She gave Tisha a warning look. 'I'm getting kind of sick of her myself.'
Just like that, Tisha became very, very quiet.
Tony wasn't being cooperative. He was hurt and furious and he had a very nasty mouth. His attitude was as foul as his language. I was getting sick of both. Now I nudged him with the stick and said, 'You need to answer my questions, little man, or I'm going to get mad. You don't want me to get mad, do you?'
He told me to go do something to myself-a physical impossibility.
He was still on the ground. I was standing over him. I said, 'Did I mention that was your last warning?'
'Get away from me, asshole!'
'See? A perfect example. You don't seem to have any concern for my feelings.' I knelt, put a knee in his side, slapped him twice in the face when he tried to fight me off, then I reached and got a good grip on his earrings, left hand and right hand. They became very effective steering devices. I turned his head until he was facing the ground, neck bent upward, toward me.
'That hurts, damn it!'
'I bet it does. But know what's gonna hurt worse? From now on, every time you don't answer a question, I'm going to rip a pretty little ring out of your nasty little head. First one that goes is that nose ring. That's going to hurt.'
'Ford.'
I turned to see Nora's quizzical, worried expression-I wasn't really going to torture the man, was I? I gave her the slightest nod in answer. It changed her face; changed the way she looked at me.
I said, 'Okay, let's try it again: tell me why you dug up Dorothy Copeland.'
'I didn't!'
I changed my grip on his head so fast that I had the nose ring in my fist before he could react. I gave it a sharp tug, hard enough for him to feel it, but not hard enough to rip it away.
'Shit!'
'I don't think you heard the question: Why'd you open her grave?'
'Honest, I didn't! I swear to Christ I didn't! I don't know who did, either. Some sicko, man, but it wasn't us.'
'Then why were you at the funeral? And don't give me that crap about nothing better to do.'
'To see what was in the coffin. People on the island knew there was something buried with her. That was always the story. I grew up hearing it, man, and I wanted to see for myself. Derrick and the two chicks, they were just tagging along.'
'You have no idea who did it?'
'Not a clue. Honest to God. Yeah, we've been digging out here, but we haven't found shit. Some bones, that's all. Some pottery. But digging up the girl's grave, no way, man. I had absolutely nothing to do with that.'
'Your dad's such a nice guy, he loaned you all this expensive equipment. He must be big on hobbies.'
'When he sees what you did to his shit, you're going to find out how big my dad is, asshole!'
'There's that mouth of yours again.' I twisted the nose ring until he made a squeaking noise. 'Sneaking onto an island, digging up an important archaeological site. I hope you're nicer to the cop who arrests you.'
'We ain't sneaking, man. We don't got to sneak. My dad's general contractor for the dude who owns the whole fucking island, man. They're gonna start clearing and building in a couple of months anyway. What we done here, shit, this ain't nothing compared with what my old man's gonna do when he gets the rest of his permits.'
I said, 'See how easy it is? I ask a question, you give me an answer.' I released the nose ring. 'Who does your dad work for?'
His eyes were watering; he had the sniffles, too. 'The old man who was at the funeral today. The rich dude, Ivan Bauerstock.'
Tony was Tony Rossi, son of Frank Rossi, the big man with the florid face and the T-shirt I'd seen at the funeral. He'd been working for Bauerstock for nearly fifteen years, according to his son, and both men had a passion for Indian artifacts.
'It's like their thing, you know? They collect the shit, trade it back and forth. It's what they got in common. Mr. Bauerstock, he's into all kinds of stuff. Artifacts, that's just one of the things. So when they get a construction deal going, and it's at a place that might have something to find, they make it a point to get in a little early. Dig and sift; no big deal. Which is my whole point, man. You think we're gonna get arrested? Shit, dude, you're the one who's gonna get arrested. My dad's boss owns the fucking place.'
I thought I was going to have to restrain Nora when he said that. I waited patiendy while she lectured him. I saw at least one point hit home-'We'll have Ivan Bauerstock arrested and make you testify!' — before I asked him a few more questions. We were both standing now; me leaning on my stave, him limping around when he moved, nursing an elbow that had already swollen to the size of a baseball. Whenever he balked at a question, all I had to do was take the stave in both hands. It kept him talking.
It wasn't unusual for his dad to pay him and some of his buddies to do that hard, hot labor. He'd been doing it off and on for years. The difference this time was, his dad had been so insistent that they put in a lot of hours and make a very, very careful search. Tony was vague about what he hoped they'd uncover.
'Stuff like the girl found, that's what my old man said. I'd seen those pictures a thousand times. Wooden masks, Spanish beads. That thing you took out of the girl's coffin, they'd love to have that, man. They're big on carvings or anything made of gold. Something major, Mr. Bauerstock is gonna pay me a big bonus. Two thousand bucks cash plus a thousand each for my friends.'
'Plus he was paying you to dig.'
