Phil Colby leaned over to Marlin and said, “Interesting little show.” Marlin nodded, glancing around for a cop. Surely a couple of the deputies must be here, but he didn’t see any. With Bert Gammel murdered and Emmett Slaton missing, maybe they couldn’t spare the manpower.
Mameli straightened his tie and said, “Well, you’re a tree-hugging hump-whaddaya think of dat?”
Marlin was on the edge of his seat now, ready to wade in and break this thing up if it got physical. He could practically smell the testosterone in the air, could feel the cloak of embarrassment that settles over a crowd when two grown men behave like schoolchildren.
Peabody furrowed his brow, an exaggerated look of confusion. “I’d be offended, but frankly, I’m not even sure what that means,” he said, a few diehards still laughing, egging on this sneering little man. Several people in the bleachers, though, were rising, starting to leave.
“Uh, gentlemen…” It was Inga, still on the microphone, holding her hands up in a placating gesture, trying to rein this thing in. “There’s no reason to-”
But Mameli pointed at her and spoke over her amplified words. “She’s the jackass, if ya want my opinion. Her and all her bird-loving friends, including you. Oh yeah, I seen youse two runnin’ around town together. I know you’re in dis thing together. Well, screw both of you,” he said, pointing back at Peabody now.
As soon as Mameli had made the remark about Inga, Marlin could see people throughout the crowd reacting with distaste, shaking their heads. Using body language to say,
When the crowd quieted down, Peabody spoke again: “You, sir, are not only a ridiculous boor, you are a rapist of the Earth.”
Mameli spread his hands wide. “Yeah? Well, what the hell ya gonna do about it?”
Peabody’s voice rose. “I’m gonna shut you down. One way or another, I’m going to stop your carnage!”
Mameli grabbed his crotch with both hands and said, “I got your carnage right here!”
Peabody cocked his head toward the ceiling, hands on his hips, muttering to himself, as if he were trying to summon his patience. Mameli defiantly glared his way. Marlin rose now, with the sense that it was about to get messy. He could hear Phil saying something to him, but Marlin was making his way toward the floor, keeping an eye on the two men.
Before Marlin’s feet hit the tiles, Peabody let out a growl and rushed along the bleachers toward the large Italian.
Women screamed.
People piled out of the bleachers, tumbling, jumping, to get out of the way.
Vinnie got lucky. After only six or seven minutes, he spotted the Porsche, already coated with a thin layer of brown goo. Give it another month or so and the car would be practically invisible, blending right in with the bottom of the lake, tucked between a couple of oaks.
Vinnie let the weight belt pull him down to the car, just a small kick here and there, until he felt his flippers sink into the muck beside the driver’s door.
Bending low, flooding the interior of the car with light, Vinnie saw Emmett Slaton staring back at him, his face green and bloated. Slaton was floating off the seat, his arms levitating in front of him, reaching for the dashboard, as if the Porsche had just gone over a large bump in the road.
Vinnie eased the driver’s door open, keeping an eye on the corpse. Couldn’t have ol’ Emmett floating past him, rising to the surface. That would sure kill T.J.’s buzz quick.
Now the important thing: finding the LoJack. T.J. had said it was small, about the size of a deck of cards, Velcroed under the dash, right below the steering wheel.
Vinnie reached under, fumbled around for a few seconds, and…
Inside his mask, Vinnie grinned. See there? Every problem has a solution. All you gotta do is think it through, use your goddamn brains. And your balls sometimes, too. His father would be proud-if only Vinnie could tell him how his son had risen to meet this challenge.
Now there was only one more detail to take care of. He hated to do it, but this whole LoJack mess had made him realize it was a necessary step. Vinnie had wrestled with the idea for a while, trying to think of other options, but he had decided it was for the best. A smart man leaves no witnesses behind.
The love of a good woman was worth doing battle over. At least that’s how Thomas Peabody had felt thirty seconds ago, defending Inga’s honor, trading verbal barbs with Salvatore Mameli. Inga and Peabody had done their research and knew exactly who this Mameli character was: a land-clearer, a rabid destroyer of wildlife habitat, the kind of man who made Peabody fighting mad. But now, as he charged toward Mameli-who was looking larger and meaner as Peabody got closer-Peabody wondered about the wisdom of it all.
Would this be the act that finally drew Inga to him? Would this gesture force her to recognize his integrity, his loyalty to the cause, his bravery in the face of daunting odds? Would she become infatuated with his courage, his willingness to defend the defenseless?
Or would she simply think he was a moron?
Peabody realized he would have to ponder these issues later, because right now, Mameli’s meaty right fist was coming toward his face.
Vinnie finally emerged to the surface twenty yards from the boat.
As he swam the short distance, he could see T.J. rise to his feet. “Goddamn, dude, what happened down there?” T.J. hissed, trying to keep his voice quiet on the windless lake. “The rope went slack and I nearly had a damn heart attack!”
Vinnie grabbed the transom and pulled himself over. “Trees at the bottom of the lake. I had to untie it so I wouldn’t get tangled.”
“Oh, man, you had me freakin’. Did you get the LoJack?”
“Hell no,” Vinnie said, his voice thick with mock anger. “I don’t know what the fuck you were talking about, ‘right under the dashboard.’ It wasn’t there, man.”
T.J. groaned. “Aw, man. It’s right under the steering column, plain as day.”
Vinnie put his hand to his brow and shook his head, going for a look of frustration. “The steering column? I can’t believe this shit. Man, you told me it was under the passenger’s side.”
“Dude, I told you three times, it’s right under the driver’s side. Just stuck there with Velcro.”
Vinnie slumped in one of the seats and let the silence hang in the air for a moment. Then he tossed the scuba mask to Vinnie. “Your turn.”
“What? What are you talkin’ about?”
“It’s your turn. You know exactly where it is, so you go down and get it.” “But I don’t know how to work the scuba gear,” T.J. said, his voice shaky.
“I’ll show you. It’s no big deal. And you’ll have the spotlight. You’re not scared, are you?”
“Hell, no, gimme a break.” T.J. grabbed the stub of a joint and took a hit. “Hand me those damn flippers,” he said, smoke curling around his face. “I’ll go do it myself.”
Peabody ducked under Sal’s first punch and wrapped himself around the beefy Italian’s torso. Mameli responded by thumping Peabody several times on the back of his head, a sound Marlin could hear from ten yards away. Mameli then yanked Peabody’s head back by the hair with his left hand and was preparing to land a blow with his right, but his foot slipped between the plank he was standing on and the next bleacher down. Both men collapsed onto the bleacher seats now, Peabody howling in anguish as his hair was pulled tight. Mameli was moaning in agony, too, his right leg dangling unnaturally beneath the bleachers.
Marlin vaulted up the bleacher steps and started grabbing arms, trying to pry each man loose, hoping to situate himself between the two of them. “Let go! Both of you!” But both men continued grunting and cursing, taking short punches at each other when they got the chance.
Marlin couldn’t find an opening between them, with Mameli more or less lying on top of Peabody now. So Marlin got behind Mameli and reached around, attempting to loosen Mameli’s grip on Peabody’s stringy hair. That’s when he felt teeth-he wasn’t sure whose-clamping down on the meat of his left forearm. “Son of a bitch!” he yelled,
