Ward shouted, "Florida! He's in Florida!"

"Where in Florida?"

"I don't..."

Keith fired again into the floor near Ward's head, and again Ward bounced, then yelled, "Stop! He went... I think he went to Daytona. Yeah, to Daytona."

"Where in Daytona?"

"I... he never told us."

"Okay. She with him?"

"Yeah."

"Did you have fun at the motel?"

"No."

"Looked like you were having fun."

"I was scared shitless."

"Not as scared as you are now."

"No. Hey, Landry, I just follow orders."

"Every time I hear that, I want to kill the guy who said it."

"Give me a break. You got me down. I told you what I know. Hey, for all I care, you can go down to Daytona and kill the son-of-a-bitch. I hate him."

"And he's not real happy with you either. You saw his wife naked. You better hope I kill him, or you have a career problem."

Keith holstered the revolver and climbed the stairs before Ward started to think about that. With any luck, Ward knew that Baxter was at Grey Lake and would call Baxter to say he'd been a good boy and sent Landry off to Florida. It didn't matter that much either way, but you never passed up an opportunity to play the great flimflam game.

Keith found the master bedroom, which had a very lived-in look, with clothes strewn around, the bed unmade, and every object out of place. He got down on the floor and reached under the bed, hoping that Gail had taken him literally and put the rifle there, but he couldn't feel the carrying case. He looked around the room. In truth, the rifle could be on the floor, and he wouldn't see it amidst the junk. He went around to the other side and looked under the bed, but aside from the clutter, there wasn't anything resembling a canvas carrying case.

A voice said, "Looking for this?"

Keith straightened up and saw the muzzle of the M-16 rifle resting on the edge of the mattress. Keith stood and said, "Hello, Charlie."

Charlie Adair dropped the rifle on the bed and said, "You look like shit."

"Thank you. You, too."

"Did I hear you assaulting and abusing an officer of the law downstairs?"

"He was that way when I found him."

"That was very clever — getting the Florida story out of him, and you know that's not where they went. You're very good in the field. I always thought your real talents were wasted behind a desk."

"That's what I've been saying." Keith had no idea how Charlie Adair knew that Baxter and Annie had not gone to Florida. For that matter, he had no idea how Charlie had wound up in the Porter house.

Adair looked around the room. "With friends like these, you don't have to raise pigs."

"They're good people."

"They're left-wing radicals."

"Don't check out my friends, Charlie. I don't like that."

"These are the kinds of friends I have to check out."

"No, you don't."

"Actually, they are nice people."

"How'd you get onto them? Or should I ask?"

"You shouldn't. You should tell me."

Keith thought a moment, then said, "Telephone records."

"Bingo. You haven't made many calls since you've been here, so it was easy. Don't be impressed."

"I'm not." He asked, "Where are the Porters?"

"Running errands. Hey, I never saw a man in an Armani suit step out of an iridescent van. Who was that guy?"

"Chuck. From Toledo Airport."

"Ah. Good. He coming back?"

"No."

"You're without transportation."

"I have a police car. Where's your transport?"

"I just clicked my heels, and here I am."

"Charlie... I already have a headache. What can I do for you?"

"That's not the question, Keith. Ask not what you can do for your country, but what your country can do for you."

"That's not how it goes."

"Unfortunately, Keith, that's exactly how it goes in Washington, the big tit of the world. Your country is here to help you."

"With no strings attached."

"I didn't say that."

"I don't really have time for this."

"A little time with me will save you a lot of time later. Hey, can we get out of this sty? I think I saw a clean spot downstairs."

Keith took the rifle off the bed, and, carrying Ward's gun belt and holster, he followed Charlie into the upstairs hallway, where Charlie picked up the carrying case with the scope and ammunition. It was just like Adair, Keith thought, to materialize out of nowhere, brandishing a rifle that could just as well have been in its case — Charlie Adair was all show, mostly drama and comedy, but one day, for sure, tragedy.

They came down into the front foyer, and Charlie went over to Kevin Ward on the floor and stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Barry Brown from Amway."

Keith almost laughed as Ward actually put out his left hand and shook with Charlie.

Charlie said, "I have some stuff that'll make that uniform look like new again. I'll be right back. Stay there."

Keith and Charlie went into the kitchen. Charlie washed two glasses in the sink and said to Keith, "There's fresh tomato juice in the refrigerator."

Keith got the pitcher out and poured two glasses. Charlie touched his glass to Keith's and said, "Good to see you alive."

"Good to be alive, not good to see you."

"Of course it is."

They drank. Charlie smacked his lips. "Not bad. Needs vodka. But maybe you shouldn't drink. You really look like shit. I guess Chief Baxter got ahold of you."

Keith didn't reply.

"Let's go out back where we can talk."

They went outside, and Charlie sat in a lawn chair, looking out over the gardens. "Beautiful."

Keith remained standing. He said, "Charlie, I'm on a schedule."

"Right. Okay, I won't be too cryptic. Here's what I know. You got back here from Washington on Saturday, missed your rendezvous with Mrs. Baxter, but by Sunday night you were both gone, according to what I've pieced together. By about nine P.M. Sunday, the whole fucking state of Ohio was looking for you on suspicion of kidnapping, but for some odd reason, the FBI wasn't notified of a possible kidnapping with probable flight across state lines. The next we hear from the Ohio police is that they've found your naked and battered person in some fuckarama out by Toledo Airport, sans Mrs. Baxter. You're in Lucas County Hospital with a mild concussion, and so on and so forth. Mr. and Mrs. Baxter are reunited and are on a second honeymoon in Florida. So I fly out to Toledo on Monday morning and look in on you, but you're still out cold. I get a local FBI guy to keep an eye on you so that Mr. Baxter doesn't return to retrieve your balls, which they tell me are intact, then I come out to Spencerville and do some old-fashioned snooping. By Monday night, I've had bean curd with the Porters, and we've become great buddies despite our political differences." He looked at Keith and said, "I went out to your place, of course. Sorry."

"It's okay."

"I don't think so. So you want to find him, kill him, and get her back."

Keith didn't reply.

Charlie continued, "Anyway, I'm staying out at the local mom-and-pop motel, and this morning I get a call from the FBI guy at the hospital, and he's all upset to have to tell me you gave him the sliperoo. I'm impressed. Not with the FBI guy, of course. I mean, the last time I saw you Monday morning, you looked like you couldn't get into any trouble. So I get a federal marshal to go out to the sister's place in wherever the hell that is and do a stakeout, then I get all kinds of phones tapped, courtesy of a federal judge in Toledo, and I come here to the Porters', taking a chance that you'd show up. Meanwhile, I've got a federal writ of habeas corpus in my pocket in case some of the locals pick you up. All I have to do is fill in the blanks. Isn't this wonderful? I can do anything I want. But I'm on the side of the angels with this one, buddy, so any minor abuse of federal power can be forgiven." He added, "We take care of our own, Keith. We always have."