Bad Monkey

Mrs. Lipscomb showed up sobbing in the company of her landscaper, whose shared grief was triggered by the loss of a lucrative contract. Next to arrive on scene was Agent Weiderman, who provided the police with the name, description and automobile information of the suspected arsonist. Twenty minutes later Evan Shook was informed by a sweaty road sergeant that Plover Chase had been captured at a roadblock on Summerland Key. Four empty jerry cans smelling of gasoline were recovered from the trunk of her rental.

In the growing crowd Evan Shook recognized his insurance agent, who was scampering around snapping photographs. Although the site was covered for fire loss, Evan Shook couldn’t recall the numerical terms of the policy, specifically the payoff limits. He was morbidly aware of how much of his own money he’d sunk into the property, and additionally what he owed on the mortgage and construction loan. Even with the insurance check he could lose his ass. All that remained would be a pile of charred rubble and a bare lot, which Evan Shook undoubtedly would be forced to surrender in the divorce.

The future was nauseating to contemplate. Evan Shook wished he were a clueless bystander, not the victim, so he could enjoy the blaze for the crackling spectacle it was. At some point Agent Weiderman asked if Evan Shook could think of a reason why Plover Chase would torch his house instead of Andrew Yancy’s.

“No idea,” said Evan Shook. “Only thing I ever did to the lady was rent a hotel room for her and her deadbeat boyfriend.”

“Strange. Wonder why she picked you.”

“There’s the one you should ask!” Evan Shook was pointing at Yancy, who’d just stepped out of his car. He looked genuinely astounded by the sight of the fire.

Evan Shook squirted past the much taller Agent Weiderman and rushed toward Yancy yelling, “This is all your motherfucking fault! Your lunatic girlfriend burned down my house!”

Yancy surprised his neighbor by pinning him somewhat forcefully to the hood of the Subaru. “In the first place,” Yancy said nose to nose, “she couldn’t possibly have done this because she’s in Miami. Secondly, she’s not a lunatic, but on her behalf I’ll accept your heartfelt apology.”

“Not the doctor girlfriend,” Evan Shook wheezed. “The fucked-up blonde. You know which one.”

Yancy righted Evan Shook and set him on the ground like a lawn jockey. Agent Weiderman wedged the men apart and led Yancy away to brief him on the improbable particulars of the crime. Evan Shook was so upset that when the phone vibrated in his pants, he pulled out the stun gun by mistake and nearly Tazed his own ear.

After successfully extracting his cell he heard the voice of Ford Lipscomb:

“Jayne told me what happened, Evan. It’s so terrible, truly awful.” He was calling from the Gulf Stream aboard the Misty Momma IV, which he’d chartered for the day.

“It’s heartbreaking for us,” he continued, “but poor you! Good God, man, you must be in shock.”

“Something like that,” said Evan Shook.

“Jayne’s completely devastated. I just spoke with her and she says the place is still burning—they couldn’t save anything.”

Evan Shook whimpered to himself. Three firefighters were chopping at a smoldering portico. “Is this about your deposit, Mr. Lipscomb?”

“No rush,” he said. “Tomorrow’s fine. Whenever the banks open.”

Twenty-seven

Claspers didn’t come back. The following day, the Striplings enlisted another pilot to fly them out of Andros—a local guy with a dubiously maintained twin Beech, but Nick said go for it. The new pilot advised them to be ready at noon.

Cell service on the island was working again, so Eve phoned British Air in Nassau and booked two business-class seats to London. Her next call was to a spinal surgeon on Devonshire Street whose patients had awarded him four and a half stars on the Internet, which was insufficiently stellar for Nick but Eve made an appointment anyway.

While she was repacking for a longer, possibly permanent stay, Egg showed up. He was haggard and limping; Nick chewed him a new one anyway. The goon offered no apology for disappearing the night of the storm. He said he’d had a medical problem, so he’d brought back the Jeep and walked to the trailer at Curly Tail Lane. He didn’t say what had been done with Yancy’s girlfriend, and the Striplings didn’t ask.

Eve told Egg to look at the Super Rollie, which had been malfunctioning since Nick crashed it into the wall. Egg said the automatic steering was fucked up. Nick started hollering and cussing again because how else was he supposed to get through Heathrow if he couldn’t walk. Eve said all airports offered wheelchairs.

“Not with motors!” her husband railed. “Not with a goddamn iPod dock!”