Chapter LXXX
CHAPTER LXXX
On Cousins Island, two shapes resembling bears in green leisure suits were monitoring the Triton compound.
“What’s that name they give to birdwatchers?” Tony Fulci asked his brother.
“Poindexters,” Paulie replied.
“No, the other name.”
Paulie mulled, gears turning slowly in his mind, the machinery grinding out an answer.
“Chasers,” he said.
“That’s it.”
“Why?”
“The old lady down there, the one with the binoculars, she’s got a bird book and a pencil, but she don’t show no interest in birds.”
“So what’s she looking at?”
“Same thing we are: Triton’s house.”
“You want I should go talk to her?”
“What would you say?”
“I could ask her about birds.”
“You don’t know nothing about birds.”
“If you’re right, she don’t either.”
“Then what would be the point?”
Paulie figured his brother was right. Tony often was. Nevertheless, and without consulting him further, Paulie took out his cell phone, thumbed through his contacts, and stabbed the call button. This was what Paulie understood as “showing initiative,” and was generally considered a good thing, so long as only the right people got hurt.
“Mr. Parker? Oh, sorry.” Paulie paused. “We thought you should know we’re not the only ones watching the house.”
He explained about the woman by the water, listened for a while, said thank you, and hung up.
“What did Mr. Parker say?” asked Tony.
“It wasn’t him. It was Mr. Louis. Mr. Parker’s resting.”
“So what did Mr. Louis say?”
“He told us we should feel free to drown her.”
Tony took this in.
“Not unless we have to,” he said.
And they returned to observing the house and the old poindexter. Chaser. Whatever.