“That the quarry I’ve heard about?” Jack said.

Carl nodded. “Some company carved a mess of limestone blocks outta there, then went outta business.”

“What’s it like down there?”

Carl shrugged. “Just a big hole in the ground. Used to have a big pool of water in its bottom, but not this year.”

“Much security?”

“None I ever seen. You can’t steal a hole in the ground. Kids sneak in there at night to drink, smoke dope, and screw. Never seen anyone kick ‘em out. Why you so interested?”

“Just curious.”

Jack hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, but if worse came to worst, he might have use for the quarry.

He followed Carl’s directions, turning this way and that, heading in a generally northwest direction. Along the way he saw a black bird with a red head pecking at something on the side of the road.

“Christ, that’s an ugly bird.”

“That’s a turkey vulture—’TV,’ for short. Right homely, aren’t they. Good thing about them is they clean up roadkill. They do such a good job that round here we call roadkill ‘TV dinners.’” He snickered. “‘TV dinners.’ Get it?”

“I get it, Carl.”

The vegetation became reedier as they rolled along. Finally Carl pointed to a small building with a big AIR BOATS sign. Another, smaller sign—not much more than a slim board with a handwritten message—had been tacked to the bottom.

CLOSED DO TO DROWT.

Jack wondered what the owners were doing with all this extra spare time. Playing Scrabble maybe?

“We’re going on an air boat?” He’d seen them whizzing across the Everglades in movies and nature shows and had always wanted to ride one. “Cool.”

“Can’t use no air boats when it’s this dry. There’s enough water in the big channels, but the little ones—forget it.”

Jack followed Carl around to the rear of the shack where a beached canoe waited on the mud.

“That’s our boat?”

“That’s her,” Carl said with a grin. “She ain’t too pan-o-ramic, but she’s got a motor.”

Jack looked at the tiny, odd-shaped hunk of steel clamped to the right rear stern.

“You call that a motor? I’ve seen bigger eggbeaters.”

“Don’t knock it. It’s better’n paddlin’ the whole way.”

Carl stepped into the water and pulled the canoe off the mud. He hopped into the stern seat and used the paddle jutting from his right sleeve to steady the boat. Jack had no choice but to wade in, sneakers and all, after him.

“Didn’t you bring no boots?”

“Ain’t got no boots.” There I go, talking like him again.