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Or he hadreallydark tastes.
The southernmost highway cutting east to west across the Everglades provedmuchmore fruitful hunting grounds. Plenty of sketchy bait shacks, ramshackle “see the three-headed snake” roadside attractions, and some questionable side roads. The hamlets got more pronounced the farther east we went, until we got to one that was a small cluster of buildings half a mile off the highway, tucked into a small bit of solid land bordering the marsh. Massive amounts of underbrush and tall palm trees cast most of the small, ancient houses in bug-laden shade, but the largest building was more prominent and in the sunlight, advertisingLIVE BAITandMUSEUMandJERKYalong with two fuel pumps older than Sterling and I combined.CASH ONLYwas advised by half a dozen signs.
The bugs swarmed us as soon as we got out of the truck. I headed right for the bait shop/jerky dealer/museum. It was dimly lit, and the floor was gritty. The doors didn’t have any deadbolts, but they did have holes for deadbolts.
Sterling craned his neck back to look at the whole gator skeleton bolted onto the wall over the double doors.
It was the half dozen taxidermy cats arranged in the window that had my attention. Each one was wearing a collar with name tags.
Live bait, boiled peanuts, taxidermy, trophy mounting, and a clothing rack offering overalls and trucker hats. There were also some coolers containing drinks, and a rack of snacks. I spotted gator jerky.Local,homemadegator jerky. It wasn’t wrapped up, just strips of jerky in half a barrel that had a piece of posterboard taped to it.
The air was so thick and humid the dust was sticky.
Sterling moved along the dusty perimeter, checking out the glass top cases. I sidled towards the gator jerky. Two proprietors, male and female, wearing overalls, sat on stools behind the main counter. Two fans set on either side of them stirred the water-soaked air.
No tongs for the gator jerky. I took one of the paper bags and put a few strips of jerky into it.
“Winter,” Sterling said.
“Hmm?” I deposited another strip of jerky.
“What are you doing?”
“Gator jerky.” I took a defiant bite.
“Don’t think we aren’t going to count that when we weigh it,” the male set of overalls told me.
Sterling tilted his head in acome herefashion. My mate stood by one of the dusty glass-top display tables and pointed at something.
The interior of the case was old, moldy-looking purple velvet pushing retirement age. The contents were dusty and mangled from the humidity, and the glass itself was stained and covered in layers of grime. There were some faded-looking trading cards, a few stray forks, some broken bits of crockery, alargenumber of teeth and small skulls, and the item Sterling indicated.
“Holy—” I caught myself before I made a noise.
“Is that it?” Sterling asked.
He pointed to a necklace that looked like a crystal spear, covered in the moist, dusty grime, and semi-full of a disgusting-looking liquid. It was on a tarnished silver chain. The clasp around the top of the spear was also tarnished, and simple enough it looked like someone had been wearing it like an energy crystal for the vibrations at some point.
“You going to pay for this jerky?” Lady Overalls called.
“This for sale?” Sterling answered back.
“Is what?”
“The stone pendant in this case.”
Lady Overalls slid off her stool and came down the narrow corridor. She looked at my bug-eaten legs and shoulders, then back at the glass case. “That thing?”
“Next to the frog skull. How much?”
“Why do you want it?”
“Want to hang it from the truck mirror. Swamp water crystal.”
Was Sterling’s negotiation strategy to say the craziest, most nonsensical reason possible? How did you even argue withI want to replace my fuzzy dice?
She looked at me.
I shrugged.
