The untouchable asshole, the ideal target." She was silent for several moments, thoughtful. "You know what? I'm doing the wrong story." Bryan watched her move to the closet now and come out with white pants that were like string-tied pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. "Where you going?" "Do some research," Angela said. Walter spent the first day thrashing around in the scrub without getting even a glimpse of Chichi Fuentes. Hotter'n a son of a bitch in there. He could hardly breathe. Trying to swat bugs and work the goddamn Jap camera, the goddamn equipment, the videotape recorder and the battery pack, hanging by straps around his neck, either strangling him or banging his knees or getting tangled up in the brush. "That's right, I forgot to tell you," Robbie said. "Afternoons Chichi's either at Seminole or Palm Beach Polo in Wellington." He said, "Sorry about that, Walter." Walter said, "You know how many different kinds of bugs're in there, just counting the fuckers you can see and maybe you can kill if you're fast enough?" "How many?" Robbie said.
