"I said, drop the gun!" Rony thumbed the shotgun's safety off, but kept his finger outside the trigger guard.

The robber's face was so swollen that Rony wondered whether he could see. Tears streamed down his puffy cheeks, and he gasped for breath every couple words. "What did? You do? To me?"

Rony shook his head. "You're sick. I can take you to the hospital, but you have to drop the gun."

"I can't." The robber's swollen hand resembled a clenched lobster claw. He could not let go of the gun any more than he could fire it.

Rony set his shotgun on the counter. "Just lower your arm. We don't want any accidents."

"I didn't mean it," the robber begged. "Take it off. Please."

Rony showed the robber his hands. "I can't take it off. But I'm not going to hurt you."

"Ok." The robber lowered his arm.

The Kangaroo's door shattered. There was a sound like a muffled firecracker, followed by several explosions.

The robber gave Rony a betrayed look, pressed his lobster-claw hand over his chest, and slumped to the floor.

Bewildered, Rony examined his shotgun. It had not fired.

A police officer entered the Kangaroo, pistol in hand, crunching glass beneath his boots. He wore a JSO uniform, but Rony had only ever seen two models of JSO officer: obese and steroid abuser. This officer looked perhaps fifty years old, judging by his close-cropped, greying hair, but he had a gymnast's build and moved like he'd been assembled by a Swiss watchmaker. If he was alarmed at having just shot a man to death, it did not show on his narrow, almost canine, face. His nametag said "Huntsman."

Huntsman touched his index finger to the robber's throat and holstered his pistol. "How fortunate for you that I arrived when I did."

Jesus, Rony thought, though he did not think his father would have protested had he said it out loud. "Should I call an ambulance?" he said.

"I'm not injured." Huntsman took the shotgun off the counter and set it aside, out of Rony's reach.

Rony was not concerned. Policemen must do that sort of thing to control a crime scene, he thought. He pointed at the dead, or dying, man. "I meant for him."

"He is beyond saving," Huntsman said.

"How do you know?" Rony said.

"Because I shot him." Huntsman's tone was even, something in his voice emphasized the word 'I,' instead of the word 'shot.' Something akin to pride.

The robber lay still, emptying his blood onto the linoleum. The hives covering his skin had survived him.

Rony stepped around the counter and crouched next to the body. "He was dropping his gun."

"Hm?" Huntsman said. Blood lapped against his boots, but if he noticed, he did not seem to care.

"He was trying to put his gun down," Rony said, raising his voice.

"I heard you," Huntsman said. "I was just surprised by your ingratitude."

The carnage twisted Rony's stomach, but he could not look away from the robber's body. "He couldn't have shot me if he wanted to. He was sick and scared. Look at his hands!"

Huntsman rolled the robber's body over with his boot, located the raised red bump on the robber's hand, and lifted it to his face.

"I said look, not lick!" Rony said.

"Don't be crass." Huntsman sniffed the bump, then let the hand drop back to the floor.

Rony rubbed his arms to warm himself. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm glad you got here so fast. Did someone hear gunshots?"

"It's possible." Huntsman placed two photographs on the counter. "Have you seen these men?"

Rony glanced at the robber's body. "You want to do this right now?"

"Let me worry about him." Huntsman put on black leather gloves and fished around inside the robber's mouth. "Meth. Pathetic."

"Is that what made him sick?" Rony said.

Huntsman shook his head. "Focus on your task."

The photographs were official-looking headshots of Ray Lumley and Byron Wong, wearing Florida Forest Service attire. Ray smiled awkwardly in his picture, and Byron squeezed his right biceps into the frame of his.

"This one's name is Byron." Rony tapped the photo with his finger.

Huntsman nodded. "He sells drugs to children."

"He's a scumbag," Rony said. "I haven't seen him in a while, though."

"And the other?" Huntsman began to remove, and neatly fold, the robber's bloody clothes.

"What are you doing?" Rony said. "This is a Kangaroo, not the Rue Morgue!"

"I'm following a trail," Huntsman said. "And the Rue Morgue was a street. Do you know the man in the other photo?"

Rony held up Ray's picture. "I've seen this guy, but I don't know his name."

Huntsman opened the robber's eyelids and peered inside. "Ray Lumley. It's quite fitting; you can tell a great deal from a man's name."

"I completely disagree," Rony said.

Huntsman rolled the body onto its stomach and examined its neck, back, shoulders, and arms. "When did you see him?"

Rony gagged. He had never seen exit wounds before. "Yesterday. He came in asking for Gatorade and condoms."

"Sounds about right," Huntsman said.

"About right? Oh. Oh shit. It's kids, isn't it?" Rony slammed his fist on the counter. "Those sons of bitches! I should have known, the way that Korean asshole was looking at my sister."

Huntsman stopped examining the body. "Known what?"

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" Rony said. "I swear, if I'd known what they were doing, I never would have sold him the condoms."

Huntsman looked up, wearing a puzzled expression. "How would that have helped?"

"I— I don't know. I'm angry. Goddamn pedos." Rony punched the cigarette rack.

Huntsman returned to his field autopsy. "They're arsonists."

"They're burning kids?" Rony said. "Jesus, I'm going to be sick."

"Just the forest." Huntsman flipped a business card at Rony. "If you see them again, or think of anything you left out, call me."

Rony pocketed the card. "So, is someone going to pick that guy up? I already bleached the floor once tonight. And who's going to pay for my door?"

"There you are! Vermin!" Huntsman shouted.

Rony flinched, knocking a carton of cigarettes onto the floor.

Huntsman held up his gore-slicked, gloved hand. A large fire ant struggled between his fingers, flailing its antenna. He crushed it. "Anaphylaxis."

Rony furrowed his eyebrows. "That guy was allergic to ants? Is that common?"

Huntsman tucked the dead ant into shirt's front pocket. "It's unlikely that he was allergic before tonight."

"Allergies can do that?" Rony said.

"In the wrong hands." Huntsman picked the robber's revolver off the floor and decocked it.

"I just thought of something else," Rony said. "There was a guy in here at the same time as Ray. Around your age. Bigger than you, though."

Huntsman checked the revolver's cylinder. "And?"

Rony pointed out the gas cans for sale. "He bought a lot of gasoline and lighter fluid. Paid cash. He said he was camping, but maybe they were working together."

"Could you describe this man?" Huntsman said.

"Sure," Rony said.

Huntsman recocked the revolver.

Too late, Rony realized his mistake. "Maybe if I had a sketch artist, or something. I mean, I definitely couldn't. I'm not so good with faces."

"How swiftly fortunes change," Huntsman said, with a weary sigh.

Rony's hands trembled. So much bullshit in one night, he thought. So much.

Blue and red lights flashed across the wall of the Kangaroo, accompanied by a squawking siren. A police car pulled into the parking lot and two JSO officers — one about thirty pounds overweight, and the other suspiciously well-muscled — leapt out with their guns drawn. They relaxed when they saw Huntsman standing over the robber's corpse. The first officer shouted, "Everything alright in there?"

"All clear." Huntsman lowered the revolver.

The officers entered the Kangaroo. "Jesus, what happened to him?" the second officer said, once he saw the robber's body up close.

"Ant bite," Rony said.

"Don't be cute," the first officer said.

"Meth," Huntsman offered.

"Hell of a drug." The second officer shook his head. "I don't think we've met, Officer... Huntsman? Did you transfer from another department?" He held out his hand, but demurred when he saw Huntsman's bloody gloves.

"Temporary assignment," Huntsman said. "I'm on loan from Tallahassee. Just happened to be in the area."

"Must be your lucky night," the first officer said to Rony.

"Must be," Rony said.