I didn’t say anything, just gestured for Jung to stand, which he did, slowly. He then lifted his shirt to reveal layers of plastic wrap wound around his hairless middle. There was a white envelope under the wrap. I stared at it, at Jung, watching as he unwound the plastic. When he got down to the last layer, the one plastered against his skin, the pain of the extraction showed on his face. When he was done, he handed the soggy envelope to me.

“There. This is what I went to get. It was taped to the back of his Fender. He paid serious money for it at some silent auction years ago. It’s actually signed by Jimi Hendrix. Tim was into retro stuff, me too. Retro’s way cool.”

I stared at the envelope. It was creased and damp from Jung’s yoga sweat. “What is this?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t open it. Bro code. There was some other stuff, too. We made a deal, if anything happened to either one of us, the other would go in and get, you know, stuff. Personal stuff you don’t want another living soul to see?”

I blinked up at him, so did Swami.

“You know . . . things, maybe, or . . . like . . .your stash . . . or . . . porn?” Jung looked at me, then Swami Rain. “Am I really the only one who knows what I’m talking about here?”

It looked like Swami Rain wanted to clasp his fingers around Jung’s neck. His eyes blazed, and his lips twisted into an angry snarl. I stared at the envelope. “You broke into Tim’s boat for this envelope and porn?”

“I was obligated.”

“And you didn’t toss his place looking for it?”

“Why would I have to? That’s what I’m saying. That was in back of the Fender, where he told me to look. Even in all that mess, I went right to it.”

“What about the painting? I counted seven when I was aboard the Safe Passage, now there are six. I found one in your apartment.” Jung moved away from me; his eyes danced around the room; he began to pace. “I told you Tim left me a painting. I only took what he wanted me to have, and what he told me to take.”

“Where’s the rest of the stuff, then? The porn?”

“I burned it.”

Swami Rain bolted up. “You burned it? What do you mean, you ‘burned it’?”

“Dude! I mean I burned it. Lighter fluid, match, burned it, okay?”

I held up the envelope. “But you didn’t burn this, why?”