Ernest passed back a cell phone, and Larry dialed, mouthing the numbers from memory.

Stone heard the electronic shriek from the phone, and the announcement that the cellular customer being called was unavailable or out of the calling area.

“No luck,” Larry said.

“Try him again in a minute,” Stone replied. They were out of West Palm, now, headed west on a narrowing, increasingly empty road that seemed to be heading straight into the Everglades. He didn’t want to go there.

“Okay,” Larry said.

“You do a lot of this work?” Stone asked.

“You bet. Make a nice living at it, too.”

“How’d you get into it?”

“Fellow offered me five grand once, when I was broke, so I got myself a mail-order book that tells you how to do it and get away with it.”

“The work doesn’t bother you?”

“Naw, it’s just business. I mean, I don’t have anything against the people I hit.”

“You know, in my line of work, I have clients who sometimes have need of somebody with your skills. Maybe you should give me your number?”

Larry grinned broadly. “Well, first, let’s see how this goes, okay?”

“Why don’t you try the number again?” Stone said.

“Sure thing.” Larry punched redial, then held the phone away from his ear, so Stone could hear the recorded message again. “Hey, Ernest,” Larry said. “It’s your next left, right?”

“Right,” Ernest said, and a moment later, he turned left onto a dirt road. A moment later, they were winding down a track that ran through scrub pines. To their right, mangrove grew in swamp water. Shortly, they came to a small clearing, and Ernest made a U-turn and stopped.

“Okay, out of the car,” Larry said, opening the door and helping Stone out of the rear seat.

“Let’s try the number again,” Stone said.

Larry punched redial, and again, the dreaded message repeated.

“Well, I guess you’re just shit out of luck,” Larry said, pocketing the phone. He pushed Stone toward the mangrove. “My instructions were, if I couldn’t reach him, to do the deed and meet him tonight.”

“You’re doing this on credit, then?” Stone asked, trying not to panic.

“Don’t worry,” Larry said. “Me and Mr. Barnacle go way back. We did a little stretch together.”

Suddenly the name rang a bell. “Barnacle? Douglas Barnacle?”

“That’s his name.”

Stone realized that he was about to be murdered by a dead man. “Hang on,” he said.

“Listen, Mr. Barrington, there’s no use stretching this out. You don’t want to think about this any more than you have to.”

“Don’t you read the papers? Watch television? Listen to the radio?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you hear about the shoot-out in a Palm Beach restaurant last night?”

Ernest, who had gotten out of the car, walked up. “Yeah, I heard something about that,” he said.

“What shoot-out?”