“The guy you call Doug Barnacle was living in Palm Beach under the name of Paul Bartlett. The police killed him last night.”

That brought Larry up short. “Ernest, that was the name, wasn’t it? Paul Bartlett?”

“That’s what he was using yesterday,” Ernest said.

“Turn on the car radio,” Stone said. “Find an all-news station.”

“Do it, Ernest,” Larry said.

Ernest went to the car, turned on the radio and found a station. Farm report, bank robbery in West Palm, weather.

Larry looked at his watch. “Ernest, we got a plane to catch.”

“I know it,” Ernest said.

Larry turned and marched Stone back to the mangrove. He put a foot against his backside and shoved him into the swamp. Stone kept his balance and ended up thigh-deep in the black water. A large snake slithered past no more than a yard away. “Mr. Barrington, that was a real nice try. I admire it, but it’s time for you to say bye-bye.” He raised the pistol and pointed it at Stone’s forehead, no more than five feet away.

“Hey, Larry!” Ernest called.

“What?”

“Listen!” He turned up the radio.

“. . . chaotic scene at La Reserve, a Palm Beach restaurant last night, ended up with one dead, and a Minneapolis police officer seriously wounded.”

“Don’t Doug live in Minneapolis?” Ernest asked.

“Shhhh.”

“. . . have identified the police officer as Lieutenant Ebbe Lundquist, of the Minneapolis PD, and the dead suspect as Paul Bartlett, also of Minneapolis. Bartlett had been wanted in Minnesota for the murder of his wife, Frances Simms Bartlett, nearly a year ago, and Lieutenant Lundquist was trying to effect an arrest in the restaurant, backed up by the Palm Beach Police Department.”

“Well, shit,” Larry said. “You’re not lying, Mr. Barrington.”

“No,” Stone said, “I’m not.”

“I mean, you got no idea what some folks will tell you in circumstances like this, you know?”

“I’m sure. But the fact remains, Larry, that you’re not going to get paid for this one, so why do it? You’ve already got the twenty-five thousand, so you haven’t wasted your time, but Bartlett isn’t going to pay off, now.” Stone did not like standing in this swamp, with things slithering around in it.

“He’s got a point, Larry,” Ernest said.

“Maybe,” Larry said, thoughtfully.

Ernest looked at his watch. “And we haven’t got all that much time before our plane.”

Larry looked at Stone. “I don’t guess you’d really pay me the fifty grand, would you?”

“Give me your address, and I’ll send you a check,” Stone replied.

Larry burst out laughing. “Come on, Ernest, let’s get outta here!” He got into the car, and Ernest drove off, spinning the wheels and throwing mud everywhere.

Stone stood in the swamp for a minute, trying to get his heart rate down, then the snake appeared again, and he started struggling for the shore.