Fodor sucked through his nostril, wiped the tip of his nose. “Not into the island life?”

“Just thought I’d feel better about everything once I got here.”

Fodor handed the baggy to Mike. “Drugs make everywhere better, and the Caribbean has its advantages.”

“What, like you just drop by Colombia anytime you want?”

“I do own a few boats.” He held out his keys. “You want to hit this?”

Mike Roman had avoided Michelson’s coke, but Ed Thompson needed to indulge. He took Fodor’s keys, poured a tiny pile onto the end of a standard Kwikset. He did the bump and handed the gear back.

The next part would be tricky. When he’d checked Fodor’s web page that morning, two rooms were still available for a Wednesday morning fishing charter from the Bahamas to Florida. Caitlin had told him to look for anything outside of the standard drunk party boat scene. A kid with access to cocaine, taking a one-way trip through international waters the same week as IU’s biggest party, had to count. Mike wanted to be on that boat but couldn’t look like he wanted to be on that boat. “What I really want is to get to Miami.”

“What’s in Miami?”

Mike’s brain came alive. Lot of dopamine in that dope. “Wow.”

“Right? What’s in Miami?”

“Sex.”

“Shit, we got sex here. You want to go again?”

Mike waved him away. “Picture the dirtiest sex of your life, the kind that you kept in the spank bank at the worst time in your relationship.”

“I’m with you.”

“You’d better not be,” Mike said, “but she will be, and if history repeats itself, so will one of her friends.”

“Got an old hookup in Miami?”

“I do. When she found out I was in the Bahamas, she started sending me naked pictures, said get my ass to Florida.”

“Bullshit.”

Mike pulled his phone from his pocket, swiped, handed the mobile porn machine to Fodor. The photos in the text thread came from the internet, but they looked low budget enough to fit the story.

Fodor handed the phone back. “You don’t care about your return flight or hotel reservations here anymore?”

“Would you?” Mike stared at the phone. “Only shitty thing, I can’t get another flight for under nine hundred bucks, and that’s not till Thursday. The TSA’s weird about last-minute one-way shit.”

Fodor nodded. “This is gonna sound crazy, but I might be able to beat that. I’ve got other boats, right? Well, I’m supposed to do a repos to Fort Lauderdale on Wednesday.”

Mike fought back a smile. “A repos?”