They appeared to be working shifts; shortly after she arrived, the first two, who had been Dutch and Australian, departed. They were replaced by two Americans, one a tall, blond young man in his late twenties, the other a slightly older woman with dark hair and a warm laugh. Both were wearing a uniform of white shirt, red vest, and black pants. Both dealt with the other bar customers in a bewildering range of tongues, Dutch phrases, Italian, French. Catching her eye, the woman smiled.

“More coffee?”

“Thanks. I’m admiring your language abilities… Oh, and some cigarettes…”

“You’re sure cigarettes?”

“Yeah.” Gini strengthened her own accent. “You have Gitanes?”

“We sure do. And as for the languages… Don’t be too impressed. I can say ‘The men’s room is on the right’ in about ten languages. Not too useful, huh?”

She leaned up against the bar and looked at Gini.

“You’re new here, right? I haven’t seen you before. Your first time in Amsterdam?”

“Yes, it is. I’m just passing through. I don’t know the city too well…”

“It’s a great city. Freedom city—right, Lance?” She grinned across at her partner. “Lance is a surfer. From L.A. A wave freak. But even he thinks it’s cool.”

“So what’s a surfer doing in Amsterdam? It’s a bit low on beaches.”

“Making loot. Seeing the world. Same way I am. You?”

“No such luck. I had a job waiting tables in London. I just got fired. I came here to see a friend, and I think I’ve missed him. I’ve had it with Europe. I’m thinking of going home.”

“I know the feeling. Stick it out. I was pounding the sidewalks for weeks before I got this job.”

“You were? How long have you been here?”

“A couple of months. Came late last fall. Lance here holds the all-time record. He’s been here six months.”

“He has? Hey, I don’t suppose either of you could help me? It’s just, this friend I’m looking for—I’m pretty sure he said he came here. You might know him, maybe? Know where I might find him? Tall, long dark hair, really good-looking.”

“I like it. Tell me more.”

“Mid-twenties. People call him Star.”

“What—just Star?” She frowned, then shook her head. “Nope. No bells ringing. Hey, Lance, you know a guy comes in here, name of Star? A hunk, dark? Sounds like the man of my dreams?”

Lance grinned, and approached, polishing glasses.

“Star? What, the cokehead? Sure I know him. Comes in from time to time. Haven’t seen him in a week though—more. No way is he the man of your dreams, Sandra. I mean, we are talking like seriously out to lunch.” He rolled his eyes and clutched his temples, then abruptly stopped this clowning.

“Bad news,” he said. “Not your type, Sandra. Not your type at all.”

“A cokehead?” Gini said. “Oh, come on…”

Lance shrugged and moved away to serve another customer. Sandra laughed.

“Take no notice. Lance is a health nut. You take Tylenol, he thinks you’re into substance abuse. Still, I guess you’re out of luck.”