Lovely when things work out so neatly. I called Deborah.

At half-past one the next day I met Deb at a small restaurant a few blocks north of the airport. It was tucked into a little strip mall, between an auto parts store and a gun shop. It was a place we both knew well, not too far from Miami-Dade Headquarters, and they made the best Cuban sandwiches in the world right there. Perhaps that seems like a small thing, but I assure you there are times when only a medianoche will do, and at such times Café Relampago was the only place to get one. The Morgans had been going there since 1974.

And I did feel that some small light touch was in order—if not an actual celebration, then at least an acknowledgment that things were looking up ever so slightly. Perhaps I was merely feeling chipper because I had let off a little steam with my dear friend Jaworski, but in any case I did feel unaccountably good. I even ordered a batido de mamé, a uniquely flavored Cuban milk shake that tastes something like a combination of watermelon, peach, and mango.
Deb, of course, was unable to share my irrational mood. She looked like she had been studying the facial expressions of large fish, dour and droopy in the extreme.

“Please, Deborah,” I begged her, “if you don't stop, your face will be stuck like that. People will take you for a grouper.” “They're sure not going to take me for a cop,” she said. “Because I won't be one anymore.” “Nonsense,” I said. “Didn't I promise?” “Yeah. You also promised that this was going to work. But you didn't say anything about the looks I'd get from Captain Matthews.” “Oh, Deb,” I said. “He looked at you? I'm so sorry.” “Fuck you, Dexter. You weren't there, and it's not your life going down the tubes.” “I told you it was going to be rough for a while, Debs.” “Well at least you were right about that. According to Matthews, I am this close to being suspended.” “But he did give you permission to use your free time to look into this a little more?” She snorted. “He said, ‘I can't stop you, Morgan. But I am very disappointed. And I wonder what your father would have said.'” “And did you say, ‘My father never would have closed the case with the wrong guy in jail'?” She looked surprised. “No,” she said. “But I was thinking it. How did you know?” “But you didn't actually say it, did you, Deborah?” “No,” she said. I pushed her glass toward her. “Have some mamé, sis. Things are looking up.” She looked at me. “You sure you're not just yanking my chain?” “Never, Deb. How could I?” “With the greatest of ease.” “Really, sis. You need to trust me.”