“Gotta go!” Merrill yelled and disconnected. The Mercedes rammed the rear of the Honda. Merrill heard glass breaking. The Mercedes rammed the Honda again. Horns blew. The muy best car was taking big league lumps. Merrill downshifted and pushed the gas pedal to the floor and spun the wheel left. “Get out of the way!” The right headlight exploded against the corner of a Toyota van, and behind him the Mercedes skidded broadside as the Honda spun the Toyota around to T-bone the Mercedes on the far side. Merrill felt the Honda shift down to second and burn rubber, scooting around other cars. What had Waller been saying? Merrill was to call back at midnight. They were working on something. No. The big Coasties and the usual suspects were working on something of their own.

Like what?

Now Merrill had to wait until midnight to find out.

The tour of the house resumed, Amy supposed, to keep her at a distance from her husband’s triumphant tour of Cartagena. With Gregory moving the players around the board, Chino was free to serve up another helping of intercontinental foreplay. It was working for him, anyway. She had learned in high school how to look at men when they weren’t watching, and this man had a rocket in his pocket. That wasn’t a gun, officer, he was just glad to see me. The youthful Sam had called it “half a husky,” when he’d rubbed it against the inside of her thigh at the senior prom, enough, then, to bring her rapidly to a small orgasm.

Or two.

She knew she was going to get into trouble if she kept thinking like this. Champagne on an empty stomach had not been a good idea. And those deep-fried crunchy things had only left her stomach growling for more. Now she and Chino were in a mansion’s ballroom, an honest-to-God two-story room the size of a basketball court, with decorative plaster molding, relatively tasteful wall and ceiling murals of muscle bound satyrs chasing zoftig nymphs all over dreamland outdoors.

Chino said, “This room is my one concession to what is expected of me by the poor people of the community. They wanted it for me, but I don’t know what to do with the court of a king. The last time we used it was for a dinner the night before we sent our little league team to Santo Domingo for the regional finals. All the fathers and priests got drunk. I had to give them al breakfast the next morning before we went to the airport to see the team off.”

“How did the team make out?”