"And you said you hadn't bunged it, and Brody said, 'He's innocent until he's proven guilty....’"

He put his arms around her and patted her. "You made a fair presumption, Mom. I couldn't drive worth a damn."

"And sure enough," she went on, "Tony Catsoulis called up that night, and one of his trucks had hit it, and I felt like such a... turd!"

"Well," he said, grinning, "I probably dinged it once or twice and you didn't even know."

"I'm sure," she said, dabbing her eyes. "But I did that once, to someone I love, and I'm not going to do it again."

They suddenly stared at each other, shocked.

"Well," she said in confusion, "I don't love Hoagie, Mike, I just met him. What I meant..."

Mike shook his head, rubbed his eyes, and murmured, "Oh, my God."

***

Hoagie Newcombe paused on Kingston Street at Romeo's Cadillac, newly washed and glittering in the sunshine. As usual, it was parked at the curb outside the Inn of the Happy Whale. A huge cardboard poster sat on its windshield: SEE HISTORIC WHISKEY CAY; Hourly and By the Day. On Parle Français Ici. Ich Spreche Deutsch. Se Habla Español.

Hoagie Newcombe squinted from the glare of the street into the palmettos shading the tropical bar outside the inn. Romeo always blended with the shadows.

"’O Romeo,’" he called, "’Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?’"

"Here, mon," the deep voice boomed from the gloom at the end of the bar. "’Alack! There lies more peril in thine eye than in twenty of their swords.’"

"Bad day," explained Hoagie. "Bad week."

He slid to the stool beside him and ordered them both a drink. He looked around. "See anybody bound for Nassau?"

"Nah, mon. Not just now." He sighed. "Business is terrible."

"Surely not the undertaking trade?"

"Everybody gwine to Nassau to die at Princess Margaret Hospital. My hearse. Ah swear I'm gwine use it for festival tours."

When Romeo was depressed, he talked like a stevedore loading sisal on the docks.

Inside the restaurant, a jukebox was throbbing with a deep calypso beat. A white-haired British couple was sitting at an outside table, having tea. At the far end of the bar two Latinos were drinking beer.

There was the scent of jasmine in the air, the sun was shining, the ocean breeze was cool on his brow, but Hoagie was unhappy too. He wanted to see Ellen Brody again but didn't dare.

The charter business was off; people had heard, on the palm-tree network, of his forced landing and damaged wing—though not the details of the shooting, thank God—and were chartering other planes.

Chartering was dead in the British West Indies, anyway. If he didn't move against Lomas shortly, Calypso would be bankrupt before he could.

They talked for a while of the dope trade. "If a man wanted coca paste," asked Hoagie, "could he get it at Spanish Galleon Cay?"