We got to Rick and Joanie’s cabin. I could hear the women inside. I said to him, “Next time you gamble you need to have a figure in your head, a top amount you can lose,” but he told me to shut up. Then he opened the door, and we went inside.

The women said the lounge singer was a Caribbean man named Mr. High-Five, and started dancing around the bed. Diane had ordered two pizzas from room service, and there was food all over the place. Rick sat in a chair in the corner with his hat on backward. He looked fried, as if he got a sunburn on the bike that day. Diane and I went to our room.

We were in bed with the lights off when Rick knocked at the door. I went outside and stood on the paved path with him. The moon was shining on the water. He’d been crying. I could see where the discussion was about to go. He wore wrinkled blue boxers and white socks. He’d taken his hat off, and I noticed he had hives on his forehead, probably from riding his bike through the jungle.

He said he felt like crap inside. He said he loved me, he told me he was so surprised to find a friend at one of these places that he couldn’t believe his luck. “You know what I mean?” he said. I saw that the light was on in their room, which meant Joanie probably knew he’d lost the money. He was talking about the fish we’d caught together. “There’s nothing like fishing with your friend,” he said. His oratory didn’t seem to be rounding any corner. There were so many different stupid things about this moment, now he was telling me how he got ripped off buying some Kruger-rands, I wanted him to shut the fuck up, I didn’t know what to do, I went back into my bungalow and got five hundred dollars from the night’s winnings and handed it to him. I said, “Here.”

He said, “Thank you.”

I didn’t answer him. I thought he was full of shit.

He went back in and shut the door. I stood there, outside my doorway, furious at myself. His light went off. I distinctly heard him say something to Joanie. I waited another minute. I didn’t hear anything else.