“Did you get any tattoos in the Big House?” This came from Winkle, standing perfectly straight, one hand in his pocket and the other around his beer. He had a stupefied, delighted expression on his face.

“Big House?” Colby asked, staring at him. “Yeah, I got a W tattooed on each ass cheek. When I bend over, it says ‘WOW.’ You want to see?”

The twins guffawed simultaneously.

Karen opened her door.

The sarcastic sneer on Colby’s face melted away as she rounded the front of the Newport, leaned back on the grille, and closed her lips around her cigarette.

His mouth moved without sound for a moment. Then he said, “Hey, woman.”

“Capone.”

“What are you doing here?”

She raised both hands toward her shoulders and opened them outward.

“You’re hanging out with this guy now?” He looked at Talbot. “You didn’t tell me she was in the car.”

“I didn’t know she still was.”

Colby looked at her and asked again, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been doing whatever—and whoever—I feel like for a while now,” Karen said.

“Yeah?” He took the flask from his pocket again. “Give me a list.”

“Mr. Colby’s been broadening our lives with tales of the world at large,” Talbot said, a little louder than necessary. “I’m afraid we don’t have much to report from the island. Wait—I stand corrected. There was that plane.”

“What plane?” Colby asked.

“One of those old ones that look like an Airstream trailer. No communication with the tower—it just appeared, and landed. A couple of guys jumped out and ran into the swamp. So the airport crew called the cops, and when the cops stuck their heads in the plane, it was packed full of the magic weed.”

“Come on.”

“I speak the truth. Packed full of it, baled up and ready to go, and it all went to the Brevard County blues.”

“And they bust me,” Colby snorted, shaking his head. “So why’d the two assholes land in the first place?”

“They were running out of gas,” Talbot said. He turned and tossed his empty can into the brush. Winkle did the same. When he reached for another one, Talbot edged the box away with his foot. “What’s the first rule of being a Rambler?”

Colby burst into a laugh. “The first what? Don’t tell me you still have your little horseshit gang going. I mean, grow fucking up.”

“I tried to tell Lefty it’s a club for little dicks,” Karen said. She indicated Winkle with her chin, then looked directly at Colby and said, “He’s got no business being in a club like that.”

“And you’d know?” Colby asked.

Karen shrugged.

“We need to talk,” Colby said.

“We’re talking. Isn’t this talking?”

Colby wagged a thumb toward the Firebird. “My office.”

Karen rolled her eyes, but pushed away from the Newport.