What I regretted was being so completely unrehearsed for this deadly audition. But I did have what might pass for a plan, and I hoped to play it out with enough nerve that Gail would remember me as someone who’d displayed love for her and courage, if not actual intelligence, under fire.

Gunther had been kneeling, searching my raincoat for any signs of a weapon. He found its pockets’ few contents and set them aside. “A comb, some loose change, a Chinese laundry ticket, a pack of gum,” he reported to Martha.

Martha said, “All right, go frisk him, but give me your gun before you do. I don’t want to run the chance of him taking it off you.”

“Him?” said Gunther with a smile. He gave Martha his Luger and approached me. “Put your hands above your head,” he said, and I more than obliged, locking my fingers together behind my head and stretching my elbows back in a very cooperative manner, which was my intent. He did a thorough job, giving my shoes a careful squeeze, working his way up and around both my legs, having no qualms about squeezing my crotch, then patting up and down my sides. He faced me, checked my jacket pockets, then reached under my jacket and around behind me to check my hip pockets, my waist, and the small of my back.

Gunther walked back to Martha. “He has nothing on him.”

Martha gave him back his gun. “It’s getting cold,” she informed us. “We’ll wait inside.” She gestured with her pistol toward a lone bungalow that was planted in the very far corner of the parking area. For what we were waiting, I could not imagine, but the others all seemed to know.

“Where’s Russ?” I asked Martha, who walked six paces behind me out of deference to the fact that she wanted her pistol aimed at my spine. Gail trailed behind her. Gunther walked alongside me but well to my right, eager to provide cross fire at Martha’s slightest command.

“Where’s Russ?” Martha echoed. “Russ is dead.”

“So are you,” I pointed out.

We were about a hundred feet from the rear of the bungalow. One small back window overlooked the parking lot. The building was farther away from the fair itself than anything else on the island.

“All right, turn around,” Martha instructed me. “Gunther, go to the front and make sure it’s safe for us to enter. I’m not worried about foot patrols, I just want to make sure there’s no security guard sleeping on the porch.”

Gunther nodded and stepped away, peering about as if he were on safari in Tanganyika.

I observed to Martha, “You know, take away Gunther’s gun and you’ve got yourself Gunther.”

“He’s an excellent marksman with that Luger.”