Vincent shook his head. He said, ‘I’ve gone for a walk. He didn’t want me in there with him in case they were intimidated. Bearing in mind there’s three of them. Boss dude and two back-up guys.’

‘Mm-hm.’

‘Plus one guy has a dog, and I don’t like how he’s treating it.’

Beauden said, ‘Well, why didn’t you tell me that before? Changes everything.’

‘Yeah, well. I figure if you’re not good with dogs, you’re not good with people, either.’

‘Right. So what’s the problem exactly? Other than a lack of charm?’

Vincent said, ‘He’s holding something back. He’s in some kind of trouble.’

Beauden didn’t answer.

Vincent said, ‘I’m just thinking about whether I want to make it my trouble, too.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about it yet.’

‘Yeah … you know how some guys, though, they just go out of their way to act shady? This one guy, his eyes are drilling holes through me. Little Cuban dude. He wants me to think I shouldn’t trifle with him.’

Beauden said, ‘Mmm, trifle.’ Then: ‘How you know he’s Cuban?’

Vincent said, ‘Looks a bit like that guy Marlon Lopez from sniper school. He was Cuban.’

Beauden said, ‘Sure. You got some info on them? Other than that they seem like assholes and one guy looks like Marlon.’

‘Yeah. I got a licence plate.’

‘Great. So why don’t I check them out and let you know?’

Vincent nodded, saw the Cuban guy still looking at him. ‘Yeah. That’d be a good start. I’ll let you go now. Have to report a parking infringement.’

Ultimately, he didn’t want to hang around guarding Lamar if he was into something illegal. Then again, if he was completely clean, and being leaned on for no other reason than some guys saw an opportunity, Vincent wanted to know the play. That was his job, after all.

He walked back along the wharf toward the road. The girls with their sand soldier were posing for photos with some Asian tourists. He could see Lamar and the big guy at their window booth, the back-up man at the next table along. The Cuban was still trying to set some kind of world record for staring. Vincent crossed Cabrillo Boulevard at the light, and smelled the dog shit from halfway across the street. It had warmed up in the sun and grown potent. It would be a good opener, actually—mentioning the smell. Maybe: Is that dog shit, or just asshole? Probably a bit too confrontational. So far, the Cuban hadn’t done anything other than stand there.

Vincent walked up to him and said, ‘I need to go in. I hope that’s not going to be a problem.’