The simple stalls had brown curtains in place of western doors. The harsh fluorescent tubes flickered with a low hum. Small one inch square blue, red, and yellow tiles formed a random collage of color on the floor. I had just put my hand on the water faucet when I heard the creak of the men's room door. My heart in my throat, I picked up the case and the cane and eased the women's door off its jam enough to see out.

"Where have you been Jules?" the squat Brit asked of her husband.

"In there," he said, pointing over his shoulder to the men's room. "Good Lord can't I get a moments peace from you. We're on holiday for heaven’s sake." He stormed off toward the foyer.

I left the bathroom and followed on her heels as she chattered after him. I averted my eyes from the guards' as they locked the door behind me.

The crowd of people beyond the elephants enveloped me immediately. I turned at the end of the block and wandered down the alley behind the gallery, again taking note of where the doors were. My eyes were watering uncontrollably from the rotting stench by the time I emerged at the next cross street.

I had no more lifted my cane into the air before a small blue and white taxi screeched to a stop in front of me.

"Where you go? I know best hotel in town, pretty girls, pretty boys, good restaurants, you tell me," spewed the young driver.

"I'm going to the docks."

"Good, good, good, get in we go now."

"Take the shortest route," I said, slamming the door closed.

The short ride down the narrow cobblestone streets allowed me just enough time to ready another twenty. I held the bill in front of him when he stopped at the water's edge, then tore it in two. "Wait here for me," I said, handing him half. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," he yelled behind me as I walked toward the docks. "But be not too long. There is much business now."

I waved my half in the air and kept walking. A dried crust of yellow-white salt coated the edges of the gray wooden dock planks. A small white motor yacht bobbed in the water of slip 15. The man sleeping in the deck chair next to her stirred out of his sleep as I tapped the planks with my cane. 'The Panta Mine' was stenciled in blood red letters across the boat's stern.

"You Michaels?" he asked from under his frayed straw hat. His accent only hinted of English.

"Yeah, you Coogan?" I asked, mimicking his tone.

"Been expectin' ya." He stood up and readjusted his hat to expose the brown spotted skin stretched tight over his strong gaunt facial features. He stuck a boney hand in mine and smiled wide. "Trust you got the letter I delivered."

"I'm here."