Ian was coming. He replaced the pad quickly.

They left the house that afternoon to meet with Donovan at his office in New Kingston, the commercial and cultural hub of the city. A cluster of low-rise buildings in the international style.

Like a lot of local professionals, Fire confided in a whisper as they waited in the reception area, Donovan was not just a professional. He was also an ICI, an informal commercial trader—in short, a higgler. He traded in home appliances. Some traded in car parts. Some stationery. Some clothes. Some jewelry. But something. They would fly to Miami on weekend buying trips with written orders, do business, bribe their way through customs, and get their wares to the buyer at a markup plus a service charge. And after all this the dealers’ prices were lower than the prices in the stores. He liked working with Donovan because he had an excellent hookup through the airline. His goods were cleared easily, the turnaround time was short, and he could travel at short notice. Donovan was a prick though, Fire added. Sometimes he tried to fuck you around.

Short and tubby, with a pea-shaped head, Donovan was cruising porn sites when they went in.

“So,” he began slowly, after a bit of small talk, “the washer and dryer. There’s a slight problem.”

Fire tightened his jaw and began to hum. It had been the better part of a year now, and Donovan had already been paid.

“I see the look on your face,” Donovan said, toying with his pinkie ring. “I can understand if you’re upset. But just sit tight. Everything soon work out.”

“What’s the problem, exactly?” Fire asked. “Why you fucking me around?”

“Look, there’s no need to be out of order. Don’t act like you don’t know how things are here, man. A million and one things can happen.”

He began to lament. If he could get just one tenth of the Jamaicans in the States to return home, he sighed, he could make the country into Singapore or South Korea. All this he said while gesturing grandly. His graduation ring from Miami-Dade Community College glinted.

“Okay, fine, Donovan,” Fire said. “A million things can happen, but what did happen? I’ve heard so many different stories from you: It’s at the warehouse. It’s still in Miami. It’s at the warehouse in Miami. You have it here now, but customs is giving you a hard time. Something broke in transit and you have to send it back. C’mon, Donovan, tell me the truth. I’ll work it out with you. Just level with me.”

Donovan leaned forward in his chair and placed his hands on his desk in his best imitation of earnestness. Fire and Ian leaned forward as well, expecting to hear an apology.

“You’re calling me a liar?” Donovan asked, wagging his head slowly. “I can’t believe my ears. I go to the Ark of God Pentecostal Church with my wife and three kids every Sunday. When was the last time either of you set foot in a sanctuary?” They didn’t answer. “And you have the temerity—in fact the corruptness—to call me a liar? Gentlemen, I am very disappointed, not to mention hurt.”