“Tell me about the maybe,” Hooker said. “Was it a probably or was it a probably not.”

“I don’t know. I’m working on it.”

“You’re killing me,” Hooker said. “You’re more of a threat than Ray Huevo. And by the way, I like that you’ve got your hand on my ass.”

Crap! He was right. I had my hand on his ass.

“Sorry,” I said. “It was an accident.”

Hooker was grinning. “It was no accident, darlin’. You’re hot for me.”

I smiled back at him and shoved him away. “You’re right, but it’s still a maybe.”

When we got to the kitchen, Hooker filled a bowl with water for Beans. Beans put his face into it and did a lot of loud slurping. The water slopped over the sides when he drank, and when he picked his head up, the water leaked out of his mouth and dripped off his lips.

I mopped up the water with paper towels while Hooker called Ray Huevo.

“I’m in town,” Hooker said. “Do you want to talk?”

There was some negotiation and Hooker hung up.

“I’m meeting him on the beach in a half hour,” Hooker said. “At Lincoln Road. I declined on a boat meeting. I didn’t want to get thrown off his boat again. And this meeting is between Ray and me. I want you and Beans to stay here.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t trust Ray. I don’t want to put you in jeopardy.”

“I appreciate the thought, but there’s no way you’re going without me. We’re in this together. And suppose someone gets the crap beat out of them? You think I want to miss that?”

“My fear is that it might be me,” Hooker said.

The compromise was that we left Beans in Felicia’s house and I went with Hooker. Hooker had stripped down to a T-shirt and jeans when we arrived in Miami. I’d been left with jeans and a long-sleeved turtleneck, making me a tad conspicuous on South Beach. You could be naked on South Beach and not cause a ripple of excitement. A turtleneck shouted tourist, fresh off the plane. Hooker parked the rental on the street, and I popped into a shop and swapped my turtleneck for a tank top.

The Ritz-Carlton sits at the end of Lincoln Road, and a pretty bricked footpath gently undulates alongside the hotel, giving beach access to all. We took the footpath and walked out onto the hard-packed sand. It was a breathtaking blue-sky day in Miami. Eighty degrees with a gentle breeze. The beach is white sand and wide here. The Ritz had its royal blue beach chairs out in orderly rows. Plus a row of cabanas. There were some bronzed and oiled-up bodies on the lounges. Attendants moved from body to body, serving drinks, handing out towels. The ocean rolled in on foamy waves. No one was swimming.

I looked over Hooker’s shoulder and saw three men step off the footpath onto the sand. Ray Huevo, Rodriguez, and Lucca. Rodriguez was on crutches. He had a Band-Aid across his nose and two black eyes. Lucca’s six-pack bruise was turning green. Ray Huevo looked like a billion dollars.

Huevo moved toward us. Rodriguez and Lucca stayed behind.

“How’s his knee?” I asked Huevo.

“He’ll live.” He glanced back at Rodriguez. “For a while.”

Hooker and I exchanged a look that said yikes.

“For security purposes, I would prefer this conversation was one-on-one,” Huevo said.

I nodded agreement, and Hooker and Huevo walked away from me. They stood at the water’s edge, their conversation lost in the surf. After a couple minutes, they turned and walked back.

Huevo inclined his head when he passed me. “I’ll have positions open in security if you’re interested in career advancement.”

I looked at Hooker. “What did he mean by that?”

“He’s not happy with Rodriguez and Lucca. They keep killing people. And even worse, they keep getting beat up by a girl.”

“That would be me.”

“Yeah. So he wants to sacrifice them for the chip we found in the gearshift knob. He says Lucca and Rodriguez are a liability. If we give Ray the chip, he’ll turn Lucca and Rodriguez over to the police, and he’ll pretend the hauler was never stolen.”

“Hard to believe the chip is that valuable. Especially now that Oscar is out of the picture. Ray can pretty much do whatever he wants.”

Hooker shrugged. “That’s what he said. And as an act of trust, he’s going to turn Rodriguez and Lucca in before we give him the chip.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Not entirely. He has Gobbles.” Hooker handed me a photo of Gobbles standing with his hands tied behind his back, not looking happy, Rodriguez on one side, Lucca on the other. “We get Gobbles back when Ray gets the chip and verifies its authenticity.”

“We should never have let Gobbles go off on his own.”

“Hindsight,” Hooker said. “Anyway, we get him back when we give Ray the chip.” Hooker nuzzled my neck and kissed me behind the ear. “I think we should celebrate.”

“I think a celebration is premature.”

“Darlin’, I really need to celebrate. I haven’t celebrated in a long time. In fact, it’s been so long, it’s probably appropriate if it’s a premature celebration because it’s going to be a premature?”

“Stop!” I had my hand up. “Let’s celebrate with onion rings at the bar.”

Hooker just stared at me.

“Earth to Hooker.”

“Onion rings at the bar,” he repeated. “Sure, that would be good. That was my second choice.”

The Ritz has a fabulous bar set right on the beach. It’s just behind the footpath, nestled into a cement cave and garnished with palm trees. It’s shaded and South Beach glitzy. Not exactly rocking at three in the afternoon, so we had no problem claiming bar stools. We were halfway through our onion rings and Buds when a familiar figure strolled by on the footpath. It was Suzanne walking Itsy Poo.

“It walks,” Hooker said. “Who would have thought?”

Suzanne looked over the top of her sunglasses at me. “Barney? Hey, girlfriend, I thought you’d moved on.”

“I came back. Missed the heat.”

Suzanne put Itsy Poo in her bag and joined us at the bar. “You’ve been making headlines.”

“It’s all a misunderstanding.”

“Our mutual friend Dickie Bonnano seems to feel Hooker is responsible for everything evil in the world.”

“I do the best I can,” Hooker said, “but I can’t claim responsibility for everything.”

“I figured you didn’t do Oscar,” Suzanne said, “but I was kind of hoping you set Dickie up with the stiff and the coach crash.”

Suzanne was total Dolce amp; Gabbana in a gauzy leopard-print shirt, wide jeweled belt, tight white slacks, and strappy gold sandals. I was Wal-Mart and Gap. Hooker still hadn’t shaved. Hooker was Detroit wino raised by wolves.

“I thought you would have left South Beach by now,” I said to Suzanne.

“I like it here. Thought I’d stay for a while.” She lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, letting the smoke curl out of her nose, dragon-style.

“Are you still at Loews?” I asked her.

“I moved into a condo building. Majestic Arms.” She took another drag on her cigarette. “Corporate rental, so it’s sterile, but the location is prime, and it’s full ser vice. And most important, Itsy Poo adores it.” Suzanne put her face into the dog bag. “Don’t you wuv it, Itsy Poo? You do! I know you do. You wuv the new condo.”

Hooker ate the last onion ring and sent me a look that said he’d throw up if I ever asked Beans if he wuvved something.

I returned my attention to Suzanne. “How’s the boat battle going?”

“It’s been ugly, but it’s about to improve. Men like Oscar and Ray always underestimate women.” Suzanne’s mouth curved into a joyless smile. “Not a smart thing to do with a bitch like me.”

Hooker instinctively crossed his legs.

“Sounds like you have a plan,” I said to Suzanne.

She took a drag, tipped her head back, and blew out a perfect smoke ring. “I have a plan and a half.” She slid her ass off the bar stool. “Gotta go. Got a cake in the oven. Remember, I’m at the Majestic if you want a giggle.”