“I don’t want to do it either,” Felicia said. “I want to be where the action is. I’ll call my nephew Carl. He can do surveillance. He’s between jobs. He’d be happy to have something to do.”

“Carl,” Rosa said. “I know him. Wasn’t he busted for possession?”

“Yeah, but he’s clean now. He lives in a group home a couple blocks from here, and he’s probably sitting around watching television. He used to bag at a supermarket, but they switched to plastic bags, and he couldn’t get the hang of it.”

Ten minutes later, we were out of the hotel and across the street with Carl. He was a chunky five seven, with dark skin, shoulder-length black hair, too big jeans, and a shiny gold tooth in the front of his mouth. We sat him on a curbside bench and gave him descriptions of the men and cars, including Hooker. He had a cell phone, a quart bottle of soda, mirrored sunglasses, and a ball cap…everything he needed for a day of Miami surveillance.

“Carl don’t look too bright,” Rosa said when we got back to the Camry.

“He’s fried his brain a little with the drugs, but he’ll be fine,” Felicia said. “He’s very conscientious. He found Jesus.”

“He looks like he found Him in a pool hall,” Rosa said.

“There’s a convenience store attached to the marina,” I told Rosa. “We might be able to buy prunes there, and we can check the parking lot for the black BMW.”

Beans was sitting beside me on the backseat, breathing hot dog breath down Felicia’s neck.

“Someone give doggie a mint,” Felicia said. “He needs a mint real bad. Next time no breakfast burritos for him.”

“We’ll get mints when we get the prunes,” I told her.

“I brought him with because we have to watch him all the time so we don’t miss the big event,” Felicia said.

I didn’t want to think about the big event. I couldn’t imagine how I was going to find the teeny-tiny chip in the midst of the big event. I was going to need a contamination suit and gas mask.

Rosa went all the way on Collins, rolled past Joe’s Stone Crabs, and cut into the parking lot next to Monty’s. She crept up and down the aisles, so we could check out the cars, but we didn’t see the BMW.

“I still want to take a look at the boat,” I said. “And I’d like to let Beans stretch his legs.”

Felicia turned and looked Beans in the face. “Do you have to poopie?” she asked him.

“It’s too soon,” Rosa said, nosing the Camry into a slot and cutting the engine. “He hasn’t had any prunes yet. And anyway, it doesn’t just go in and out bing, bang, boom. It’s not like it’s sex!”

“It does if you eat enough prunes,” Felicia said. “And you should stop having sex with bing, bang, boom men. That’s married sex. If I was divorced like you, I’d set the egg timer on me first. No bing and bang without a boom.”

“It’s a crap shoot out there,” Rosa said. “You roll the dice and sometimes you get a bing and a bang and sometimes you get a boom. That’s why God gave women shower massage.”

We all got out of the car and walked toward the marina.

“You better watch what you say about God,” Felicia said. “He listens, you know. If I was you, I’d say some Hail Marys tonight just in case.”

Rosa looked sideways at Felicia. “I suppose you never used the shower massage?”

“Well, sure, but I don’t bring God into it. I think shower massage might have been invented by the devil. God invented the missionary position.”

We were on the dock, looking out at the piers. Everything was business as usual, except the Huevo yacht was missing. I walked Beans down to the pier where the yacht used to be tied and approached a guy who was getting ready to shove off on a Hatteras.

“Where’s the Huevo boat?” I asked.

“It just left. It’s going to Fort Lauderdale for repairs. They had a fire in the main salon.”

One less place to look for Hooker.

We went up the steps, past the outdoor bar, and walked around the building to the deli on the street side. I stayed outside with Beans and ten minutes later Felicia and Rosa emerged with two bags of food.

“Wow,” I said. “Is that all for Beans?”

“No,” Rosa said. “The prunes and the gallon-size plastic bags are for Beans. The rubber gloves are for you. The macaroni salad, chocolate cake, meatball subs, and soda are for all of us.”

We sat on a bench outside the store and Felicia opened the box of prunes. “Anybody want a prune?” she asked. “Prunes are good for you. Full of iron.”

We all declined prunes. Saving ourselves for the chocolate cake.

“How about doggie?” Felicia said to Beans. “Does doggy want a prune?”

Beans was sitting straight, eyes bright, ears perked. He sniffed the prune Felicia held in her hand and then very delicately took it from her. He held it in his mouth for a while, drooling, not sure what one actually did with a prune. He opened his mouth, and the prune fell out.

“We got him a meatball sub,” Felicia said. “Just in case.” She unwrapped one of the subs, stuffed prunes into the meatballs, and gave the sub to Beans.

Beans wolfed the sub down.

“Now we just have to wait for the poop to come,” Felicia said, handing us our subs, passing plastic forks around for the macaroni.

We ate our lunch, drank our sodas, and Felicia called her nephew for a progress report.

“He reports no progress,” she said. She stuffed the crumpled wrappers and used forks into the bag we’d designated as trash, and she looked around. “Where’s the box of prunes? I had it on the bench next to me.”

All eyes focused on Beans. He was sitting on the grass not far from us. He was drooling, his eyes looked droopy, and there was a piece of the cardboard prune box stuck to his lower lip.

“Oh boy,” Rosa said. “He ate a lot of prunes.”

Beans stood and lifted his tail and there was a sound like air escaping a balloon. We all jumped off the bench and moved away.

“He could peel paint off a building,” Rosa said.

Felicia was fanning the fumes away with the garbage bag. “It smells like burrito. And look at him. I think he’s smiling.”

I felt like I should be doing more to find Hooker, but I didn’t know where to start. Maybe a property search. I hauled my phone out and called Skippy.

“I was wondering if you could get some more information for me,” I said. “I want to know if Anthony Miranda has property in the Miami area. A house or an office building. Anything.”

“I want to talk to Hooker.”

“He isn’t here.”

“Where is he?” Skippy asked.

“He’s sort of…kidnapped.”

There was silence on the other end, and I was worried Skippy had fainted or had a heart attack.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m dandy. My scrotum is so tight my balls are choking.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I said to Skippy. “I’ll be able to get Hooker back as soon as the dog poops.”

“I’m not even going to ask,” Skippy said. “Do you have a phone number I can call when I get information on Miranda?”

I gave him my number and disconnected.

“Maybe we should go back to the hotel and see if Carl needs a potty break or wants to get lunch,” Felicia said.

We went back to the lot, piled into the car, and Rosa headed for Collins. After three blocks, Beans made the balloon noise again, Rosa pulled the car to the curb, and we all got out and waited for the air to clear.

We were standing not far from the take-out part of Joe’s Stone Crabs. A black limo glided to a stop in front of us and Suzanne got out.

“Omigosh,” she said when she saw me. “Barney. How’ve you been? Where’s Hooker?”

“He’s been kidnapped.”

“Jeez,” Suzanne said, “that’s too bad. There’s so much of that going around these days. Excuse me a minute. I have to get my stone crabs.”

“Who’s that?” Rosa wanted to know. “She looks like a big bitch. I like her already.”

Suzanne was carrying a large bag when she came out. “So what are you up to?” she asked me, handing the bag over to the chauffeur.