Moran said, “Boy…” He moved his hand over his beard, still not sure what to do in this situation. He said, quickly then, “Sit down, please. What’re you drinking?”

“I have one. Thank you.”

They sat down and Moran ordered a beer. It gave him something to do, time to settle, get used to the idea that he was looking at a man he had once tried to kill.

“You had an automatic weapon. Like a grease gun.”

Rafi was nodding. “Yes, I forgot what kind. They gave out all types of guns the first day of the revolution, in the park. I had different weapons.”

“You tried for me first,” Moran said. He held up his hand. “I don’t mean that the way it sounds. But I remember you fired a burst. I was in a window across the street.”

“I believe so,” Rafi said, “but I don’t shoot too straight. Which is good for you.”

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” Moran said. “Were you hurt bad?”

“No, not seriously. You like to see it?” Rafi leaned forward unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it open now and thrusting out his chest, giving Mary a sly glance. He brushed at the hair covering his left breast to reveal several inches of white scar tissue. “The bullet went this way, across me, instead of into me, which was good, uh? It took off the nipple,” Rafi said, “but I wasn’t using it, so it doesn’t matter.”

He chuckled and Mary smiled, seeing him glance over again. Mary said, “You’re a good sport, Rafi.”

Moran said, “I thought I hit you lower and more in the side. Down around the belt.”

Rafi pressed his chin to his chest looking down, feeling his mid section as though to make sure.

“No, I don’t think so. It seems all right.”

“We went up on that roof,” Moran said. “You were gone.”

“Yes, I hope so. Luci help me to get down. Maybe without her, I don’t know, I may not be here. She was the one take me to the hospital.”

The waitress brought Moran’s beer, half the bottle poured in a glass with a foamy head. He said, “Thanks,” still looking at Rafi and let the glass stand on the table.

“You know where she is?”

Mary’s eyes, mildly curious, moved to Moran and waited for his reaction as she heard Rafi say, “Luci? I didn’t see her after that war. But, I didn’t hear anything happen to her either.”

Moran seemed to accept this calmly enough. Mary had thought he’d be sitting on the edge of his chair. He said, “You knew I was taken prisoner.”

Rafi hesitated, somewhat surprised. “Is that so? No, I didn’t know that. And they release you?”

“The same day,” Moran said. “I found out later a guy from the Peace Corps worked it out.”

“Ah, that was good.”

“But I got a chance to talk to her. It’s funny, I remember I asked about you.”

“Me?”

“She said you were alive and would be okay. She told me your name…”

“Yes?”

“But I forgot it. She brought me a beer…”

Rafi seemed to relax. “Yes, she was very thoughtful of people. And very brave.” He sipped his drink, placed it on the table again as though in slow motion, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You come all the way here to find Luci Palma?”

“No, not really,” Moran said. “I wanted to see Santo Domingo again. As a tourist this time.”

“It’s much bigger now,” Rafi said. “You live where, in what state?”

“Florida. Pompano Beach. It’s about fifty miles north of Miami.”

“Pompano,” Rafi said. “Is a nice place?”

“George owns the Coconut Palms,” Mary said, “a very exclusive resort.”

“Yes?” Rafi appeared thoughtful again, nodding. “I think I heard of it. Like the Fontainebleu in Miami? Very big place, uh?”

“Not as big,” Mary said, ignoring the look Moran was giving her, “but much classier, if you know what I mean.”

Rafi brightened. “A swanky place, uh?”

“That’s it,” Mary said. “It’s got a lot of swank.” She gave Moran, shaking his head slowly, a look of wide-eyed innocence.

Rafi was saying, “Perhaps I can be of help.” It brought them back. “Find out for you where Luci Palma is.”

“Well, I doubt if she’s still here,” Moran said.

“Yes, if she’s still here in Santo Domingo she must know about you. Everyone seems to,” Rafi said. “So I think she live someplace else. La Romana, Puerto Plata… There isn’t much mobility among the Dominican people. I can find out for you.”

“I don’t want you to go to a lot of trouble though,” Moran said. “I’m curious about her, that’s all. She seemed like a nice girl. Very eager, you know, full of life. I hope nothing happened to her.”

Rafi looked at his watch. “Let me make phone calls, see what I can do.”

As he finished his drink and got up Moran said, “Really, it’s not that important to me.”

Rafi said, “Put it in my hands,” gesturing, glancing at his watch again. “Now I have business to do. I’ll call you later.” He gave Mary the hint of a bow. “And I hope to see the buddy of the Marine again. It was a pleasure.”

He was walking off. Moran rose. He said on impulse, “How about dinner later? If you’re free…”

Rafi made a circle with his thumb and index finger. He waved and was gone.

Moran sat down.

Mary said, “I’m surprised he didn’t click his heels.”

“Your Dominicans are very polite people,” Moran said.

Mary gave him a look. “Tell me about it.”

“That’s right, you have one at home, don’t you? You see his Rolex?”

“He’d like you to think it’s a Rolex, but it’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“I know gold, George. I have some of that at home too.”

He sipped at his beer in silence.

“If she’s in Santo Domingo, fine. But I don’t want to go chasing all over the country.”

“Then don’t.”

“Yeah but, what if he busts his ass, goes to a lot of trouble, finds out she’s in Puerto Plata… I don’t want to go to Puerto Plata. I’m really not that hot about taking him to dinner.”

“But you don’t want to seem ungrateful.”

“You shoot a guy’s left nipple off,” Moran said, “I think you ought to buy him dinner, at least. Especially if you’re the owner of a swank resort.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Mary said. “Are you mad at me?”

“The Fontainebleu. Jesus, can you see me running a place like the Fontainebleu?”

“You can’t say he wasn’t impressed.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m his new buddy.”

Mary waited a moment.

“You don’t seem to be as anxious about finding Luci. What happened?”

“Nothing. It was an idea, that’s all,” Moran said. “Something that happened a long time ago. Sixteen years.” He looked at Mary. “What were you doing sixteen years ago?… What were you doing last week? The week before?… What’re we doing sitting here?”

Rafi said to the desk clerk in English, “Let me see it again. The woman’s.”

The clerk looked past him at the lobby before taking out the registration card and laying it on the counter.

Rafi studied the card without picking it up. “I don’t know if that’s a one or a seven, in the address.”

“Siete,” the clerk said.

“All right, take it. I’ll fix it up when you want to score, man. Let me know the room and what time.”

“Speak so I can understand,” the clerk said.

“I’m practicing my American,” Rafi said.

He walked past the uniformed guard into the hotel casino where there were players at the first roulette table and at several of the blackjack tables, though not much of a crowd this early in the evening. Rafi nodded to the young American in the three-piece gray suit, pointed to the telephone on the stand by the entrance and the young American, the casino assistant manager, gave him the sign, okay, though he seemed to hesitate and have doubts. Rafi picked up the phone and told the hotel operator the number he wanted, then turned his back to the room, hunching over the stand that was like a podium.

“It’s Rafi again.” He spoke in Spanish now. “Mary Delaney. Seven hundred Collins Avenue, Miami Beach.”

The woman’s voice on the phone said, “Wait.”