Nolen uncapped a couple Buds, placed one on the counter for Moran and slipped up onto a stool.

“I skimmed the swimming pool.”

“Good.”

“Didn’t find any used condoms or anything. No alligators. The two broads from Fort Wayne left and the old couple with the Buick. In fact everybody’s gone. We had a couple broads from Findlay, Ohio, work for Dow Chemical, they were here for three days. I asked ’em if they heard the one, the salesman from New York who’s in Findlay, Ohio, on business and runs into a foxy broad at the Holiday Inn? One drink they’re in the sack, it’s beautiful. But this guy’s a good Catholic so he looks up a church right away, goes to confession and the priest gives him five Our Fathers and five Hail Marys for his penance. He leaves for New York, meets another good-looking broad at La Guardia. They drive into town together, go to her apartment and jump in bed, it’s beautiful. But now he’s got to go to confession again before he gets home. He goes to St. Pat’s, tells the priest what he did and the priest gives him a rosary. The guy says, ‘Father, I don’t mean to question you giving me a rosary, but I went to confession in Findlay, Ohio, for the same thing and I only got five Our Fathers and five Hail Marys.’ The priest looks at him and screams, ‘Findlay, Ohio!’ Like he can’t believe it. ‘Findlay, Ohio-what do they know about fucking in Findlay, Ohio!’… Otherwise,” Nolen said, “there’s nothing new.”

“How about old business?” Moran said, taking clothes out of the bag. “I’m a little more interested in what was going on when I left.”

“The lovers?” Nolen said. “They broke up.”

“And when we last saw the guy who broke them up,” Moran said, “you were treating him to one of my beers.”

“Jiggs,” Nolen said. “He’s all right, a nice guy.”

“Yeah, good old Jiggs Scully,” Moran said, “hands out phony business cards for laughs, but as it turns out works for de Boya.”

“I’m gonna have to explain a few things to you,” Nolen said.

Moran picked up his clothes and dropped them in a wicker basket. “Will it take long?”

“George, that’s not nice… See, you’ll be interested to know that Jiggs doesn’t exactly work for de Boya. De Boya borrows him from time to time, for heavy work.”

“The piano player, Mario, that’s heavy?”

Nolen shook his head. “De Boya didn’t hire Jiggs for that one. The sister did, Anita.”

“I see,” Moran said, telling Nolen he didn’t see at all.

“You know the song ‘Breaking Up Is Hard to Do’? It’s like that,” Nolen said. “Anita doesn’t want to go through a lot of shit with Mario, she just wants to cut it off clean. So she hires Jiggs. The piano player thinks her brother sent him and he’s not gonna have a tantrum or argue with the brother and get his legs broken, he wasn’t that deeply in love. I said to Jiggs, ‘You ever hear the guy play? You gonna break anything break his fingers.’ But evidently the brother did find out about it and he sent Corky along. You got it now?”

“Have I got what?”

“Corky is Corky Corcovado. He’s Dominican, he works for de Boya. But Jiggs, Jiggs you call when you need him.”

“Not the number on the card he gave me,” Moran said.

“As a matter of fact,” Nolen said, “that is his number. But the girl on the switchboard won’t admit it if she doesn’t know who you are. You call him, you have to be a regular.”

Moran thought a moment. “She said Dorado Management.”

“Yeah, it’s sort of a euphemism. She said Ballbusters Incorporated it would’ve been closer, but that doesn’t sound right on the phone, it’s too graphic.”

Moran waited, letting Nolen talk. The guy was onstage.

“Dorado either manages or controls all the businesses-the restaurants, the furniture stores, dry cleaners-that were into them for shylock money and couldn’t make the payments. We’re talking about the wise guys. You understand?”

Moran nodded. “Yeah, go on.”

“So Dorado, the wise guys, foreclose and take over the business. All I’m saying is things like that go on, you know that, Miami’s very heavy into all kinds of shit. It doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re talking about, nothing. Except I want you to appreciate where Jiggs Scully’s coming from, his background. He’s like a bill collector. He’s on call. Dorado has an outstanding debt or, say, they believe one of their drug dealers is skimming they call Jiggs and he straightens it out. De Boya is something else entirely. I assume he’s been into deals with Dorado Management and that’s how he got to know Jiggs. But I don’t know anything about the deals and I don’t want to know. Forget I even mentioned it.”

Moran said, “What’re you getting into?”

“I’m not getting into anything.”

“You gonna start wearing a black overcoat. Pack a gun?”

“They don’t wear overcoats down here, George. I’m telling you who’s who, that’s all. You want to know who Scully is, I’m telling you.”

“You think he’s a nice guy.”

“I think he’s funny,” Nolen said. “He says funny things.” Nolen grinned. “He says, ‘Something’s wrong, what they teach you in school. How come, I’m an altar boy, I go to mass and communion every morning of my young life, I end up working for the fucking guineas, the fucking spics, carrying their bags?’ “

“That’s pretty funny,” Moran said.

“You have to hear him, the way he says it.”

“Well, it wouldn’t bother me too much I never saw the guy again,” Moran said. “And if you’ll excuse me-I want to rest and get cleaned up.”

“Hey, that’s right-how was the trip?”

“I’ll tell you about it later.” Moving Nolen to the door.

“Yeah, good. You gonna be around?”

“I don’t know yet. I might go out.” Practically pushing him through the door.

“I want to hear all about it, George. What was your platoon down there? Ass Chaser? You get much this time?”

“Get out of here,” Moran said and closed the door on him.

She had told him her phone number and he’d memorized it on the spot. He dialed and waited, standing at the counter, anxious, without a story for the maid or whoever answered. A woman’s voice with an accent said, “Yes, may I help you?”

“Mrs. de Boya, please.”

“May I say who is calling?”

Shit… “Tell her Mr. Delaney.” When she came on he said, “Mary?”

She said, “Who’re you supposed to be, a relative?”

“Do you have any?”

“Not around here. They’re all up in Michigan.”

“Then I’m visiting… I miss you already.”

“I do too. I ache.”

“Can you talk?”

“Not comfortably. He’s home.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m outside on the deck, having a glass of sherry. I’m nervous.”

“I can hear a boat,” Moran said. “Have you talked to him yet?”

“I just walked in the door.”

“I mean have you seen him.”

“Yeah… we said hello. That was about it.”

“Did you kiss him?”

“On the cheek.”

“I’m not good on the phone. I miss you.”

“I miss you more. God, I miss you. Let’s go back.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Let’s meet somewhere.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“No, let me think… Do you know where Matheson Hammock is, the park?”

“Yeah, just south of you, on the bay.”

“Drive out to the point. To the left of where you go into the beach.”

“I know where it is.”

“I’ll meet you there tomorrow at… what time?”

“Six A.M.”

“How about noon?”

“I’ll be there.”

“I love you, George.” She hung up.

He had to pace the room a few times before settling down, getting organized. Through the window he could see Nolen sitting by the pool, alone with his beer. The bit actor, part-time private eye who thought Jiggs Scully was funny. Turned on by the guy’s deadpan involvement with businessmen who hired him to break legs and collect the vig on money owed. Moran moved from the window.

He had all he could handle for the time being. Nolen Tyner would have to look out for himself.