Rafi took his time. “George, part of what you say is true. Yes, I recognize Mary. But I don’t say anything because I don’t want to… surprise you and you think the wrong thing.”

“Bullshit, you had to come up with a scheme. You followed me today, you followed her… You tell her how much you want or you haven’t made up your mind yet?”

“George, what do you think I want?”

“Not what, how much. I know what you want. Christ, the way you do it, you might as well wear a sign. You’re a fucking lizard, Rafi, that’s all I can say.”

Rafi gave himself a little time. He sighed. “You make it sound ugly, George, I’m surprise. A man like you, run this kind of place.” Rafi looked about critically in the glow of the swimming pool, unimpressed. “You want me to believe it’s very swank. But soon as I come here I realize something, George. You see a good thing you go for it. You accuse me, but, George”-with a smile to show patience and understanding-”I’m not the one fucking General de Boya’s wife, you are.”

Moran hammered him with a straight left, aiming for the grin that vanished behind his fist and Rafi stumbled back, over the side of the pool. He landed on his back, smacking the water hard, went under and came up waving his arms, gasping. Moran stood on the tile edge watching him. Rafi was only a few feet away but struggling, fighting the water, still gasping for breath. Shit, Moran thought.

He yelled at him, “Take it easy! Hey-put your head back, you won’t sink.”

Rafi was trying to scream something in Spanish, taking in water, gagging, going under again.

“Relax, will you. Take it easy.”

Moran glanced around to see the girl, Loret, next to him now, calmly watching Rafi in the water.

“Can’t he swim?”

“I don’t know,” the girl said. “It don’t look like it.”

“Shit,” Moran said. He pulled his untied sneakers off, hesitated, took his wallet out of his pocket, dropped it behind him and jumped in the pool.

As soon as they got him in the living room of the apartment Rafi slumped into the sofa, his Dominican shirt sticking to him, transparent. Moran yelled at him, “Not on the couch!” and grabbed an arm to pull him up. Christ, the guy was making a survivor scene out of it, saved from a watery grave, the girl bringing a blanket she’d ripped from the bed. Moran held her off and pushed Rafi toward the bathroom. “Get in there. You ruin my furniture I’ll throw you back.”

Nolen was standing in the doorway holding the screen.

“What happened?”

“Asshole fell in the swimming pool.”

“He all right?”

“Who gives a shit,” Moran said. He started out, then looked around at Loret. “Give me my wallet.”

She hesitated, then reached behind her and brought it out of the waist of her jeans. “I holding it for you.”

“Thanks,” Moran said. “Now pack. You’re going home tomorrow.” He took his wallet and left.

Nolen watched Moran cross to his bungalow and go inside. For several moments Nolen stood with his hands shoved into his back pockets, looking about idly.

“Moran hit him then save his life,” Loret said.

“Funny guy,” Nolen said. He came in now, moved through the living room to the kitchenette, snooping, looking around. “What do you and Rafael drink for fun, anything?”

“They some wine in the refrigerador.”

“I’ll be back,” Nolen said.

Loret began in Spanish and Nolen had to tell her to talk English or shut up. He listened to see if she had anything of value for him, but all she was doing was bitching at Rafi.

“I don’t know why I come here with you. I learn what you tell me, I say it perfect.”

“You don’t say it perfect,” Rafi said.

“I say it so good I begin to cry myself and he touch me. You see that. He reach over and touch me. I did it perfect. But you-you say something he push you in the piscina.” She looked at Nolen sitting forward on the sofa, pouring himself a drink from the bottle of Scotch he’d placed close by on the coffee table. “You know how much money I didn’t make since I start being with him? I’ll tell you-”

Rafi said something to her in Spanish that shut her up.

“It’s okay,” Nolen said. “How much?”

“Two hundred dollar a night-all those nights I have to spend listening to him, it come to dos mil, two thousand dollar I don’t make,” Loret said. “Maybe more than that.”

Nolen was getting up, hands on his thighs like an old man. “You’re a cute little girl,” he said to Loret, taking her by the arm, leading her to the bedroom, “but you talk too much. Stay in there and be quiet.” He pushed her into the room and closed the door. When she pounded on it and began yelling in Spanish Nolen opened the door a few inches and pointed a finger inside. “I said be quiet, you hear? Or I’ll have to get rough with you and I don’t want to do that.” He closed the door again and went back to the sofa. Easing himself down he said to Rafi, “I recited that line every night for two and a half months. ‘Be quiet now, you hear? Or I’ll have to get rough with you… ‘ Oh my, where were we? That’s right, we haven’t started yet, have we?”

Rafi sat quietly in a straight chair turned away from the desk. He seemed drained of energy after his ordeal, his hair still wet, flat to his skull, his body wrapped in the comfort of a brown velour robe.

“First, you didn’t do it right,” Nolen said. “You come rolling in like a medicine show, got your little helper with you. Fine, except every guy to her’s a trick. You see it in her eyes, she can’t wait to get your fly open. Second, you picked the wrong guy. I don’t mean because he doesn’t have any money, I’m not talking about money. And I don’t mean he’s the wrong guy in that you ever leaned on him seriously, spoke right out and tried to blackmail him, he’d beat the shit out of you. That’s nothing. You’ve been cut, you know what I mean. You get over it. No, I’m talking about you picked the wrong guy from the standpoint you didn’t pick the right one. Are you following me?”

Rafi was moving his tongue over his teeth or touching his mouth gently with the tips of his fingers.

“You paying attention?”

Rafi didn’t say. He seemed to nod.

“I’m not telling you this,” Nolen said, “because I think you need counseling. You’re no more fucked up than the rest of the pimps trying to get by, but you’re not a pimp.”

“I was never a pimp,” Rafi said, as indignant as he could sound with a sore mouth.

“I mean you don’t have the right stuff to be a good pimp,” Nolen said. “You’re not only about thirty years behind in your style you’re playing the wrong part. You come on like a young Fernando Lamas when another type entirely, today, is selling tickets.”

Rafi said, “What tickets?”

“Just listen,” Nolen said. “What’s going down in the Caribbean, in Central America, El Salvador now, ever since Cuba? Revolutions, man. They’ve always been big down there, but now they’re getting more notice because they seem closer to home. Only an hour, two hours across the friendly skies and it scares the shit out of people. It’s going on right in Miami with the Cubans, the Haitians, Colombians that come to visit-you got dope and international politics all mixed up with terrorists that use pipe bombs and automatic weapons, man, it’s real and it’s right here. You understand what I’m saying to you? You want to score today you got to get into the action that’s going down, you got to spread a little terror.”

Rafi was listening. He said, “Yes? How do I do that?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Nolen said. “You’ve got the background, the hot blood, all that shit. I think with a little direction, a good slogan, you could make a pretty fair revolutionary. Viva Libertad-you know, get excited.”

Rafi frowned. “You want to start a revolution?”

“No, you do,” Nolen said. “You want to make it look like you’re part of a wild-ass revolutionary movement. You’re an ace terrorist come here to do a job. You’re a fanatic, man, you can’t wait to blow somebody away. But, you want him to know it first. You want to make him believe he’s got this fucking movement coming down on him, not just some muggers-you know what I mean?-some real gung-hoers, man, fire-eaters.”