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We drove on, but Fi’s point was well made, even if I didn’t listen. The other aspect of an explosion like that was if it turned out to be something truly awful or notable, eventually someone of importance would notice that Fi and I were in the vicinity, might even have access to a security photo of my car driving on the opposite causeway at the precise time of the explosion, since even if the public wasn’t aware, subsequent to 9/11, most significant bridges and causeways now had surveillance cameras trained on each passing car and, invariably, I’d need to make an accounting or have it used against me.

The nice thing about being paranoid? It gets you to cover your ass when you might normally let it hang out in the open. Even though Sam was no longer regularly informing on me to the FBI, it was important to keep him abreast of potential issues that might arise in the event that I’m at some point implicated, along with Fi, in blowing up a million-dollar yacht.

So, after we hit Miami Beach, and after I called my mom to let her know we were running a little late because something had just blown up in Biscayne Bay, I dialed Sam. “Just if you’re curious,” I said when he answered, “that didn’t have anything to do with me.”

“What didn’t?” he said.

I could hear talking in the background and dishes being gathered up. The clink of glasses. Silverware. I looked at my watch. It was about twelve thirty, which meant Sam had been at the Cafe Carlito for about two hours and five to seven beers. I doubted he was watching the news.

“Some yacht just went kaboom in the bay,” I said.

“Funny thing,” he said. “I just met with someone about a yacht.”

“I know where you can get one cheap,” I said. “Might need some work.”

“A guy with a job,” Sam said. “Needs some discreet help. I told him I knew just the person.”

“How discreet is it if you tell everyone who asks?” This caused Sam to pause and think. While Sam has had to act as the eyes and ears on me for the government, it’s more passive than aggressive. In fact, it’s almost completely passive now. We have an agreement that he’ll give the least he can and I won’t imperil him more than I have to. It works about fifty percent of the time, and that’s largely his fifty percent. “Fi and I are having lunch with my mother. Where are you going to be in an hour?”

“Training for a ten K,” Sam said.

“So the Carlito?” I said.

“Unless they run out of limes,” he said.

“Got it,” I said.

“And you said a yacht blew up?”

“A big one.”

“You see any Italians in expensive suits running from the scene?”

“I didn’t see the scene,” I said. “It was on the water.”

“Well, good. What about in sweat suits?”

“Sam,” I said, “have you agreed to help some mobbed-up pigeon?”

“No, no,” he said.

“You’re just keeping an eye out for Italians in expensive suits and track wear these days?”

“Give your mom my best,” he said. “She and Virgil having a special day, too?”

Virgil was an old friend of Sam’s who, inexplicably, took a shine to my mother after we twice helped him with special problems, once involving vicious drug dealers and once… well, involving another group of vicious drug dealers. Subsequently, he and my mother have had a thing. Not a thing like what Fiona and I have. Nor a thing I really want to consider, ever, or even a thing like my mother and father had, but a thing no less. You never want to think of your parents having a romantic life. It’s the sort of thought process that makes therapy appointments even more uncomfortable.

It was also an excellent way of changing the subject. You deal with people with psy-ops training, you have to figure they’ll occasionally put their training to use.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Ah, Mikey, it’s good for both of them. Just like that song said. Two less lonely people in the world,” Sam said.

“I’m afraid I don’t know that song.”

“Little before your time. We tortured Noriega with it. Now it sort of runs in a loop in my head. Anyway, I think it’s sweet. Have a laugh, Mikey-it’s a funny situation.”

“This is me laughing,” I said, and hung up. We were driving down 5th Street and Fi told me to take a right on Collins, and then a brief left on 3rd Street, and then had me stop in front of a big red-striped edifice that made me wonder if my thoughts were somehow getting uploaded to a master computer that was transmitting directly to Fi and my mother.

“T.G.I. Friday’s?” I said. “You told my mother to meet us at T.G.I. Friday’s?”

“Your mother loves it,” she said, “and they actually serve protein-based foods, so it will be a nice shock to your system.”

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Фантастика / Боевик / Детективы / Самиздат, сетевая литература / Социально-психологическая фантастика