I had already run the Regulation S scenario by Roland Franks, and he a.s.sured me that he could create all the necessary paperwork to make the transaction bulletproof. All I had to do was get my money to Switzerland, and then everything would take care of itself.

I said to Todd, "Maybe I should fly it over in the Gulfstream. Last time I went through Swiss Customs they didn't even stamp my pa.s.sport. I don't see why this time would be any different."

Todd shook his head. "No way, I won't let you put yourself at risk. You've been too good to me and my family. What I'll do is have my mother and father carry money over too. They're both in their early seventies, so there's no way Customs will suspect them. They'll slip right through on both sides without a problem. I'll also get Rich *4 and Dina and Dina *5 to do it. That'll be five people, three hundred thousand each. In two trips it'll be done. Then we'll wait a few weeks and do it again." He paused for a few seconds, then added, "You know, I would do it myself but I think I'm on a watch list from all the drug stuff. But I know my parents are totally clean, and so are Rich and Dina." to do it. That'll be five people, three hundred thousand each. In two trips it'll be done. Then we'll wait a few weeks and do it again." He paused for a few seconds, then added, "You know, I would do it myself but I think I'm on a watch list from all the drug stuff. But I know my parents are totally clean, and so are Rich and Dina."

We walked in silence while I thought things through. In truth, Todd's parents were perfect mules; as old as they were, they would never get stopped. But Rich and Dina were a different story. They both looked like hippies, especially Rich, who had hair down to his a.s.s and the strung-out look of a heroin junkie. Dina also had a junkie's look, but, being a woman, perhaps Customs would mistake her for a washed-out hag in desperate need of a makeover. "Okay," I said confidently. "There's no doubt your parents are a safe bet, and probably Dina as well. But Rich looks too much like a drug dealer, so let's leave him out of this."

Todd stopped walking, and he turned to me and said, "All I ask, buddy, is if G.o.d forbid something happens to any one of them that you take care of all the legal bills. I know you will, but I just wanted to say it up front so I wouldn't have to bring it up later. But, trust me, nothing is gonna happen. I promise you."

I put my arm on Todd's shoulder and said, "All that goes without saying. If something happens, not only will I pay the legal bills but, as long as everyone keeps their mouth shut, they'll wind up with a seven-figure cash bonus when it's all over. Anyway, I trust you completely, Todd. I'm gonna give you the three million dollars to take back into the city, and I have no doubt it will end up in Switzerland within the week. There're only a handful of people in the world I would put that much trust in."

Todd nodded solemnly.

Then I added, "On a separate note, Danny has another million to give you, but he won't have it until the middle of next week. I'll be up in New England with Nadine on the yacht, so call Danny and make plans to hook up with him, all right?"

Todd grimaced. "I'll do whatever you say, but I hate dealing with Danny. He's a f.u.c.king loose cannon; he does too many Quaaludes during the day. If he shows up with a million dollars in cash and he's all Luded out, I swear to G.o.d I'm gonna smack him in the face. This is serious s.h.i.t, and I don't wanna be dealing with a slurring idiot."

I smiled. "Point well taken; I'll talk to him. Anyway, I gotta get back to the house. Nadine's aunt is in from England, and she's coming out here with Nadine's mother for dinner. I gotta get ready."

Todd nodded. "No problem. Just don't forget to tell Danny not to be f.u.c.ked up when he meets me on Wednesday, okay?"

I smiled and nodded. "I won't forget, Todd. I promise."

Feeling satisfied, I turned toward the ocean and looked out to the edge of the horizon. The sky was a deep cobalt blue with just a sliver of magenta where the sky melted into the water. I took a deep breath...

And just like that I forgot.

CHAPTER 19

A LEAST LIKELY MULE

Dinner out! Westhampton! Or Jew-Hampton, as it was referred to by all those WASP b.a.s.t.a.r.ds living down the road in Southampton. It was no secret that the WASPs sneered straight down their long, thin noses at the Westhamptonites, as if we were the sorts of Jews who'd just had our pa.s.sports stamped at Ellis Island and were still dressed in long black coats and top hats.

Anyway, in spite of all that, I still considered Westhampton a fine place to keep a beach house. It was for the young and the wild, and, most importantly, it was full of Strattonites-the male Strattonites blowing obscene amounts of money on the female Strattonites, and the female Strattonites blowing the male Strattonites in return, in the Stratton version of a quid pro quo.

On this particular evening I was sitting at a table for four at Starr Boggs restaurant, athwart the dunes of Westhampton Beach, with two Quaaludes bathing the pleasure center of my brain. For a guy like me it was a rather minor dose, and I was in complete control. I had a terrific view of the Atlantic Ocean, which was a mere stone's throw away. In fact, it was so close that I could hear the waves breaking upon the sh.o.r.e. At 8:30 p.m. there was still enough light in the sky to turn the horizon into a swirling palette of purple and pink and midnight blue. An impossibly large full moon hung just over the Atlantic.

It was the sort of glorious view that served as an indisputable testament to the wonder of Mother Nature, which stood in sharp contrast to the restaurant itself, which was a total f.u.c.king dump! White metallic picnic tables were strewn about a gray wooden deck that was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint and a serious desplintering. In fact, if you walked barefoot on the deck you were sure to end up in the emergency room at Southampton Hospital, which was the only inst.i.tution in Southampton that accepted Jews, albeit reluctantly. Adding insult to injury, a hundred or so red, orange, and purple lanterns hung from thin gray wires that crisscrossed the roofless restaurant. It looked like someone had forgotten to take down last season's Christmas lights-someone with a severe alcohol problem. And then there were tiki torches, which were strategically positioned here and there. They gave off a feeble orange glow, making the place seem that much sadder.

But none of this-with the exception of the tiki torches-was the fault of Starr, the restaurant's tall, potbellied owner. He was a first-cla.s.s chef, Starr, and his prices were more than reasonable. I had taken Mad Max here once, to provide him with a visual explanation of how my average Starr Boggs dinner bill ran $10,000. It was a concept he was having trouble grasping, since he wasn't aware of the special reserve of red wine that Starr stocked for me, the average price being $3,000 per bottle.

Tonight the d.u.c.h.ess and I, along with Nadine's mother, Suzanne, and the lovely Aunt Patricia, had already killed two bottles of Chateau Margaux, 1985, and were deep into our third-despite the fact that we hadn't ordered appetizers yet. But given the fact that Suzanne and Aunt Patricia were both half Irish, their proclivity for all things alcoholic was to be expected.

So far, the dinner conversation had been entirely innocuous, as I carefully steered things away from the subject of international money laundering. And while I had told Nadine what was going on with her aunt Patricia, I'd couched things in a way that made it all seem perfectly legit-glossing over the finer points, like the thousand and one laws we were breaking, and focusing on how Aunt Patricia would be getting her own credit card, allowing her to live out the twilight of her life in the lap of luxury. Anyway, after a few minutes of inside-cheek-chewing and some halfhearted threats, Nadine had finally bought into it.

At this particular moment Suzanne was explaining how the AIDS virus was a U.S. government conspiracy, not much different than Roswell or the Kennedy a.s.sa.s.sination. I was trying to pay close attention, but I was distracted by the ridiculous straw hats she and Aunt Patricia had decided to wear. They were larger than Mexican sombreros, and they had pink flowers around the brim. It was plainly obvious that the two of them weren't residents of Jew-Hampton. In fact, they looked like they were from a different planet.

And as my mother-in-law continued bashing the government, the delectable d.u.c.h.ess began nudging me under the table with the tip of her high heel, the unspoken message being: "Here she goes again!" I casually turned to her and gave her the hint of a wink. I couldn't get over how quickly she'd bounced back after Chandler's birth. Just six weeks ago she looked like she'd swallowed a basketball! Now she was back at her fighting weight-a hundred twelve pounds of solid steel-ready to smack me at the slightest provocation.

I grabbed Nadine's hand and placed it on the table, as if to show I was speaking for both of us, and said, "When it comes to your theories about the press and how everything's a pack of lies, I couldn't agree with you more, Suzanne. The problem is that most people aren't as insightful as you." I shook my head gravely.

Patricia picked up her winegla.s.s, took a prodigious gulp, then said, "How convenient it is to feel that way about the press, especially since you're the one those b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.s.t.a.r.ds keep bashing! Wouldn't you say, my love?"

I smiled at Patricia and said, "Well, that calls for a toast!" I raised my winegla.s.s and waited for everyone to follow suit. After a few seconds I said, "To the lovely Aunt Patricia, who was blessed with the truly remarkable talent of being able to call a horse's a.s.s a horse's a.s.s!" With that we all clinked gla.s.ses and drank five hundred dollars' worth of wine in less than a second.

Nadine reached over to me and rubbed my cheek and said, "Oh, honey, we all know that everything they say about you is lies. So don't you worry, sweetness!"

"Yes," added Suzanne, "of course it's all lies. They make it seem as if you alone are doing something wrong. It's almost laughable when you think about. This all goes back to the Rothschilds, in the 1700s, and to J. P. Morgan and his brood, back in the 1900s. The stock market is just another puppet of the government. You can see..."

Suzanne was off again. I mean, there was no denying she was a little bit kooky-but who wasn't? And she was smart as a whip. She was a voracious reader, and she'd single-handedly raised Nadine and her younger brother, AJ, doing one h.e.l.l of a job (at least with Nadine). And the fact that her ex-husband hadn't given her one ounce of support, financial or otherwise, made her accomplishment that much grander. She was a beautiful woman, Suzanne, with shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. All in all, a good egg.

Just then Starr walked over to the table. He wore a white chef's jacket and a towering white chef's hat. He looked like a six-foot-four-inch Pillsbury Doughboy.

"Good evening," said Starr in warm tones. "Happy Labor Day to all of you!"

My wife, the aspiring people-pleaser, immediately popped up out of her chair like an eager cheerleader and gave Starr a pleasant peck on the cheek. Then she began the process of introducing her family. After a few wonderful minutes of meaningless small talk, Starr began explaining the evening's specials, starting with his world-famous pan-fried soft-sh.e.l.l crabs. But in less than a millisecond, I stopped listening and started thinking about Todd and Carolyn and my $3 million. How on earth were they going to get it all there without getting caught? And what about the rest of my cash? Perhaps I should have used Saurel's courier service? But that had seemed risky, hadn't it? I mean-to meet a complete stranger at a sordid rendezvous point and hand over that much money?

I looked over at Nadine's mother, who, by chance, was looking at me too. She offered me the warmest of smiles, an altogether loving smile, which I returned without hesitation. I had been very good to Suzanne. In fact, since the day I'd fallen in love with Nadine, Suzanne had never wanted for anything. Nadine and I bought her a car, rented her a beautiful home on the water, and gave her $8,000 a month in spending money. In my book, Suzanne was aces. She had never been anything but supportive of our marriage, and...

...then all at once the most devilish thought occurred to me. Hmmm Hmmm...it was really too bad that Suzanne and Patricia couldn't carry some money over to Switzerland. I mean, really-who would ever suspect them? Look at them, in those stupid hats! What would be the chances that a Customs agent would ever stop them? Zero! It had to be! Two old ladies smuggling money? It would be the perfect crime. But I instantly regretted thinking any such thought. Christ! If Suzanne got in trouble-well, Nadine would crucify me! She might even leave me and take Chandler. That was an impossibility! I couldn't live without them! Not in- Nadine screamed, "Earth to Jordan! h.e.l.lo, Jordan!"

I turned to her and gave her a vacant smile.

"You want the swordfish, right, baby?"

I nodded eagerly and kept smiling.

Then she added with great confidence, "And he also wants a Caesar salad with no croutons." She leaned over and gave me a wet kiss on the cheek, then sat back down in her seat.

Starr thanked us, complimented Nadine, and then went about his business. Aunt Patricia raised her winegla.s.s and said, "I'd like to make another toast, please."

We all raised our gla.s.ses.

In a serious tone, she said, "This toast is to you, Jordan. Without you, none of us would be here tonight. And thanks to you, I'm moving into a larger flat, closer to my grandchildren"-I looked out the corner of my eye at the d.u.c.h.ess to gauge her response. She was chewing on the inside of her mouth! Oh, s.h.i.t!-"and it's big enough so they can each have their own bedroom. You're a truly generous man, my love, and that's something to be very proud of. To you, my love!"

We all clinked gla.s.ses, then Nadine leaned over to me and gave me a warm, wonderful kiss on the lips, which sent the better part of five pints of blood rushing to my loins.

Wow! How wonderful my marriage was! And it was growing stronger every day! Nadine, myself, Chandler-we were a real family. Who could ask for anything more? How wonderful my marriage was! And it was growing stronger every day! Nadine, myself, Chandler-we were a real family. Who could ask for anything more?

Two hours later I was knocking on my own front door, like Fred Flintstone after he'd been locked out by Dino, his pet dinosaur. "Come on, Nadine! Unlock the door and let me in! I'm sorry!"

From the other side of the door, the voice of my wife, dripping with disdain: "You're sorry? Why-you-little f.u.c.k! If I open this door I'm gonna smash your face in!"

I took a deep breath...and slowly exhaled. G.o.d, I hated when she called me little! Why did she have to call me that? I wasn't that little, for Chrissake! "Nae, I was only kidding around! Please! Please! I'm not gonna let your mother carry money over to Switzerland! Now open the door and let me in!" I'm not gonna let your mother carry money over to Switzerland! Now open the door and let me in!"

Nothing. No response, just footsteps. G.o.d d.a.m.n her! G.o.d d.a.m.n her! What was she so mad about? It wasn't me who'd suggested that her mother bring a couple of million dollars over to Switzerland! She'd offered! Perhaps I had led her into it, but, still, she had made the official offer! What was she so mad about? It wasn't me who'd suggested that her mother bring a couple of million dollars over to Switzerland! She'd offered! Perhaps I had led her into it, but, still, she had made the official offer!

More forcefully this time: "Nadine! Open up the f.u.c.king door and let me in! You're overreacting!"

I heard more footsteps from inside the house, then the mail slot at waist level opened. Nadine's voice came through the slot. "If you want to talk to me, then you can talk to me through here."

What choice did I have? I bent down and- SPLASH!

"Owwww, s.h.i.t!" I screamed, wiping my eyeb.a.l.l.s with the bottom of my white Ralph Lauren T-shirt. "That water's piping hot, Nadine! What the f.u.c.k is wrong with you? You could've burned me!"

The disdainful d.u.c.h.ess: "Could've burned you? I'm gonna do more than that before I'm through! How the f.u.c.k could you talk my mother into doing that? You don't think I know you manipulated her? Of course she's gonna offer after everything you've done for her! You just made it so f.u.c.king simple for her, you manipulative little b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You and your stupid f.u.c.king sales tactics or Jedi mind tricks or whatever the f.u.c.k you call them! You're a despicable human being!"

In spite of everything she'd said, it was the word little little that wounded me most. "You better watch who you call little, or I'll smash you one and-" that wounded me most. "You better watch who you call little, or I'll smash you one and-"

"Just go ahead and try! If you lift a hand to me, I'll cut your b.a.l.l.s off while you're sleeping and feed them to you!"

Christ! How could such a beautiful face spew out such terrible venom-and at her own husband! The d.u.c.h.ess had looked like an angel tonight, not to mention that she'd been showering me with kisses all night long! But then, after Patricia had finished making her toast, I caught a glimpse of her and Suzanne from a certain angle in those ridiculous straw hats, and they reminded me of the Pigeon Sisters from the movie The Odd Couple. The Odd Couple. I figured, what Customs agent in his right mind would stop the Pigeon Sisters? And the fact that both of them carried British pa.s.sports made the whole idea that much more plausible. So I launched a trial balloon, to see if either of them would be receptive to smuggling money for me. I figured, what Customs agent in his right mind would stop the Pigeon Sisters? And the fact that both of them carried British pa.s.sports made the whole idea that much more plausible. So I launched a trial balloon, to see if either of them would be receptive to smuggling money for me.

My wife's voice, through the slot: "Come down here and look me in the eye and tell me that you won't let her do it."

"Come down there? Yeah, right!" I said mockingly. "You want me to look you in the eye? Why? So you can throw more boiling water in my face? What do you think, I'm f.u.c.king stupid or something?"

The toneless voice of the d.u.c.h.ess: "I'm not gonna throw more water at you. I swear on Chandler's eyes."

I stood my ground.

"You know, the problem is that my mother and Aunt Patricia think this whole thing is a giant f.u.c.king game. They both hate the government and they figure it's all for a good cause. And now that my mother has this thing in her mind, she's not gonna stop talking about it until you let her do it. I know her like a book. She thinks it's exciting-to walk through Customs with all that money and not get caught."

"I won't let her do it, Nae. I should have never brought it up in the first place. I just had too much wine. I'll talk to her tomorrow."

"You didn't have too much wine; that's the sad part. Even when you're straight you're a little devil. I don't know why I love you so much. It's me who's the crazy one, not you! I really oughta have my head examined-really! I mean, dinner was twenty thousand dollars tonight! Who spends twenty thousand dollars on dinner unless it's for a wedding or something? n.o.body I know! But why would you care about that? You've got three million in the closet! And that's not f.u.c.king normal either.

"Contrary to what you might think, Jordan, I don't need all this. I just want to live a nice, quiet life, away from Stratton and away from all this madness. I think we should move before something bad happens." She paused. "But you'll never do it. You're addicted to all the power-and to all those idiots who call you the King and the Wolf! Christ, the Wolf! What a f.u.c.king joke that is!" I could hear the disgust oozing through the keyhole. "My husband, the Wolf of Wall Street! It's almost too ridiculous for words. But you can't see that. All you care about is yourself. You're a selfish little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You really are."

"Stop calling me little, for Chrissake! What the f.u.c.k is wrong with you?"

"Aw, you're so sensitive," she said mockingly. "Well, get this, Mr. Sensitive: Tonight you're sleeping in the guest bedroom! And tomorrow night too! Maybe if you're lucky I might have s.e.x with you next year! But that's a long shot!" A moment later I heard the door unlock...then the sound of her high heels clicking their way up the stairs.

Well, I guess I deserved it. But, still, what were the chances of her mother getting caught? Close to zero, one would think! It was just those stupid straw hats that she and Patricia were wearing that had made the thought bubble up to my brain. And the fact that I supported Suzanne financially counted for something, didn't it? After all, that was why she'd offered in the first place! Her mother was a sharp, decent lady, and deep down she knew that there was some unspoken IOU that I could cash in on if I really needed to. I mean, when all the bulls.h.i.t was stripped away, n.o.body just gave gave out of the goodness of their own heart, did they? There was always some sort of ulterior motive, even if it was nothing more than the personal feeling of satisfaction you received from helping another human being, which in its own way was self-serving too! out of the goodness of their own heart, did they? There was always some sort of ulterior motive, even if it was nothing more than the personal feeling of satisfaction you received from helping another human being, which in its own way was self-serving too!

On a brighter note, at least I'd had s.e.x with the d.u.c.h.ess that afternoon. So a day or two without s.e.x wouldn't be that difficult to handle.

CHAPTER 20

A c.h.i.n.k IN THE ARMOR

The doleful d.u.c.h.ess had been half right and half wrong.

Yes, she'd been right about her mother insisting on playing a small role in "this fabulous adventure of mine," as she and Patricia had come to refer to my international money-laundering scheme. In fact, there had been no talking her out of it. But in both our defenses (Suzanne's and mine), it was a rather s.e.xy notion, wasn't it? To stuff an obscene amount of money-$900,000, to be exact-into an oversize pocketbook and then throw it over your shoulder and walk straight through Customs without getting caught? Yes, yes, it was very s.e.xy, indeed!

But, no, no, the d.u.c.h.ess had been wrong to worry herself sick over it. The simple fact was that Suzanne had breached the gauntlet on both sides of the Atlantic without a raised eyebrow-delivering the cash to Jean Jacques Saurel with a wink and a smile. Now she was safely back in England, where she would be spending the rest of September with Aunt Patricia, as the two of them basked in the glory of getting away with breaking a dozen or so laws.

So the d.u.c.h.ess had forgiven me and we were lovers once more-currently taking an end-of-summer vacation in the harbor town of Newport, Rhode Island. Joining us were my oldest friend, Alan Lipsky, and his soon to be ex-wife, Doreen.

At this particular moment it was just Alan and I, and we were walking along a wooden dock on our way to the yacht Nadine. Nadine. We were shoulder to shoulder, but Alan's shoulder was a good six inches above mine. He was big and broad, Alan, with a barrel of a chest and a big thick neck. His face was handsome, in a Mafia hit man sort of way, with big, thick features and big, bushy eyebrows. Even now, dressed in a pair of light-blue Bermuda shorts, a tan V-neck T-shirt, and tan boating moccasins, he looked menacing. We were shoulder to shoulder, but Alan's shoulder was a good six inches above mine. He was big and broad, Alan, with a barrel of a chest and a big thick neck. His face was handsome, in a Mafia hit man sort of way, with big, thick features and big, bushy eyebrows. Even now, dressed in a pair of light-blue Bermuda shorts, a tan V-neck T-shirt, and tan boating moccasins, he looked menacing.

Up ahead, I could see the Nadine Nadine towering above all the other yachts, its unusual tan color making it stand out that much more. As I drank up the glorious view, I couldn't help but wonder why on earth I had bought the f.u.c.king thing. My crooked accountant, Dennis Gaito, had begged me not to-reciting the age-old axiom: "The two happiest days for a boat owner are the day he buys his boat and the day he sells his boat!" Dennis was as sharp as a whip, so I hesitated-until the d.u.c.h.ess told me that buying a yacht was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard, which left me no choice but to immediately write a check. towering above all the other yachts, its unusual tan color making it stand out that much more. As I drank up the glorious view, I couldn't help but wonder why on earth I had bought the f.u.c.king thing. My crooked accountant, Dennis Gaito, had begged me not to-reciting the age-old axiom: "The two happiest days for a boat owner are the day he buys his boat and the day he sells his boat!" Dennis was as sharp as a whip, so I hesitated-until the d.u.c.h.ess told me that buying a yacht was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard, which left me no choice but to immediately write a check.

So now I owned the yacht Nadine, Nadine, which was 167 feet of floating heartache. The problem was that the boat was old, originally built for famed designer Coco Chanel back in the early 1960s. In consequence, the thing was noisy as h.e.l.l and constantly breaking down. Like most yachts of that era, there was enough teakwood adorning the three ma.s.sive decks to keep the crew of twelve on their hands and knees, with varnish brushes, from morning until night. Every moment I was on the boat it reeked of varnish, which made me nauseous. which was 167 feet of floating heartache. The problem was that the boat was old, originally built for famed designer Coco Chanel back in the early 1960s. In consequence, the thing was noisy as h.e.l.l and constantly breaking down. Like most yachts of that era, there was enough teakwood adorning the three ma.s.sive decks to keep the crew of twelve on their hands and knees, with varnish brushes, from morning until night. Every moment I was on the boat it reeked of varnish, which made me nauseous.

Ironically, when the yacht was built it was only 120 feet long. But then the previous owner, Bernie Little, decided to extend it to make room for a helicopter. And Bernie-well, Bernie was the cunning sort of b.a.s.t.a.r.d who knew a sucker when he saw one. He quickly convinced me to buy the yacht after I'd chartered it a few times, using my love for Captain Marc to seal the deal (he gave me Captain Marc with the boat). Shortly thereafter, Captain Marc convinced me to build a jet-powered seaplane from scratch-his theory being that the two of us were avid scuba divers and we could fly the seaplane to uncharted waters and find fish that had never been hunted before. He'd said, "The fish will be so stupid we'll be able to pet them before we spear them!" It was a rather s.e.xy prospect, I'd thought, so I gave him the green light to build it. The budget was $500,000, which quickly turned into a million.

But when we tried craning the seaplane onto the upper deck, we realized that the deck wasn't big enough. What with the Bell Jet helicopter, the six Kawasaki Jet Skis, the two Honda motorcycles, the fibergla.s.s diving board and water slide-all of which were already on the top deck-there would no room for the helicopter to take off and land without colliding with the seaplane. I was in so deep with all this c.r.a.p that I had no choice but to put the boat back in the shipyard and have it extended once more, for a cost of $700,000.

So the front had been pulled forward; the back had been pushed back; the yacht now looked like a 167-foot rubber band on the verge of snapping.

I said to Alan, "I'll tell you, I really love this boat. I'm glad I bought it."

Alan nodded in agreement. "She's a beauty!"

Captain Marc was waiting for me on the dock, looking as square as one of those Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots that Alan and I used to play with as kids. He was dressed in a white collared T-shirt and white boating shorts, both of which bore the Nadine Nadine logo-two gold-colored eagle's feathers bent around a royal-blue capital logo-two gold-colored eagle's feathers bent around a royal-blue capital N. N.

Captain Marc said, "You got a bunch of phone calls, boss. One from Danny, who sounded higher than a kite, and then three more calls from a girl named Carolyn, with a heavy French accent. She said you need to call her right away, as soon as you get back to the boat."

Immediately my heart began thumping inside my chest. Christ! Danny was supposed to meet Todd this morning and give him the million dollars! s.h.i.t! Christ! Danny was supposed to meet Todd this morning and give him the million dollars! s.h.i.t! All at once a thousand thoughts went flashing through my brain. Had something gone wrong? Had they somehow gotten caught? Were they both in jail? No, that was impossible, unless they were being followed. But why would someone be following them? Or maybe Danny had showed up stoned and Todd had knocked him out and Carolyn was calling to apologize. No, that was ridiculous! Todd would call himself, wouldn't he? All at once a thousand thoughts went flashing through my brain. Had something gone wrong? Had they somehow gotten caught? Were they both in jail? No, that was impossible, unless they were being followed. But why would someone be following them? Or maybe Danny had showed up stoned and Todd had knocked him out and Carolyn was calling to apologize. No, that was ridiculous! Todd would call himself, wouldn't he? f.u.c.k! f.u.c.k! I had forgotten to tell Danny not to show up stoned! I had forgotten to tell Danny not to show up stoned!

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. Maybe it was all just a coincidence. I smiled at Captain Marc and said, "Did Danny say anything?"

Captain Marc shrugged. "It was kinda hard to understand him, but he said to tell you that everything was cool."

Alan said, "Is everything okay? You need me to do anything?"