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the town. So you can see why we treat them with the utmost courtesy and respect, just as we treat everybody else.”
    “I get the picture.”
    “I hope you do, because there’s no room for a homophobe on this force. If you hold those views, my advice is to keep them to yourself, even with your brother officers, because some of them are gay.”
    “I have no problems with gays, sir.”
    “You should also know that, generally speaking, a record number of arrests is not something I look at with admiration. I like to think of my force as problem-solvers as well as enforcers. My policy is, if you can deal fairly with a situation, defuse it instead of busting somebody, that’s better than an arrest. The exception to that rule is anything involving violence. I won’t have it on my streets, and if you come across something as simple as a fistfight, haul in the perpetrator, if you can figure out who he is, and both of them if you can’t. We’ll sort it out later.”
    “I understand, sir.”
    “Something else to keep in mind is that although our population is less than thirty thousand, we have two million tourists a year in this town. They’re our lifeblood, and we do everything we can to treat them well. Again, violence is the exception to leniency.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”
    “You’ll get the hang of the paperwork in a hurry; it’s standard stuff, probably not much different from what you had in New York. Oh, and I have a partner for you.” He looked up through the glass door of his office. “And here he comes now.”
    Tommy turned to see what he took to be a kid of about seventeen—skinny, longish hair, and pimples—walk into the office.
    “Tommy, this is Daryl Haynes,” the chief said. “Daryl, this is the detective I told you about.”
    The two shook hands.
    “How you doin’, Daryl?” Tommy asked, appalled.
    “Okay,” Daryl replied, then looked at his feet.
    “This is Daryl’s first day as a detective,” the chief said. “He’s had two years on the street.”
    On whose side?
Tommy thought. “Oh, yeah, good.”
    “I reckon you can teach Daryl a lot about investigation,” the chief said, “and Daryl can show you a few things about Key West. He grew up here.”
    Grew up?
Tommy thought.
When?
    “Daryl, why don’t you start by giving Tommy a tour of the town?”
    “Right, Chief,” Daryl said. He tossed his head in the direction of the door. “Ready when you are, Detective.”
    Tommy shook hands with the chief and followed the pimply new detective.
    “Tommy?” the chief called.
    Tommy stuck his head back through the door. “Yes, Chief?”
    “He’s smarter than he looks,” the chief said.
    “Right, Chief.”
He’d have to be.
    Daryl was already gunning the engine when Tommy got into the car. The second the door closed, he whipped out of the police parking lot and down the street.
    “Pull over here a minute,” Tommy said quietly.
    “What for?” Daryl asked.
    “My underwear is twisted. Just pull over.”
    Daryl pulled over.
    “Okay, Daryl, the first thing is, a detective doesn’t drive a car like he just stole it. You notice that there’s no markings on the doors?”
    “Yeah.”
    “That’s because we’re supposed to be inconspicuous. You want people to notice you, you wear a uniform and drive a black-and-white. You get the picture?”
    “Right, Detective.”
    “You can call me Tommy.”
    “Right, Tommy.”
    “Now, I want you to start practicing driving like you were, say, fifty years old and had a heart condition.”
    Daryl sighed and drove on.
    “What’s this street?” Tommy asked as they turned a corner.
    “This is Duval Street, the main drag. It’s where most of the bars and a lot of the restaurants are. We get a call a night about a drunk who wouldn’t pay his bill or decked the bouncer, you know?”
    “I know. What’s the worst time of year for us?”
    “That’s easy, spring break. We get a few thousand college punks down here; they get drunk and