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up being a hero," Pig said. "They gave him a medal and
a promotion, and swept the dirty details under the rug."
    "Okay," I said. "But that doesn't really explain—"
    "Why he's an un-person? No, of course not."
    "So why is he?"
    Pig grinned, and shook his head.
    "I said I'd tell you about the medal, Spacemanny," he said. "Wild
horses could not tear the rest of the story out of me. I have too much
respect for Broussard, a real 'Right Stuff' dude if ever there was
one." He waved, and was gone.
    I guess that was enough to think about for one night, anyway.
     

5
    IT WAS A week later, and it was the worst kind of day,
for me. Low eighties, lots of sunshine. It was the start of spring
break and every other car was a rental convertible full of college
girls hurrying to get a Florida sunburn on their Minnesota skin in the
few days they had. They were dressed minimally in bikinis and thongs.
All of them on the lookout for handsome, suave beach bums like me and
Dak.
    Actually, the "bums" part was all we could manage so far. But there
were wet T-shirt contests to attend, nightclubs to crash with our
first-rate false ID, beers that needed chugging, gutters that needed to
be puked in. Everything about the day cried out for me to be outside
taking part.
    Instead, Dak and I were holed up in room 201 with the drapes and the
sliding glass patio doors closed and the air conditioner on in an
attempt to block out all the distractions. It wasn't working that well.
Every time we heard a horn honk or a girl's high-pitched laugh from
just outside we both looked longingly at the curtains.
    "We go out there," Dak said, "we doomed. We're just going to get
'faced and blow the whole day, and tomorrow with a hangover and maybe
part of the next day."
    "I know that," I said, irritated. "Hell, I remember last year. Do you?"
    "Not much," he admitted.
    Last year had not been anything to be proud of. Our friendship was
new at the time, and both of us had been severely depressed at being
turned down at half a dozen colleges. I knew a guy who produced Florida
drivers' licenses as good as the real ones, so we invested some money
meant for tuition, then went barhopping for three days and nights. No
need to get into too many sordid details. A lot of it will be hazy
forever, and just as well. I was sick for days.
    "Girls up here at Daytona mostly a bunch of second-raters, anyway," Dak said.
    "Right. All the pretty girls go to Lauderdale or Key West."
    "You got that right."
    Dak said a dirty word, then snapped his laptop computer shut.
    "Look, no offense, but this place would depress that Crocodile Hunter guy."
    "Yeah, but..."
    "No, let's don't open the curtains, we'd never be able to resist it.
I know a place we can go and study and not be distracted. Well, not by
babes, anyway."
    "Where's that?"
    "Have I ever led you astray, amigo? Don't answer that. Come on, let's go."
    What the hell. I closed my computer, too.
    We left my room and the first thing we saw was my mother coming up
the stairs at the other end, looking determined. She was carrying her
long-barreled target pistol, checking the loads in the cylinder as she
walked. She looked up and saw us, frowned, and looked even more
determined.
    "Jesus, Mom," I whispered as she tried to pass between us and the
maid's cart Aunt Maria had left there on the walkway. I grabbed her arm
and held on. "Didn't you say you would—"
    "No time for that now, Manuel."
    "It's drugs again, right?" It had to be drugs. If it was
prostitution she wouldn't have bothered with the artillery, just told
them to get out. Johns don't want any trouble.
    But sometimes drug dealers just didn't care.
    "Let us call the cops, Mrs. Garcia," Dak said. He already had his phone in his hand and had dialed 91. Mom pushed his hand away.
    "I don't want cops, Dak honey. They get too many calls like that,
next thing you know they're closing you down as a public nuisance.
Don't worry, Manuel, I'm not going to shoot them unless they want an
argument."
    "Oh,