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if I had, you wouldn’t get it.”
    She lifted her voice a little. “Mr. Ghatt.”
    The rear door of the Buick came open. An aluminum crutch appeared. Then a leg encased in a metal brace was thrust out. I saw a face, the skin the color of dried mustard. It was topped with a white turban. A hand followed, and it held a gun. It didn’t look like any dart shooting toy either.
    I saw all this very clearly because just as the door to the car opened, a spotlight lit up the pier. I turned and looked toward the source of the light. I’m sure the woman did too.
    Someone up in Reese Fuller’s offices had a big portable spot at a window and it was trained down on us. I didn’t stop to decide whether it was a watchman or Reese himself or some eager beaver clerk working late. I took a chance that the light startled the man and the woman as much as it had me. I jumped back onto the deck of the boat. This time I kept going, on over the port railing and into the cold, dirty water of the canal.
    I must have made a fine splash. When I surfaced, the character working the light turned it directly onto me. I twisted away from it and looked back the way I had come. The woman was standing on the deck of the boat, trying to bring the gun into line with me.
    I went down. I stayed down as long as I could, swimming under water. When I surfaced, I let my face break water just long enough for me to get a breath of air. Then I went under again.
    Swimming with a coat and trousers and heavy shoes on takes a lot of energy. By the time I had come up for air the third time, I was close to exhaustion. I didn’t try to go down again. The light was no longer hunting me. It was aimed at the Buick. I could hear the motor roar up. Evidently the blonde and her boy friend wanted no more of the spotlight than I did. I listened to the Buick back along the pier; then I turned and swam toward the nearest dock.
    I found a rickety wooden ladder and pulled myself up. I was just behind the stern of the
Norway Queen
. Here it was dark. Above all I craved darkness.
    I got more of it than I wanted. I pulled myself onto the dirty planking of the dock and lay puffing. Then I got to my feet. My clothes hung soggily on me, and when I took a step, water squished up out of my shoes.
    Something came out of the dark and caught me on the chin—like that, with no warning!
    I have a glass jaw. It took me six attempts to get through the Golden Gloves before I admitted it, but since that time I’ve tried to keep my jaw to myself. But tonight it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been built of cast iron. The fist that hit me had enough power behind it to crack the hull of a ship.
    I remember feeling the rush of air and then once more tasting the dirty water of the canal. After that there was the darkness again. But this time I didn’t want it.

VI
    T HE SCENT IN MY NOSTRILS WAS DELICIOUS . It was a compound of broiling salmon, spicy salad dressing, freshly brewed coffee, and subtle, expensive perfume.
    A wet towel came down none too gently over my face. I lifted a hand and pushed feebly at it. A familiar voice said, “Slap him good. That always brings him around.”
    I went back fifteen years. I was a college kid, fishing for Arne in the summer. He had just finished “teaching me some manners” and he was waking me up by slapping my face with a wet towel.
    I opened my eyes. It wasn’t Arne with the towel at all. It was his daughter Jodi. She had another one of those halter-and-shorts combinations on. This one was a deep rose. She looked terrific.
    I waggled my jaw. It seemed to be in one piece. I said, “I’m fine. You can stop the treatment.”
    I sat up. I was on a leather couch in the pilot house of the
Norway Queen
. This was Arne’s home and his office. I recognized it by the clutter of papers, open-drawered files, checkbooks lying around, and a pair of wool socks drying in front of a porthole. He was the least neat sailor I had ever known.
    Through a doorway beside me