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ler for the journey； but there wasn't enough room in the cab for all three mandos。 Viceroy Wilson decided that Jesus Bernal； by virtue of his switchblade prowess； was best equipped to ride in back with the giant reptile。 Every time Tommy Tigertail took a sharp corner the trailer came alive with muffled hissing and Spanish invective。
At dusk they pulled off the Seventy…ninth Street Causeway； dragged Pavlov out of the rig； and prodded him into the salty shallows of Biscayne Bay。 The croc swam east； never looking back； propelled by that massive rhythmic tail。 Pavlov did not stop swimming for thirty hours。 He crossed the bay； entered the Atlantic through Haulover Cut and churned north along the Gold Coast。 It was as if； Skip Wiley mused later； the great beast somehow had been imbued with the spirit of Las Noches； as if it had drawn inspiration from its captors。
To Viceroy Wilson； the explanation was more elementary： Seminole magic。 The damn Indian had worked a spell。
Pavlov stopped swimming when he reached the famous Ft。 Lauderdale beachfront。 There； in darkness； he dragged his thousand pounds ashore and made for the party lights of the Barbary Coast Hotel。 Later； in daylight； beachgoers would trace the crocodile's lethal path by the trench in the sand。
Wiley's mystical notions aside； what probably happened was that the croc merely grew tired of fighting the ocean currents and came ashore to rest。 Once on land； its nostrils got wind of the Barbary's luxuriant saltwater swimming pool； and Pavlov had decided to enjoy himself。
Besides being young； drunk； and stupid； Kyle Griffith （University of Georgia； Class of '87） had no good reason to be in that swimming pool at four in the morning。 A bad reason for being there…nude； save for a foam…rubber hat that said 〃Go Bulldawgs！〃…was that Griffith's dithering Sigma Nu brothers had dared him to jump thirty feet from the balcony of the hotel room to the warm pool； which lay in darkness so plete that even a seventeen…foot crocodile could be invisible。
Having eaten prodigiously in recent days； Pavlov was not very hungry。 A snack would have been fine； perhaps a coot or a small garfish。 But once Kyle Griffith hit the water； Pavlov's dinosaural instincts took over。 The crocodile seized the bewildered Sigma Nu by the legs and submerged to the bottom of the swimming pool； where the beast lay motionless for several minutes； as if contemplating the wisdom of its own gluttony。 In the end； of course； the college kid was consumed； though Pavlov regurgitated the silly rubber hat。
This onslaught of violent and weird events destroyed Detective Harold Keefe's hoax theory （not to mention his career） and convinced the civic leaders of Dade County that a ruthless band of psychopaths was indeed roaming the streets。
Toeless and sullen； Keefe was spared the shame of a demotion and allowed to take a generous disability leave from the police department。
On the morning of December 20； while Brian Keyes was on the phone to the U。S。 State Department； three uniformed police officers arrived at his office and politely requested his pany downtown。 Keyes had been expecting the visit； and was in no mood to argue。 He had spent the week dodging Ricky Bloodworth and trying to negotiate the release of the two Shriners from a Bahamian prison； where they were being held on vague charges of espionage and lobster poaching。 Keyes sent word to Skip Wiley that enough was enough； the joke was over； but all he got back was a cable that said： 〃Don't you have work to do？〃 Eventually Burt and James were fined five thousand dollars each and placed on a nonstop Nassau…to…Chicago flight。 Keyes had been playing dumb with the State Department when the cops showed up。
At police headquarters Keyes was led to a soundproof conference room and told to wait。 The windowless suite was newly carpeted and smelled like paint。 On the wall hung a blackboard on which someone had chalked the words： 〃Las Noches de Diciembre？ Nights of December？〃 After a few minutes Al Garcia strolled in； grinning like a whale。
〃No more motor pool！〃 he chortled。 〃Wele to the big time。〃
〃Big time； Al？〃
〃My very own task force。 Can you believe it； Brian； they put me in charge。〃
〃In charge of what？〃
〃In charge of solving the Las Noches murders。〃
〃No offense； Al；〃 Keyes said； 〃but why you？〃
〃Well； the gang has a Spanish name。 I'm a Spanish cop。〃 Garcia laughed until he turned red。 He sat down at the head of a long table and lit a cigarette。 〃It's all top secret； this task force； and let's keep it thataway。 We don't want to cause a panic； close the hotels； God forbid。 It's the season； y'know。〃
Garcia was still chuckling。 Keyes knew he didn't give a shit about the hotels。
〃How big is your task force？〃
〃Four detectives； including me； plus a guy at the FBI if we need him。 We got a real code name and everything： Fuego One。〃
〃I like it；〃 Keyes said。 Almost time for the big decision。 Garcia was finished circling。
〃So； my friend； you've had quite a time of it； eh？〃
〃Quite a time；〃 Keyes agreed。
〃Let's talk about it。〃 Garcia fished a spiral notebook from his rumpled jacket。 〃What do you know about this outfit？〃
〃I know they set up Ernesto Cabal for a fall。 The poor putz had nothing to do with Sparky Harper's death； just like I tried to tell you weeks ago。〃
Garcia frowned。 〃I'm sorry； man。 Really。 He looked hot； and he was all we had at the time。〃
〃And that's it？ Adios； Ernesto。〃
〃What do you want； five Hail Marys？ I said I was fucking sorry； and I am。 Don't forget I didn't kill Cabal； Brian； he killed himself。 A little more patience and the hijo de puta mighta walked out of jail a free man。〃
Keyes said； 〃He was scared； that's all。〃
〃Yeah； man； well； I'm kinda scared too。 I'm scared these nuts are gonna murder more innocent people。 And I'm scared that I'm going to have to look at more legless dead bloated bodies。 But most of all I'm scared of what my wife's going to do when I tell her I have to work through Christmas！ So； rest in peace and forgive me； Ernesto〃…Garcia made a perfunctory sign of the cross…〃but I got to get busy。〃
〃I'll try to help； Al。〃
〃Excellent。 You can start by telling me who you saw out there in the Glades。 Anybody interesting？〃
〃Guy named Jesus Bernal。〃
〃Hey； our bomber！ Sloppy fucker； too。 Left his fingerprints all over the piping。 Buys the wire in Hialeah。〃 Garcia jotted in his notepad。 〃He the one who jammed the shiv in your ribs？〃
〃I think so；〃 Keyes said。
〃What about your pal from Pauly's joint； the football hero？〃
〃Viceroy Wilson。 Yeah； him too。〃
〃He must be El Fuego〃
Keyes thought： There it is。 Time to shut up or throw in Wiley。 Once it was done； there'd be no going back。
〃Al； I'm not sure。〃
〃About what？〃
〃El Fuego。 See； there were four of them； and they never mentioned it。〃
Garcia's cigarette toggled excitedly。 〃Four of them！ Who were the other two？〃
'There was an Indian。〃
〃A raghead Indian or a Tonto Indian？〃
〃A Seminole。 Tommy Tigertail； they call him。〃
〃The man with the Cadillac；〃 Garcia said。 He jotted down Tommy's name and asked；
〃How about number four？〃
'White male； late thirties。〃 Keyes shrugged。 〃It was dark； l