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〃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； like I said。〃 So that was the decision： to get Skip Wiley himself。 Keyes knew he stood a better chance of finding him quietly； with no police sirens。 Most of all he was worried about Wiley's threat of a blood…bath； what had seemed unthinkable three weeks ago seemed imminent now。
Garcia sat back and folded his puffy hands。 〃Something's bothering me； amigo。 I think to myself； why the hell would these maniacs snatch mild…mannered Brian Keyes； of all people？ I mean； if they weren't gonna kill you； then why take the risk？ They just want to chat or what？〃
〃They wanted me to witness a murder；〃 Keyes said。
〃And did you？〃
〃Yes； I think so。 Ida Kimmelman was the woman's name。〃
〃The Broward condo queen；〃 Garcia muttered； writing intently。
〃They fed her to a crocodile；〃 Keyes said。
〃Who？〃
〃Wilson and Bernal。 They threw her in a pond…why are you looking at me like that？〃
Al Garcia capped his pen。 〃Go on； Brian。〃
〃I'm not making this up。 They threw her in the water and a crocodile ate her。〃
Lost in thought； Garcia gnawed on a thumbnail。 He'd heard about the college kid who got gobbled up in Lauderdale and pondered the connection…after all； how many crocodiles could there be？
Keyes said： 〃They did it for effect。 For headlines； that's all。〃
〃Why didn't you report this a week ago？〃
〃And read about it on the front page？ No way； that's exactly what they wanted。 I wasn't about to let them use me。〃
〃Very noble；〃 Garcia said caustically。 〃Really showed 'em who's boss。 By the way； hotshot； you been reading the fucking newspaper this week？ Your pals out there in the swamp make Richard Speck look like Soupy Sales。〃
〃For God's sake； Al； it's not like I've been on vacation。 What do you think I've been working on？〃
〃Tell me more。〃
〃I'd like to。〃
〃Excellent。〃 Garcia tapped his pen on the table。
〃Al； they're planning something big。〃 Without naming Skip Wiley； Keyes recounted the enigmatic threat to 〃Violate the most sacred virgin in all Miami。〃
〃Sounds like Rape City。〃
〃I think it's worse than that。〃
〃Maybe you could find that camp again。〃
〃Not in a million years；〃 Keyes said。 He was telling the truth。
〃I'll get a chopper and we'll take a SWAT team。〃
〃How about the National Guard？〃
〃Don't laugh；〃 Garcia said。 〃They've promised whatever I need。〃
〃Find the Cuban and the football player；〃 Keyes advised； 〃and that'll be the end of it。 No more kidnappings。〃
〃Brian； I get the feeling you're holding back。〃 Garcia peered over the top of his reading glasses。 〃Tell me you're not holding back。〃
〃Al； I don't remember much。 I was busy losing three units of blood。〃
〃Yeah； well； maybe something'll e back to you。〃 Garcia waved good…bye with the cigarette。 〃We'll talk again。 Sanchez will give you a lift downtown。〃
Keyes started to get up from the table。
〃By the way；〃 Garcia said； 〃that was a helluva funny piece in the Sun today。 D'you see it？〃
〃My paper was in a puddle。〃
〃Well； I got it in my coat somewhere。 Clipped it out。 Here it is 。。。 I hate to admit it； but I actually started to miss this asshole's column while he was out sick。〃
〃May I？〃 Keyes asked。 Apprehensively he lifted the folded newspaper clipping from Garcia's brown paw。 He opened it at arm's length； as if it were radioactive。
〃Go ahead； read it；〃 Al Garcia said。 〃It's funny as hell。 All about his vacation in the Bahamas。 The guy's got a regular way with words。〃
〃So he does；〃 said Brian Keyes； trying not to appear dumbfounded by what he saw。 In print。
With a studio photo。 Under a headline that said： Wiley Returns。
Nassau…The worst thing about visiting the Bahamas is Americans like me。 The hotels are lousy with us。
Americans with terrible manners。
Americans who talk like the rest of the world is deaf。
And dress like the rest of the world is blind。
I e here seeking solitude； an oasis for recuperation； and all I get is a jackhammer sinus headache that won't go away。 From Bay Street to the baccarat salons there's no escaping this foul plague of tourists。
In Florida we've grown accustomed to their noisome behavior （and tolerate it； as avarice dictates we must） but there is something obscene about witnessing its infliction upon the people of a foreign country。
Frankly； we ought to be ashamed of ourselves。
Perhaps it's basic pioneer spirit that pels Americans each vacation season to evacuate their hometowns and explore new lands。 Fine。 But how do you justify fluorescent Bermuda shorts？ Or E。T。 beach sandals？ What gives us the right to so offend the rest of civilization？
Ah； but look who's talking。
The other day I tried windsurfing； an absurd sport that requires one to balance perilously on a banana…shaped piece of fiberglass while steering the seas with a flimsy canvas sheet。
Windsurfing lessons in the Bahamas cost 45； a bargain for vacationing yahoos who firmly believe that the more dangerous an enterprise； the more you should pay for it。 And for a thirty…seven…year…old degenerate in my addled condition； windsurfing is fraught with exciting little dangers： lacerations； pound fractures； groin pulls； spinal paralysis…not to mention toxic jellyfish； killer sharks； sea urchins； and sting rays。
Windsurfing probably is not as dangerous as； say； flying a slow U…2 over Cuba； but there isn't a jock pilot in the whole damn Air Force who's ever had to worry about losing his swimtrunks （and self esteem） before a beachload of gawking； tittering； shrimp…skinned tourists。
Which is what happened to me at high noon yesterday when I was blindsided by a thunderous breaker。
My Bahamian windsurfing instructor； Rudy； had every right to laugh； it was a stupendous moon job。
After my spill （and near…drowning）； I loudly accused him of supplying faulty equipment。 Replied Rudy： 〃De only 'quip…ment dat fawlty； mon； is you drunken old body。〃
He was right。 You can't surf with a bottle of Myers's under your arm。 Stupid bloody tourist。
Wiley Returns。
〃How could you print that crap？〃 Brian Keyes demanded。
〃Calm down；〃 said Cab Mulcahy； 〃and close the door。〃
But Keyes could not be calm； not with Wiley's elongated face leering from the pages of the Miami Sun。 That the newspaper would revive his column was beyond belief； a monstrous gag。 Wiley had the gun； and Mulcahy had just handed him the bullets； gift…wrapped。
〃Cab； you don't know what you're getting into。〃
〃I'm afraid I do。〃 Mulcahy looked chagrined。 〃Skip's involved with these terrorists； isn't he？〃
〃He's not just involved； Cab； he's running the whole damn show。 He's the Number One Nacho。〃
〃You're certain； Brian？〃
〃Absolutely。〃
The editor closed his eyes。 〃How bad？〃
〃Imagine General Patton on acid。〃
〃I see。〃
They sat in morose silence； pretending to gaze out Mulcahy's office window。 On Biscayne Bay the waves had turned to slate under pickets of bruised thunderclouds； advancing from the east。 It was probably raining like hell in the Bahamas。
〃He called yesterday from Nassau；〃 Mulcahy began。 〃Said he was feeling better。 No m