Tourist Season

Through a haze, Bloodworth saw Cab Mulcahy holding up a notebook. On it the editor had written: "You are going to make it okay."

Bloodworth smiled and, with one of his nubs, gave a tremulous thumbs-up.

Keyes took the notebook and wrote: "Where did you get the package?"

Bloodworth shrugged lamely.

"I guess he doesn't remember much," Mulcahy said.

"Guess not."

Next Keyes printed: "Are you strong enough to write a note for the cops?"

Bloodworth squinted at the pad, then shook his head no.

"We'd better let him rest," Mulcahy said.

"Sure."

"I don't know what to tell the wolf pack downstairs," Mulcahy fretted.

"Hell, Cab, they're the competition. Don't say a damn thing."

"I can't do that."

'Why not? You're the Sun'sreporter on this one, aren't you? So just keep your mouth shut and write the story. Write the hell out of it, too."

Amused, Mulcahy said, "Well, why not?"

He winked at Bloodworth and turned for the door. Bloodworth grunted urgently.

"He wants to say something," Keyes said. He laid the notebook on Ricky's chest and fitted the pen into his gauzed claw.

Bloodworth wrote laboriously and in tall woozy letters:

"page one?"

Keyes showed the notebook to Mulcahy and said, "Can you believe this?"

A nurse came in and gave Ricky Bloodworth an enormous shot. Before drifting off, he saw Keyes and Mulcahy waving good night.

Outside the hospital, Keyes said, "It's getting late, Cab, I'd better head back to the house." Dismally he wondered what a nail bomb could do to Reed Shivers' cork billiard room.

"Go on ahead," Mulcahy said. "If our pal calls, you'll be the first to know."

Back in the newsroom, the other reporters and editors were surprised to see Cab Mulcahy sit down at a video-display terminal and begin to write. Before long his presence seemed to galvanize the whole staff, and the Friday night pace of the newsroom quickened into something approaching gusto.

The spell was interrupted by the city editor, who, after circling reluctantly, finally stepped forward to give Cab Mulcahy the message.

"From Wiley," the city editor said uneasily. "He phoned while you were out."

Mulcahy's ulcer twinged when he saw the message.

"I say yes, you say no," it read. "You say stop, and I say go, go, go."

From the hospital Brian Keyes drove straight to Coral Gables to check on Kara Ly

"Nice of you to show up," Shivers said archly. He wore a monogrammed wine-colored robe and calfskin slippers. A walnut pipe bobbed superciliously in the corner of his mouth.

"Nice to see you, too, Mr. Hefner."

"Don't be a wise guy—where've you been? You're getting big bucks to be a baby-sitter."

"There's been another bombing," Keyes said, brushing past him. "A newspaper reporter."

"The Nachos again?" All the Anglos in Miami had started calling Wiley's gang the Nachos because it was so much easier to pronounce than Las Noches de Diciembre.

"Where's Kara Ly

"Out in the game room working her fa

Keyes examined Reed Shivers as he would a termite.

"After all this, you still want your daughter to ride in that parade?"

"They have dogs, Mr. Keyes, dogs trained to sniff out the bombs."

"You're incredible."

"We're talking about a career decision here."

"We're talking murder, Mr. Shivers."

"Not so loud!"

Keyes heard music coming from the game room. It sounded like the Bee Gees. Stayin' alive, stay in' alive, oooh-oooh-oooh-oooh.The bass guitar thumped through the wall.

"Jazz aerobics," Shivers explained. "Since Kara Ly

Keyes went into the game room. The stereo was extremely loud. The pool table had been rolled to one wall. In the middle of the carpet, Kara Ly

Keyes smiled. Then he looked up and saw Je

"Oh God, no," he said, but the words were lost in the music. Je

Their choreography was enthralling; each woman gracefully mirrored the other, stretching, dipping, arching, skipping, kicking. Keyes was transfixed by the vision—the two of them in sleek leotards and practically nothing else, both with their blond hair up in pony-tails. Of course there was no mistaking one for the other: Je

Brian Keyes could not have dreamed up a more stu

"Whoa!" Je

"Hey! What's the idea?" Kara Ly

"I'll explain," Keyes said.

Je

"Hey there," Keyes said. "Since when do you make house calls?"

"Oh boy."

Kara Ly

"So you two know each other," said Kara Ly

"Long time ago," Keyes said.

"Not so long," said Je

Kara Ly

When she was gone, Je

"Don't flatter yourself. I wasn't even looking." Keyes felt rotten. And angry. "Tell me what's going on," he said.

Je

Keyes let that one slide.

"She said she couldn't come to class this week—something about a parade curfew—so I offered to stop by here for a short workout. I don't know what you're being so snotty about."

"Where's Skip?" The eternal question; Keyes wondered why he even bothered.

"I'm not sure. This is some room, huh?"

"Je

"Time for sit-ups."

"Stop."

But in an instant she was supine, arms locked behind her neck. "Hold my legs. Please, Brian, don't be a pill."

He got down on all fours and braced her ankles with his hands. He thought: She really is on another planet.

"One ... two ... three ... " She was as limber as a whip.

"Where's Wiley?" Keyes asked.

"Seven ... eight ... I got one for you ... what are youdoing here?" With each sit-up Je

"I've been hired to keep an eye on Kara Ly

"You? Come on, Bri ... "

"Your deranged boyfriend plans to kidnap her during the Orange Bowl Parade, or didn't you know?"

"Fourteen ... fifteen ... Jeez, I said holdmy legs, don't fracture them ... you're wrong about Skip ... "

"Did he send you here?" Keyes asked.

"Don't be silly ... he doesn't even know I'm back in the country ... supposed to be househunting in Port-au-Prince ... "

"Holy Christ." Keyes couldn't imagine Skip Wiley loose on the streets of Port-au-Prince. The government of Haiti was not known for its sense of humor.

'Twenty-four ... twenty-five ... Tell me the truth, Brian, are you sleeping with this kid?"

"No." Why did he answer?—it was none of her damn business. "Je

"Skip wouldn't do that ... "

"No? He blew up Ricky Bloodworth tonight."

"Mmmm ... all the way?"

"He's still breathing, if that's what you mean."

Je

'Thirty-nine ... forty ... Skip promised he wouldn't hurt the girl ... ease up a little on the left leg ... hey, you still miss me?" She caught his eye, beamed. Full of confidence, like she could jerk the leash anytime she wanted.