Island of the Sequined Love Nun

outsiders."
    "The Shark People? You said you'd explain that."
    "They hunt sharks. Most of the natives in Micronesia won't eat shark. In fact, it's taboo. But the reef fish here often have a high concentration of neurotoxin, so the natives developed shark as a food source. You would think that the sharks, being higher on the food chain, would have a higher concentration of the toxin, wouldn't you?"
    "You'd think," Tuck said, having no idea whatsoever what the doctor was talking about.
    "They don't, though. It's as if something in their system neutralizes the toxin. I've done a little research in my spare time."
    "I've seen a lot of shark shows on the Discovery Channel. They go on and on about how harmless sharks are. It's bullshit. Half of these stitches you put in me are because of a shark attack."
    "Maybe they don't have cable," the doctor said.
    Tuck fumed to him, amazed. "A joke, Doc?"
    The doctor looked a little embarrassed. "I'm going to go see how dinner is coming along. I'll be right back." He turned and went into the house.
    Tucker bolted to the end of the lanai where Roberto was hanging. "Shoot Go away."
    Roberto made a trilling noise and tried to catch Tuck's drink with his wing claw.
    "Okay, you can have the mango, but then you have to get out of here." Tucker held out the piece of cut mango and the fruit bat took it in his wing claw and slurped it down.
    "Now get out of here," Tucker said. "Go find Kimi. Shoo, shoo -"
    Roberto tilted his head and said, "Back off on these people, Tuck. You push them too hard, they'll pull your plug. Just keep your eyes open."
    Tuck moved away from the bat with stiff jerking steps out of the line dance of the undead. The bat had said something. It was a tiny voice, high but raspy, the voice of a chain-smoking Topo Gigio, but it was clear. "You didn't talk," Tucker said.
    "Okay," said Roberto. "Thanks for the mango."
    Roberto took off, the beat of his wings like the shuffle of a deck of leather cards. Tuck backed through the french doors into a wicker emperor's chair and sat down.
    "Come sit," Beth Curtis said as she carried a tray to the table. "Dinner's ready."
    "What kind of drugs have you been giving me, Doc?"
    "Broad-spectrum antibiotics and some Tylenol. Why?"
    "Any chance they could cause hallucinations?"
    "Not unless you were allergic, and we'd know that by now. Why?"
    "Just wondering."
    Beth Curtis came to him and patted his shoulder. Her nails, he noticed, were perfect. "You had a fever when they brought you in. Sometimes that can give a person bad dreams. I think you'll feel a lot better after a good meal."
    She helped him up and led him to the table, which was set with a white tablecloth and black linen napkins around a centerpiece of orchid sprigs arranged in a crystal bowl. A whole grouper stared up between fanned slices of plantain on a serving tray, his eye a little dry but clear and accusing.
    Tuck said, "If that thing starts talking, I want to be sedated-and right now."
    "Oh, Mr. Case." Beth Curtis rolled her eyes and laughed as they sat down to dinner.
    Tuck could almost feel his body absorbing the nourishment. He told them the story of his journey to the island, exaggerating the danger aspect and glossing over his injuries, Kimi, and his craving for alcohol. He didn't mention Roberto at all. By the time Tucker was in the typhoon, the Curtises were well into their second bottle of white wine. Beth's cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm for Tuck's every word.
    Tuck really intended to ask about Kimi, their cryptic messages, the guards, the rules for his employment, and of course, where the hell all the money came from, but instead he found himself playing to Beth Curtis like a comedian on a roll and he left the bungalow at midnight quite taken with both himself and the doctor's wife.
    The Curtises stood arm in arm at the door as the guards escorted Tucker back to his quarters. Halfway across the compound, he did a giddy turn and waved to them, feeling as if he had been the one to consume two bottles of wine.
    "What do you think?" the Sorcerer asked his wife.
    "Not a problem," she said, keeping a parade smile pointed Tuck's way.
    "I really expected him to be a little more resistant to our conditions."
    "As if he's in a position to bargain. The man has nothing, is nothing. He shatters this little illusion we've given him and he has to face himself."
    "He looks at you like you're some sort of beatific vestal virgin. I don't like it."
    "I