Island of the Sequined Love Nun

on a light and found him french-kissing a maggoty corpse. The cooler, the surgical garb, the flights on short notice, the second jet waiting on the tarmac in Japan, the guards, the secrecy, the money. How had he been so fucking stupid?
    Malink was hurling a string of native curses at Abo, who looked as if he would burst into tears any second.
    "You dumb motherfuckers!" Tuck shouted.
    Malink stopped talking.
    "She's selling your kidneys. The doc is taking out your kidneys and selling them in Japan."
    This revelation didn't have quite the effect that Tuck thought it would. In fact, he seemed to be the only one concerned about it at all.
    "Did you hear me?"
    Malink looked a little embarrassed. "What is a kidney?"
    PART THREE
    Coconut Angel

42 – Bedfellows
    Just before dawn, Tuck crawled through the bottom `, of the shower like a homesick cockroach, scuttled out of the bathroom under the mosquito netting and into bed. There were things to do, big things, important thing-, maybe even dangerous things, but he had no idea what they were and he was too tired and too drunk to figure them out now. He had tried, he had really tried to convince the Shark men that the doctor and his wife were doing horrible things to them, but the islanders always came back with the same answer: "It is what Vincent wants. Vincent will take care of us."
    To hell with them, Tuck thought. Dumb bastards deserve what happens to them.
    He rolled over and pushed the coconut-headed dummy aside. The dummy pushed back.
    Tuck leaped out of bed, tripped in the mosquito netting, and scooted on his butt like a man backing away from a snake.
    And the dummy sat up.
    Tuck couldn't see the face in the predawn light filtering into the bungalow, just a silhouette behind the mosquito netting, a shadow. And the shadow wore a captain's hat.
    "Don't think I don't know what you're thinking because I'll give you six to five I do." The accent was somewhere out of a Bowery Boys movie, and Tuck recognized the voice. He'd heard it in his head, he'd heard it in the voice of a talking bat, and he'd heard it twice from a young flyer.
    "You do?"
    "Yeah, you're thinking, 'Hey, I never wanted to find a guy in my bed, but if you got to find a guy in your bed, this is the guy I'd want it to be,' right?"
    "That's not what I was thinking."
    "Then you shoulda taken odds, ya mook."
    "Who are you?"
    The flyer threw back the mosquito netting and tossed something across the room. Tuck flinched as it landed with a thump on the floor next to him.
    "Pick it up."
    Tuck could just see an object shining by his knee. He picked up what felt like a cigarette lighter.
    "Read what it says," the shadow said.
    "I can't. It's dark."
    Tuck could see the flyer shaking his head dolefully.
    "You know, I saw a guy in the war that got his head shot off about the hat line. Docs did some hammering on some stainless steel and riveted it on his noggin and saved his life, but the guy didn't do nothing from that day forward but walk around in a circle yanking his hamster and singing just the 'row' part of 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat.' They had to tape oven mitts on him to keep him from rubbing himself raw. Now, I'm not saying that the guy didn't know how to have a good time, but he wasn't much for conversation, if you know what I mean."
    "That was a beautiful story," Tuck said. "Why?"
    "Because the steelhead hamster-pulling 'row' guy was a genius compared to you. Light the fuckin' lighter, ya mook."
    "Oh," Tuck said and he flipped open the lighter and sparked it. By the firelight he could read the engraving: VINCENT BENNIDETTI, CAPTAIN U.S.A.F.
    Tuck looked back at the flyer, who was still caged in shadow, even though the rest of the room had started to lighten. "You're Vincent?"
    The shadow gave a slight bow. "Not exactly in the flesh, but at your fuckin' service."
    "You're Malink's Vincent?"
    "The same. I gave the chief the original of that lighter."
    "You could have just said so. You didn't have to be so dramatic." Tuck was glad he was a little drunk. He didn't feel frightened. As strange as it all was, he felt safe. This guy-this thing, this spirit-had more or less saved his life at least twice, maybe three times.
    "I got responsibilities, kid, and so do you."
    "Responsibilities?" Now Tuck was frightened. It was a conditioned response.
    "Yeah, so when you get up later today, don't go storming into the doc's office demanding the facts. Just go swimming. Cool off."
    "Go swimming?"
    "Yeah, go to the far side of