Spiral

even his senses try to tell him.” Justo looked away for a moment. ”Also, his condition is causing him to become nostalgic.”
    ”The album from our service days?”
    ”An example, but such began even before Veronica was killed. In early January, Colonel F. J. Kelly died. Do you remember him?”
    ”The Special Forces commander in Vietnam?”
    ”Exactly so. When the Skipper read Colonel Kelly’s obituary, he called me.”
    ”Why?”
    ”To talk with someone about all the soldiers in his generation dying.”
    ”Wasn’t Kelly older than the Skipper, though?”
    ”By seven or eight years. But they knew each other, and his passing hit hard.” Justo smiled sadly. ”So, it may be the Skipper is concerned about more things than his wife’s time at an athletic club.”
    I thought about the roster of party guests. ”That tennis pro at the birthday party?”
    ”Cornel Radescu.”
    ”Do you think he’s been one of Cassandra’s targets, too?”
    ”I cannot say, but I believe she is at the club every day for several hours. You will want to see Mr. Radescu, I assume.”
    ”Yes, but I’ll need a car first.”
    ”Of course. We will rent you one at the hotel.”
    ”Fine.”
    The waitress brought our ribs, not leaving the table until I tried one of the fries and pronounced her advice sound.
    When we were alone again, Justo attacked his rack with a knife and fork. ”It is as I remembered. At the slightest touch, the meat falls off the bone.”
    When he finished chewing his first mouthful, I said, ”Would you have some time tomorrow to introduce me around?”
    ”Introduce you...?”
    ”To the investigating officers on the case.”
    A nod. ”After breakfast, Pepe or I will drive you to the Fort Lauderdale station.” Justo Vega paused before resuming his meal, the darkening coming back over his features. ”I can tell you now, though. You will not mistake its Homicide Unit for the Welcome Wagon.”

FIVE

    I was kneeling in the bow of a black inflatable boat, the kind commandoes use, at least in the movies. But the people in it with me were men and women of all ages and dress codes, even some children, which made no sense at all.
    And each of them, youngest to oldest, was crying.
    The fog around us hung thick, shrouding everything but your hand in front of you. A nautical bell tolled nearby, and I somehow knew it was a lighthouse.
    Suddenly, through a narrow rift in the fog, I could see Nancy, right by the side of our boat. She was at the surface, her head bobbing some in the chop. I leaned over the rubber gunwale, reaching out and calling for her to take my hand. But Nancy just smiled at me—a wry little smile—and then she began to sink, her black hair billowing up behind her head like seaweed in a current. I screamed her name now, the bell tolling louder and—
    I sat bolt upright, the bedsheet, heavy from sweat, peeling off and falling into my lap. When I picked up the telephone, the electronic voice told me it was my requested wake-up call and to be sure to have a nice day, now.

    Before showering that Wednesday morning, I ordered break-fest from room service. Shaving while I waited for the knock at the door, I thought about my dream. Or nightmare.
    I hadn’t had any during the whole time in Boston after flight #133 went down, despite all the nights I’d passed out from the booze. So why now? Maybe it was the reduced alcohol intake the last few days, coupled with sleeping in a strange bed after a long day of flying and dealing with the Skipper’s problem.
    I hoped that was all it was.
    Breakfast arrived as I wiped my face free of residual shaving cream. When I opened my door, the bellman was tugging a local paper called the Sun-Sentinel— packaged in a plastic bag—off the outside knob. After I finished eating and read the first section of what appeared to be a pretty good daily, there was still half an hour until Justo or Pepe was to meet me, so I decided to rent a car while I waited. ^
    Before leaving the room, though, I walked over to my bureau and touched the photo I’d unpacked. The one of Nancy and me, her mugging for the camera.

    ”I remember how you like the old-fashion guns, maybe you like old-fashion cars, too.”
    Pepe had been sitting on a lobby chair near the rent-a-car counter when I walked up to it. As he came over to me, I said, ”You could have called me in my room rather than wait here.”
    A head shake. ”Mr. Vega, he say to me, ‘Let the man sleep after his hard