Joey thought about that. Jesus, if this wasn't a freakin' coincidence, then that meant…

"You wouldn't happen to have that tape on you, would you?"

"Right 'ere in me sky rocket, mate."

Benny pulled a manila envelope out of his coat pocket and held it out. Joey snatched it and clutched it with both hands.

"And that's not all," Benny said. He pulled a plastic bag out of another pocket. Joey recognized a pistol magazine. "This 'ere's a li'l somethin' the blighter 'andled while 'e was shoppin'. Got 'is prints all over it, it does."

Joey took the Baggie and stared at the magazine.

Oh man, oh man, oh man. If this panned out…

"Got a name or something to go with these?"

"Don't get to 'ear many names in me business, mate. No credit cards neither. Strictly bangers and mash. But I fink you know that."

Yeah, Joey knew that. But it never hurt to ask.

"Thanks, Benny."

"Under normal circumstances I would 'ave told those pandies to bugger right off—I'll not be sellin' to the likes o' them—but I remembered you was lookin' for blokes of that ilk, so I made the transaction. Just for you, mate. Just for you."

Not to mention a heaping plate of "bangers and mash" to boot.

"I'll remember this, Benny. Anything I can ever do for you—"

"Just find those pandies and give 'em what fer." He hauled himself off the bench. "And now I'm off to see me trouble and strife. Left 'er in Macy's, I did. Spendin' me into the poor 'ouse, most likely."

Joey was aware of Benny moving off and taking his bad accent with him, but he didn't say good-bye. He sat in the blessed silence and stared down at the envelope.

A video of a gun-buying Arab. Great. But what was he going to do with it? How did he go about ID-ing thefiglio di puttana? Where did he go from here?

He didn't know. Have to think on that. But he didn't let it get him down.

Finally, something.

7

Tom had been strangely subdued as he'd piloted the Sahbon along the channel through the reef. They made it to open ocean before nightfall and headed toward the dying glow on the horizon.

After entering the coordinates for Wanchese harbor and setting the autopilot, he turned to Jack.

"Want to take the first watch?"

Jack couldn't see why not.

"Sure."

"Good. Because I'm bushed. I'm going below for a little shut-eye."

So now, after a couple of hours of dividing his attention between the empty ocean ahead and the dwindling lights of Bermuda behind, Jack was bored out of his skull. On the trip out, the concerns of being a novice sailor in the middle of the ocean, inexperienced with the navigation equipment and bound for an unfamiliar—at least to him—destination, had kept him alert and attuned. Now it seemed like old hat. The Sahbon was heading home and he was confident he could get it there on his own.

He took a good look around to confirm that no other running lights were in sight, then descended to the pilothouse to use the head.

He found Tom sitting on his bunk holding a coffee cup and watching the TV. Dazed and Confused again. Didn't he ever get tired of that movie?

Look who's talking, Jack thought.

He'd seen certain favorite films dozens of times.

"Thought you were grabbing some z's."

When Tom didn't answer Jack took a closer look.

Oh, shit. Is he sloshed?

Maybe, maybe not, but those looked like tears in his eyes.

"You okay?"

He shook himself, did a quick eye wipe with his sleeve, then pointed to the screen.

"That was me, you know."

Jack looked. The Slater character—Jack didn't know the actor's name—was on the screen.

"A stoner?"

"No. I did my share, for sure, but I mean the times. The mid-seventies were my high school years. I'm looking at me and my friends. Jesus, we never knew how good we had it back then. I mean, the whole future, the whole world lay before us, ours for the taking. So I took it. And screwed it up."

He sipped from his coffee cup. Jack knew it wasn't coffee.

Tom's troubles were his own doing, yet Jack couldn't help feeling a twinge of pity.

He looked around for the sea chest, didn't see it in the cabin, so he opened the door to the bow compartment. There he found it bungeed into place near the anchor. He felt an unexplainable urge to grab it, haul it up on deck, and toss it overboard.

Instead he closed the door and turned to Tom.

"What's the real story with that thing?"

"I don't know. I'd hoped for something readily convertible into cash—like doubloons and such. But who knows? Maybe the Lilitongue's worth more."

"How do you know that's what you've got? You didn't find anything in the chest that identified it."

"Don't you worry, it's the Lilitongue. I'm sure of it." He grinned. "Besides, 'Gefreda' opened the chest, didn't it?"

He had a point. "Okay, let's just say you're right. You know, but how do you prove it? How do you sell something you can't even identify?"

Tom held up a finger. "I can find a way in Philly. We've got U of P, the Franklin Institute, plus all sorts of museums like the Mutter and the Glen-cairn. A gallimaufry of resources. Somebody in that city has to have heard about it, or at least know where to look it up."

"Maybe, but it could take you a year to find that somebody. And you'll never get to spend it if you're locked in a jail cell."

"Yeah, I'm going to have to do a lot of artful dodging. Especially since I'm not supposed to leave Philly. I got an exception made for Dad's funeral but—"

"So that's why you couldn't come right away."

"Right."

A sudden realization slammed Jack. "What about now? Where do they think you are at this moment?"

Tom took a sip of vodka. "Philly."

"Jesus, Tom! You skipped?"

"In a word, yes."

"You're a fugitive?"

"Not officially. Not until they find out I'm gone."

"Jesus, Tom!"

"Will you stop saying that?"

"I don't know what else to say. I've been thinking this trip was one colossal waste of time, but now it's worse. I'm with a guy the feds will be hunting, if they aren't already. If they catch up to you, they catch me too—"

"Always about you, hmmm?"

"Damn straight! From what you've told me, you've got nothing left to lose. I have everything."

The ramifications tied Jack's gut in a knot.

"Relax. We'll be just fine."

As Tom lapsed into morose silence, Jack popped back onto the deck to make a scan of the dark ocean. All clear.

When he returned below he found Tom refilling his cup.

"You going to be able to handle your watch?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. I'm pacing myself. Don't want to start seeing things again."

"Like what? You said you hallucinated back on the dock. What did you see?"

"Nothing."

"Which is pretty much what you're getting out of this trip."

"Got the Lilitongue."

"Whoopee."

Tom leaned back. "Maybe I'm crazy, but I've got to tell you, I first laid eyes on that map maybe ten years ago, I… I can't describe it. I knew the Lilitongue was important and I knew I had to have it."

"Let me guess: You stole the map."

"'Stole' is kind of harsh. Old Wenzel was dying and his estate was set to be divvied up equally between his three kids, none of whom had any interest in his map collection beyond its cash value. So I, um, rescued it before it disappeared into some collector's cabinet."

Jack was nodding. "I see… you didn't steal it, you pilfered it."

"I prefer to categorize it as an honorarium for legal work well done."

"You would."

Tom straightened and jabbed a finger toward Jack.

"Don't try that holier-than-thou shit again, because it won't work! I know your story, Jack."

"Do you."

"Damn right. You put on this supercilious, disapproving look when all the while you're as crooked as they come."