So saying, the lawyer whipped out the advertised card with the sudden snapping motion that had startled a thousand juries. Stan accepted it and looked at it, while Max said, "Mostly what they do, they come around with baseball bats. I'm a great contributor to all the charities at the precinct."

Stan looked from the lawyer's name and phone number to the lawyer. "So the deal is," he said, "they get your card when they get the car, and that way, when they get the accident they'll probably call you, and you'll find somebody they can sue instead of Max."

"Precisely," the lawyer said, with a beatific smile, and folded his hands at his waist in the comfortable pose that had put a thousand juries to sleep.

Stan, staying awake, looked at Max. "What's the downside?"

"It sounded better this time," Max admitted, "but I don't know. You got somebody wants to buy one a them heaps out there, I don't like to use the word 'accident. "

"So don't use it," Stan said. "Look. You give them the card," and he gave the card to Max. "You say, 'You ever got a legal problem with the car, this is a guy that knows laws about cars. Keep it in the glove compartment."

Max beamed all over his face — a sight so rare that Harriet actually stopped typing for three seconds. "Fantastic!" he said. "Stanley, I knew you were the one to ask. Okay," he told the lawyer, "I'll be your tout. Cuts out the ambulance chase."

"We'll both be happy," the lawyer assured him, and from within his suit he brought a little stack of his cards, wrapped in a rubber band. "A starter set," he said, handing them to Max. "I'll mail you more." Then, with his own broad, beaming smile, he shook Stan's hand, saying, "An honor to meet you, sir, you have an agile mind. If ever the occasion arises, I will be happy to assist you in any way possible."

"Sounds good," Stan said, and waited until the lawyer, with more effusions hither and yon, took his leave.

"Thank you, Stanley," Max said, "I just couldn't get my head around the proposition."

"And if any of them ever does sue you," Stan said, "you can make that bird take the case, on the arm, or you'll have Harriet write an innocent inquiry letter to the Bar Association."

"That much I know," Max assured him. "What's this you got out here?" He stood at the window to frown out at the Buick as the snazzy Olds took itself off. "You usually pick with a little more discrimination, Stanley," he commented.

"It has one great advantage," Stan told him. "No Global Positioning System. But that out there, that's just a little taste, something you can give me cabfare for. What I mainly want to do is bring you, tomorrow, a beautiful BMW, which I will give you straight up, in trade for one midsize truck for which the only requirement is, it can't be hot."

"A new complication?" Max squinted, as though a fog had formed between Stan and himself. "You wanna give me a BMW, no charge—"

"A free gift."

"— and I should give you a truck?"

"You got it."

"No, I don't." Max waved at his lot. "You see what I got here, I got cars. No trucks."

"You're in the business, Max," Stan pointed out. "You can find a truck."

"It's a little work you're asking."

"With a beautiful BMW at the end of it," Stan said, "that the owner's out of the country for years, it won't even be reported stolen for who knows how long. And it's a gift, for you."

"Well, the BMW is or it isn't," Max said, "and I'm not saying I'll kick it outa bed, but I'll tell you the truth, Stanley, if I'm gonna put myself out to find you a truck it's mostly because you made me see the legal issue a little better. You know, when a lawyer talks to you, the natural thing to do is not listen."

"I know."

"Certainly, not believe. But you listened, Stanley, and you heard the kernel of good in there, and so for that reason, plus the BMW, I'll see what I can do, get a truck. Call me day after tomorrow."

Stan said, "Not today?"

"Today is when you asked the question. Give me a little break here, Stanley, call me day after tomorrow."

In his mind, Stan could hear the low rumble of Tiny saying, "Another delay." But what could be done? "It's a deal, Max," he said. "I'll call you day after tomorrow. And now, if it's okay with you, we'll exchange a little cash and I'll call for myself a cab."

Max said, "You wouldn't want to buy a little runabout for yourself?"

Stan and Harriet both laughed politely, and then Stan called himself a cab.

34

PRESTON SAID, "Who is he calling?"

"Who? Oh, Tonio," Pam said, because the pilot of this small sailboat, the bronzed Tonio, was murmuring into a cell phone as he sat hunched over the tiller at the rear of the boat, steering them out of the cove, toward the open sea. "Oh, he always does that," she said. "He has to phone the marina whenever we set sail, it's a safety thing."

"Oh," Preston said, and faced forward again, as the open sea grew increasingly open. The little sailboat did bob around an awful lot, did it more and more the faster they went and the farther from the protection of the cove. Preston tried to think of the movements as sensual, but it was difficult.

This was the first time he'd been off the island since he'd flown down from New York, almost three years ago. He'd never felt the need to frisk about on the briny, and in fact he still didn't, but Pam was so difficult to pin down, a phrase he meant quite literally. She was always either off sailing with some lout or too tired from her outer-sea exertions to be of much use.

Well, if you can't fight them, join them. Last night, when once again Pam had been too tired to drop by his place for a little kidding around, he'd brought up the sailboat idea himself: "Tomorrow, what do you say, if you want to go sailing again, I'll came along with you."

She was delighted: "Oh, would you, Pres? You'll love it, I know you will."

So here they were, and so far he wasn't loving it. Not that he was going to be seasick — that sort of thing had never been a problem — but maintaining one's balance was definitely a problem, perched here on this padded seat at the prow of the sailboat. Also noise; he would have expected sailpower to be silent, but the rush of the little boat through the sea created two kinds of white noise that made conversation difficult, they being wind and wave. The wind of their passage rushed past his ears, and the surface of the ocean hissed as the boat sliced through it.

So Preston merely sat silently, clasped his knees, frowned mightily at all that empty water, and waited for the good part. Are we having fun yet?

Once he looked back, and Tonio was off the phone now, and the island was really surprisingly far away. The sailboat traveled faster than one would have supposed. Preston looked at Tonio, and the man just sat there, one hand on the tiller, no expression at all on his face. Preston faced forward again.

He let another minute whish by, then leaned very close to Pam's lovely left ear and murmured, "When does Tonio take his little swim?"

"Oh, Preston, not till we're out of sight of land."

"Out of sight?" Twisting again to look back past the stolid Tonio, Preston said, "By God, we almost are! Facing Pam, he called, into the roar of wind and wave, "Should we be out this far?"

"Oh, these boats are completely safe," Pam assured him. "They wouldn't let us go out if they weren't."

"Presumably." Preston gazed out at the illimitable ocean, and on it there moved a speck. "What's that?"

"What?"

"That," Preston repeated, and pointed at the black-looking speck with the tiny white line of wake behind it.

"Why, it's another boat," Pam said, sounding pleased.

"Why don't they find their own ocean?"

Pam caressed his near knee. "They'll be gone in a minute, darling."