“You been back to the D.R. since?”

“I ate that chow just one time and got Trujillo’s Revenge,” Nolen said. “I partied with one girl, one and took home a dose. I take a vacation, man, I go to Las Vegas where everything’s sanitary.”

They took a sip of their beers. Looking at Moran Nolen Tyner said, “Well, well…”

“I’m not gonna say it’s a small world,” Moran said, easing back in the recliner to get comfortable, crossing his sneakers, the strings hanging loose.

“You want to know how small it is,” Nolen said, looking across the pool. “You got a couple Dominicans right in that end apartment. The piano player and the broad, the lovers. Though my sheet says the piano player might be Puerto Rican.”

“I thought they might be Cuban,” Moran said, “all the Cubans in Miami. “Your sheet-what do you mean by your sheet?”

“The IDs of people I got under surveillance. The broad, for example. She’s married to a guy by the name of Andres de Boya. Miami big bucks, I mean big.”

“Wait a minute,” Moran said. “The woman in there?”

“They got a house on Biscayne Bay looks like that Polynesian restaurant in Lauderdale, the Mai Kai, only bigger.”

Moran agreed, nodding. “That’s right. But the woman isn’t Mrs. de Boya.”

Nolen gave him a funny look, guarded. “How would you know?”

“Mrs. Andres de Boya’s from the same place I was originally,” Moran said. “Detroit. And she’s no more Dominican than I am. She’s a very nice-looking woman. In fact she’s… well, she’s a nice person.”

Nolen was looking at the holes in the toes of Moran’s sneakers, the left one larger than the right. He didn’t seem too sure about Moran.

“Maybe it’s a different de Boya, a relative.”

“How many Andres de Boyas are there?” Moran said. “He was in Trujillo’s government, something like twenty years ago, right up to the time Trujillo got shot on the way to see his girlfriend.”