Shayne walked back to join the men in the canopied cockpit.

“Help yourself, Mike.” Ed waved cordially toward the bottle. “Drink and be merry. Today’s a holiday.”

“Any special one?” Shayne poured a generous glass, but set it down untouched.

“Since we three got together we declare a holiday every day,” Slim said lazily.

“You didn’t know each other before you came to Miami?”

“No. Damnedest thing. Never met till about a month ago. In a bar on Flagler the first day I arrived. But the minute we met, we clicked. We’d all come down to live it up and fish, and we were lucky enough to find Sylvester… Hey, Sylvester! How’s your drink coming?”

“She’s all gone.”

“Can’t have that.” Ed walked over with the bottle and poured straight rum over the melting ice in Sylvester’s glass.

Shayne said pleasantly, “Quite a coincidence, your hitting it off so well. From your accents, I’d say you’re from different parts of the country.”

“Couldn’t be differenter,” Slim said. “I’m from Philly and Ed’s from Detroit. In the insurance business there. Vince here’s from Arizona. Got him a motel chain. Down here we all got beach cabanas. Vince claims some of his in Arizona can match them at a fourth the price but, what the hell-money’s to spend, or what good is it?”

Shayne took a cautious swallow of the rum. “You’re all down here alone?”

“All but Ed. He brought his wife.”

Ed had come back from tending to Sylvester’s drink and was refilling his own. “I’m practically alone,” he said cheerfully. “When she isn’t playing canasta, she’s shopping.”

Shayne sat down, relaxed with his long legs sprawled out, and watched the shore recede. Already the beach was only a thin line, and the palms behind it a hedgelike, hazy green. A small yacht passed with two men and two women sitting at an umbrella-covered table sipping drinks. Ed and Slim shouted across the water and waved. The men on the yacht stared impassively, but the women-young, lithe and blond-looked interestedly at the boatload of men and waved back.