Like the guy laying-up at Hallandale, Arnold Rapp. Financed him like a half million dollars, and he says the Coast Guard confiscated the shipment, nine tons of Columbian.

Say, Come on, Arnold, for true? Holding him out the window by his ankles.

Get that done, then stop by Lauderdale on the way back and say hi to the DiCilia lady. Look the situation over, lay in some footings.

First thing though, Roland spent his back pay. He bought himself four new summer suits the man told him were designed in Paris, France, and specially cut for them by this tailor in Taiwan, Republic of China. He bought himself new three-hundred-fifty-dollar hand-tooled, high-heeled boots. He bought an Ox Bow wheat-colored straw hat with a high crown and a big scoop brim that, with the cowboy boots, put him up around six-six. He bought a cream-colored Cadillac Coupe d’Ville, cash. And put two months’ rent down on an eight hundred dollar apartment in Miami Shores.

Look good and you feel good. He picked up Jesus Diaz and drove up to Hallandale.

“I bet what it is,” Roland said to Jesus, “I bet anything Arnold is a boy went to about five colleges, traveled all over, got busted a couple of times, has his rich folks bail him out and he thinks he’s a fucking outlaw. You think I’m wrong?”

“No, you right,” Jesus Diaz said. He was comfortable in the air-conditioned Cadillac, he didn’t want to argue with Roland.

“See, they get together, these snotty boys like Arnold? They think shit, they been to college, dumb guineas financing the deal don’t know nothing. Tell ’em the load went down the toilet and keep the money.”

“Maybe so,” Jesus Diaz said.

“No maybe. These little shitheads’re pulling something.” Jesus Diaz did not reply and Roland said, “You don’t believe it?”

“I believe it if you want me to,” Jesus Diaz said. He knew he should keep still, but he didn’t like Roland’s bright-blue pimp suit or the big Lone Ranger hat touching the roof of the car. He said, “Why they in business then? They make more selling it, don’t they?”