‘And what about Miami Beach?’

‘The Greater Florida Betterment League is a cover, too. It’s been digging into political crime in Miami Beach. Shakedowns, gambling, extortion. It’s been setting up a case against all the city officials, getting evidence ready for indictments.’

‘I see. Anything else?’

‘No. No. That’s about it.’

‘Would you like to work for us?’

‘Sure,’ said Bullingsworth, as sober as he had ever drawn a sober breath.

‘Would you like your money now?’

‘Now. Anytime.’

‘I see. Look at that boat behind you. Out there, in the Atlantic. Look.’

Bullingsworth saw the boat, placid and blinking in the vast darkness.

‘I don’t believe you,’ said the man with the heavy lilac cologne and the foreign accent, and then Bullingsworth felt a sharp sting in his right ear, and saw nothing else. But, in the vast nothing that is death is often infinite wisdom, and in his last thought he knew that his killer would face an awesome force that would grind him and his cohorts into waste material, a force that was at the very center of the universe. Of course, all of this meant very little to James Bullingsworth, former assistant vice-president of the Greater Miami Trust and Investment Company. He was dead.

In the course of normal, morning, beach-cleaning operations, Bullingsworth’s body was discovered with what appeared to be a wooden tool handle in his ear.

‘Oh, no,’ said the sweeper and decided immediately he would not act like some hysterical woman. He would walk calmly to the nearest telephone and call the police, giving them exact details and other useful information.

This resolve to discipline lasted three steps on the sandy beach, whereupon it was discarded for an alternate course of action.

‘Help. Arggghh. Dead. Help. Body. Help. Someone. Police. Help!’