“Do we own the Blue Dolphin Escort Service?” asked Sammy Tigertail.

“Nothing would surprise me,” said his uncle.

At about the same time, in a trailer not far from the fishing docks, a boy named Fry looked up from his dinner plate and asked, “What is this crap?”

It was not an unreasonable question.

“Salisbury steak,” Honey Santana said. “It tastes better than it looks.”

“Did you get fired again?”

“No, I quit,” Honey said. “Now hush up and eat.”

As her son well knew, she resorted to frozen dinners only when she was out of work.

“What happened this time?” he asked.

“You remember Aunt Rachel’s Chihuahua? Yum-Yum Boy?”

“The one that got killed, right? Trying to hump a raccoon.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what Mr. Piejack is like,” Honey said, “only bigger.”

She took a small bite of the tough gray meat. It was gruesome but she managed a smile.

Fry shrugged. “So, did he make a move or what?”

“You could say that.”

Mr. Piejack was the owner of the fish market, and he’d been sniffing after Honey for months. He was married and had numerous other unsavory qualities.

“You know those little wooden mallets we sell at the register?” Honey said.

Fry nodded. “For cracking stone-crab claws.”

“Right. That’s what I whacked him with.”

“Where?”

“Where do you think?”

As Fry pushed away from the table, Honey hurried to explain.

“He grabbed my breast. That’s why I did it.”

Her son looked up. “For real? You’re not making this up?”

“My right breast, I swear to God.” Honey solemnly entwined her hands over the object of Mr. Piejack’s lust.

“What an a-hole,” Fry said.

“Totally. After I hit him, he started rolling on the floor, moaning and whining, so I grabbed a slab of tuna out of the cooler and shoved it down his pants. You know, to keep the swelling down.”