The first to appear was Louis Mazzola. He was almost a head shorter than Richard, who stood six feet. Richard thought of Louis as a bowling ball kind of guy. He had meaty features, an omnipresent five o’ clock shadow, and short dark hair that lay flat on his round head. He appeared to have no neck; his trapezius angled out from his skull without any indentation.

“What’s the hurry?” Louis whined.

“We’re going on a dive!” Richard said.

“So what else is new?” Louis complained.

Michael’s door opened. He was somewhere between Richard’s rawboned silhouette and Louis’s stockiness. Like his friends he was well muscled and in obviously good shape. He was also equivalently slovenly, dressed in the same baggy long johns. But in contrast to the others he had on a Red Sox baseball cap with the visor angled off sideways. Michael hailed from Chelsea, Massachusetts, and was an avid Sox and Bruins fan.

Michael opened his mouth to complain about being awakened, but Richard ignored him and set out for the main deck. Louis did likewise. Michael shrugged and then followed. As they descended the main companionway, Louis called ahead to Richard: “Hey, Adams, you got the cards?”

“Of course I got the cards,” Richard shot back over his shoulder. “Have you got your checkbook?”

“Screw you,” Louis said. “You haven’t beat me in the last four dives.”

“It’s been a plan, man,” Richard returned. “I’ve been setting you up.”

“Screw the cards,” Michael said. “Have you got your porno mags, Mazzola?”

“You think I’d go on a dive without them?” Louis questioned. “Hell! I’d rather forget my fins.”

“I hope you checked to make sure you’ve got the mags with the chicks and not the dudes,” Michael teased.

Louis stopped abruptly. Michael bumped into him.

“What the hell are you saying?” Louis growled.

“I’m just checking to make sure you brought the right ones,” Michael said with a wry smile. “I might want to borrow them, and I don’t want to find myself looking at any shlongs.”