In the background a bell went off. 'I have to go, Wade.'

'When can I call you next?'

'I'll call you. I promise. Doesn't anyone there have a cell phone?'

Wade gave her Ted's number. 'Recharging the damn things is like sorting out Mideast politics. I'll call tonight.' Wade then remembered Howie. 'What about Howie — didn't two NASA guys take him away yesterday?'

'Yeah. I guess so. Whatever. He's probably planning a surprise clambake or organizing a happy-wappy balloon-o-gram or something dorky.'

'I love you, little sister.'

'Thanks, Wade. G'bye.'

Click

Geez.

Bryan had emerged from the shop and stood beside Wade at the phone booth. 'Let's get Mom and Dad and go find Shw.' Bryan was slathered in zinc cream; a T-shirt was draped over his head, clamped in place by a Miami Dolphins baseball cap. The rest of his tender pink body was draped in discounted après beachwear, purchased with money donated by Janet. He looked like a bin of Salvation Army remnants.

'Not so fast,' said Wade. His mind was reeling.

'How's Sarah?' Bryan asked.

'Good. Good. Fine.'

'You OK, Wade?'

'Yeah.'

'Call that German guy.'

Diversion! 'Right. I'll call Florian.' Cars roared past, mostly down the main drag of Daytona's tourist district. It's like Reno — no — it's like Laughlin — Laughlin by the sea. Wade clanked a mound of quarters on top of the pay phone and dialed the number of Buckingham Pest Control in the Bahamas. The deeply bored Bahamian woman's voice answered once more: 'Buckingham Pest Control.'

'Hi. This is Wade calling Florian about the letter from his . . . mother. I spoke with you yesterday.'

This seemed to cause the slightest twitch of enthusiasm in her voice. 'I'll patch you through. One moment.'

Wade was glad to have passed the gatekeeper.

A sarcastic German accent, filtered through umpteen cell towers, satellites, optical fibers and copper cables, came on: 'Well, hello, is this really young Wade?'

'Hi, Florian.'

'Oof! This is too rich. How on earth did a little piss-ant comme toi end up with my delivery?'

'More to the point, what's a bag of Eurotrash like you doing ransacking my family's goddamn hotel room?'

'Temper, temper, Wade. You'll notice I waited until nobody was there. Was anybody hurt? No. Was anything stolen? No.'

'Only because you couldn't find it.'

'Why pay for something I can have for free?'

'You immoral scum—'

'Oh, shut up. I'm not immoral, I'm merely very, very rich, and because I'm very, very rich I live by different rules. It's the way things work.'

I will keep my cool. I will keep my cool.

'Wade, do speak to me, because I can practically hear your therapist's voice coming through the receiver telling you to contain yourself.'

He is a European shitbag. He is not worth my time.

Florian went on: 'You're still keeping silent, so I must be correct. What are you enrolled in — an 'anger management' workshop? Lots of winners there, I imagine. By the way, the Bahamas misses you. I heard via the tom-toms that you ended up in Kansas City. Excuse me while I gag. Dear boy, you should have phoned me — whoops — sent me an e-mail — and told me of your plight. I could have sent a packet of culture your way — tickets for regional dinner theater, paintings of weeping clowns painted by celebrated funny man Mr. Red Skelton.'

'Florian, shut up. Do you want the bloody letter or not?'

'So butch,'

'Well?'

Florian changed direction. 'It was brought to my attention that there was a prescription bottle for ddI in your hotel's bathroom, Wade. Hardly a recreational drug.'