Balls

  #

  By the time we reached the sinking city of Venice with its canals and piazzas and amazing stone architecture, the sun was dropping behind the taller buildings to the west, casting beams of light between the edifices and reflecting off the waterways.

  “We’re going to need to get a room for the night,” said Winston.

  We found a moderate-looking place near the center of the city. As I stood on the tiled floor checking in, the murderers walked right past us with a third man. They didn’t even seem to recognize us. This was right as the clerk was asking my name.

  I panicked.

  “Uh, Shamus – yes, the name’s Shamus, er, McNuggett. Shamus McNuggett,” I said in my best Scottish accent.

  Winston’s eyes widened. “Uh…Shamus, may I have a word with you?” he asked, tugging me away from the desk. Then he whispered, “What are you doing? Shamus McNuggett? That’s the most asinine thing I’ve heard you say all day – and that’s really saying something.”

  “They may have been listening,” I said. “You really want them tracking down possible witnesses – namely me and you – and dumping us in a Venice canal with enough holes in us to make us sink?”

  “You need some rest, man.” That’s all he said. Then he walked away shaking his head, and finished checking us in as I sat down on a gray stone bench next to a trickling fountain that smelled like the briny gray-water of the canal. With a moment alone to think about it, I realized that I missed Gina and her reliable, if boring, fastidiousness.