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it’s bullshit. You stop most of the drugs, and their street price’ll go up and so will the crime the addicts commit to pay for their habits. Stop every bit of drugs and people’ll grow their own, or develop new designer drugs. Hell, a good chemist could walk around this place and figure out some way to cook up something gets folks high. And there’s always somebody who’ll buy it and sell it. Problem’s not drugs, problem’s that people wanna do whatever to escape the reality of their lives.”
    Carver thought her reasoning was sound. He propped himself up on his elbow and stared at her dark, highlighted features. There was a softness to them, a gentleness, that belied how tough she was. Toughness from deep down wasn’t always obvious.
    She stopped looking at the ceiling and glanced over at him. “So the government declares war on drugs by saying, ‘We’re gonna come down hard on you people if you don’t stop using that stuff we’ve made illegal ‘cause you can’t stop using it.’ Makes no sense. An addict’ll check in for a cure only after hitting absolute bottom, Carver, and then they put him on a waiting list so he has months before he can get treatment. So he goes back to drugs and thinks everything’s fine again, and he’s no longer interested in treatment. Big surprise. Thing they do then is arrest and convict him and toss him in jail with some real hard cases that’ll teach him tricks and stay in touch with him the rest of his life. Turn him into one of them. Sometimes I wonder who those government assholes talk to when they get their ideas about drugs.”
    Carver said, “They talk to each other.”
    “What I’m trying to tell you,” Beth said, “is whenever drugs might be involved, don’t take for granted things are what they seem. Or even that they’re about drugs at all. What they’re about is somebody getting money or getting elected or both. That’s the way it is. I goddamn know.”
    “I love you,” Carver said, “because you’re so ambivalent.”
    “It’s just that I happen to know about drugs and what goes on around them.”
    “I guess you do.”
    “So what you’re getting into here might be more dangerous than you think. You best be careful.”
    “That’s what Desoto kept telling me.”
    “He’s your friend, and I’m more’n that to you. So listen to us. We care about your hide more’n you do. You’re like a combination bloodhound and pit bull, and that’s unhealthy.”
    Carver said, “Grrrr,” and pretended he was trying to bite her right nipple. Well, not entirely pretending.
    She laughed and shoved him away, and they both lay still for a moment. Then she moved languidly in the bed, rustling the cool sheets, and kissed him, using her tongue. One of her long dark legs curled over him, warmer than the breeze. Her foot hung off his side of the bed.
    She rested her head on his chest and said, “You gonna need me?”
    He knew she wasn’t talking about, more sex.
    Beth sometimes acted as Carver’s business partner as well as lover. She’d gotten tough during her hard years, knew martial arts, could handle firearms. He didn’t need to worry much about her. But he remembered what Desoto had said about Davy Mathis.
    “I’m not sure,” he told her. “Let me sniff around down on Key Montaigne for a while, get some sense of things.”
    “If that’s what you want. But when you’re ready to tilt at the windmill, let me know.” She unwound herself from him and stood up. Stretched, arching her back. “I’m gonna take a shower.” She padded barefoot across the plank floor, her slender body undulating like dark flame. Carver enjoyed watching her walk. He wondered how she’d look in a light summer dress, luxuriating in the wind. Again he wished he could paint. Maybe he’d take it up. She stopped and turned, smiling at him. “You coming?” she asked.
    After showering together, they drove in the Olds to the Happy Lobster, a restaurant on the coast highway. It