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thought to himself. Wait until
I tell Gus.
    Once he returned home, he called Gus and another
former partner, Jim Carley, known as JC to his friends. JC was the
kind of guy who would have stayed on the force until he was forced
out by old age. Unfortunately, a triple bypass heart operation cut
his extended career short. He’d had more than twenty-five years in
before he had the heart attack.
    Micko and JC had worked together as uniformed
patrol officers, undercover in an active anti-crime unit, and also
in the robbery squad. JC was a former MP with the U.S. Army. He had
been a straight arrow for as long as Micko had known him. He didn’t
bend the rules at all, and he was an expert at doing all kinds of
research. Recently, he had developed a love affair with snacks and
rich foods, causing dangerous weight fluctuation, that made his
heart doctor berate and swear at him, “Jimmy, your corpulence will
be the death of both of us!”
    Micko had gone scuba diving with both
ex-partners on numerous occasions, so he valued their input. The
three detectives belonged to the New York’s Finest Divers Club.
This organization had originally been formed for cops who loved to
scuba dive, and created terrific dive packages around the globe for
its members. Two years after its inception, it boasted more than
one hundred members. Some cops brought in friends who were not
cops, and they brought in friends, and so on. The great benefit of
having a huge membership was the clout the club had when it came to
booking large trips. Most travel agencies worked with large
organizations for repeat business. They also threw in free trips
for every sixth or seventh diver. If the club booked a trip to Key
Largo for fourteen divers, two went gratis.
    Jim Carley did all the research on the club’s
dive locations, so Micko asked him to turn on his computer and do
some research on Bikini. They would meet for breakfast the next
morning.
    Then Gus and Micko spoke at great length about
the new homicide Gus was working. Since Micko was injured, Gus was
bouncing from partner to partner, and was sometimes loaned out to
other commands that were shorthanded. Such was the current case.
Another detective squad was investigating a double homicide, and
Gus was assigned to assist them.
    Gus enjoyed giving his partner the juicy details
while watching him salivate for more. He was a great storyteller,
quite animated as his arms waved and his voice rose an octave or
two at times. He also loved to pause for effect during the critical
parts of the yarn, and Micko enjoyed listening to his partner
recount the investigation.
    The two could have gone on discussing the case
all night until Micko said, “Gus, I gotta get this scuba gear put
away. It’s lying all over my room. I’ll pick you up at your house
at oh-nine-hundred hours, and then I’ll drop my gear off to be
serviced. Then we’ll drive upstate to Mahopac and get JC.”
    Tuesday morning was dark and damp with a threat
of rain. Micko picked up Gus and then drove to Captain Mike’s Dive
Center on City Island to drop off his gear. Mike Carew ran the
place. He was also the instructor who had taught the detectives how
to dive many years earlier. Carew promised to service the gear
ASAP.
    JC was ready when they arrived at his house. He
opened his jacket to reveal a scuba diving shirt from the Galapagos
Islands. Micko and Gus both laughed as they recalled the great time
they’d had visiting the place where Darwin originated his theory of
evolution.
    The three former partners drove to a small,
family-run breakfast nook called Pancakes R Us. From outside the
place looked like a small log cabin, but inside it took on the look
and feel of a full-sized restaurant. The log cabin design was warm
and hospitable, and there were neat, black and white pictures of
early settlers and hunters adorning the walls. The booths were
clean and of a suitable size to comfortably sit three Bronx
detectives.
    Mabel, the waitress, was a tall