Free Twenty Blue Devils by Aaron Elkins

first time he looked his years. His tired eyes appealed to them. “Just humor me, okay? Just trust me.” He smiled crookedly. “Hell, I guess you must think I'm being pretty funny about this."
    Yes, Gideon thought he was being pretty funny, but Parks returned before he could say anything, and Nick made his goodbyes.
    "See you next week, Dean?” He dealt imaginary cards. “Old Geezers’ Monthly?"
    "Seems like a reasonable assumption,” Parks said, “seeing as how I haven't missed but one game in twenty-two years now and that was when I had my gallbladder out."
    "Good, I'm planning to get some of my money back."
    "Whup your ass,” Parks replied.
    Nick laughed. “And keep it quiet around here in the morning, will you? See that these two get a good night's sleep. Oh, and book ‘em a rental car. On my account. A good Renault.” And with that he was gone.
    Parks rang for a husky, sleep-puffed Tahitian porter in a lavalava to take their bags, then led them back himself through the dimly lit reception lobby, moving on lean, long, stiff-jointed legs. The Western look made it only down to his calves. No boots. He was wearing jogging shoes, the kind meant for comfort, not jogging; old men's shoes, purple and gray and stubby, with Velcro straps instead of laces.
    "Kind of quiet here right now,” he told them. “You should see it when those crazy Chileans come here. You talk about party animals."
    The lobby was built Polynesian-style, without outer walls or doors, more a large breezeway than a room, with rattan chairs and tables arranged in casual groupings on a dully gleaming tiled floor. They went past the empty bar and restaurant, the darkened gift shop, and the travel agent's desk, and finally out to the slate terrace in back, where Parks switched on a flashlight. Then across a lawn of close-cropped grass and onto the moonlit beach. Teacup-sized, pale gray land crabs scuttled sideways out of their path and disappeared into the scores of holes they'd bored in the sand.
    Parks stopped at the first of a row of thatch-roofed, bamboo-walled cottages that lined the rear of the narrow beach and handed them keys. “This place's yours, Gideon. You're next door, John. Either of you boys stayed in a thatch-roofed place before?"
    Gideon shook his head.
    "Not since I was a kid,” John said.
    "Well, let me show you the way you best go in at night. First you put a light on.” He climbed the three wooden steps to the door and flicked a switch. A light came on somewhere inside, but the main room stayed dark. “Now you wait,” he said “Give it a minute or so to let the mosquitoes and things go into the bathroom, where the lights at. Then you run in real quick and spray in there—there's a can right near the front door. Then you put on the rest of the lights, see?"
    "What do you mean, mosquitoes and things?" John asked. “What else you got in there?"
    Parks laughed. “Oh, that's about it. Actually, they shouldn't be much of a problem. Been a dry year. But nobody's used these cottages for a couple weeks, so you never know. Oh, yeah, one more thing: when you spray, always spray down. Don't never aim it at the ceiling."
    John glowered suspiciously at him. “Why not?"
    "Because whatever's up there living in the thatch, you'd best just leave it alone, that's for dang sure."
    After a brief pause John spoke. “Say, Dean, you wouldn't have any rooms with regular walls, would you? And a regular ceiling? I mean, this is real nice and everything—"
    "Hell, don't worry about it. It's nothing but lizards. The worst they do is fall off, kerplunk, once in a while, but they just pick theirselves up and scoot back up the walls. Besides, they eat the bugs."
    "Oh, lizards,” John said, relieved. “We had lizards in Hilo when I was a kid. Lizards I can live with."
    Gideon wasn't so sure he could, but there didn't seem to be much choice, and he was too tired to worry about it. There was only an hour or two left until daylight and he was aching to