Michael without answering questions from marina neighbors. A brown-skin boat owner wearing swim trunks and a white bandana stood up from sanding the deck of a 47-foot Vagabond ketch. He squinted in the sun as Nick came down the dock, turned off the sander and yelled, “Hey, man. I heard they rushed you to the ER. You okay, Nick? Was it your heart, dude?”“Bad case of food poisoning.”“That sucks. Maybe you got ahold of some nasty fish. I heard you’ve eaten urchins underwater right out their spiny shells when you’re diving out there. How the hell you do that without getting a mouthful of seawater down your throat?”“Same way a porpoise does it—the old Greek, open your gills a little wider.” Nick grinned and kept walking, not making eye contact with anyone else.Max barked once as Nick came closer, her tail wiggling. “Hot dog, where you been when that witch nearly poisoned me? I need a guard dog like you to bite her ankles.”Dave and O’Brien stepped from Jupiter’s salon onto the cockpit.
