EST Zack noticed the pickup turning onto a soft sandy drive and inch forward. Ahead, lit by moonlight and headlights, he scanned a small pinkish bungalow silhouetted five hundred feet back from the road. As the truck got closer, he surveyed the one-story stucco-and-wood structure. He noted a light in a small rectangular window in the front. The outline of a scrawny outbuilding sat fifty feet behind the house, and thick foliage grew to the left of the driveway. He sniffed the dense tropical palm_sweet fruity air buffered with humidity. Farther out, the tropical storm grew nearer. “Interesting little place,” he said. “Looks like a chicken coop,” Jim said. “What were you expecting, the Presidential Palace?” “At least.” Zack sniffed the air again. He could smell a good cigar a mile away, and there was definitely a good cigar around. “Jimbo, we’re very close to a good cigar.” “So gladwonderfulhow lucky are we.” Ignoring the remark, Zack glanced at his watch then looked back to the house.
