“Take it easy, mon.” Cruz pointed to the far corner of the parking lot. “It’s right over there.”

The truck was parked off by itself next to several large commercial buildings which stood on the lot next to the casino. There was a bank and a big discount drugstore complex, then another casino. The lot was brightly illuminated.

“Why didn’t you just bring the bird to my office?” the agent grumbled as he stepped over a large puddle.

“I said he was big.” Cruz jumped the same puddle. “The other thing is, well, when he does talk he’s pretty blue.”

The agent considered. A few four-letter words wouldn’t hurt a talking bird act. Not in Vegas. “What else can he say?”

“I told you, mon. Pretty damn near anything you can think of. Whoever trained him really knew what the hell he was doing. He sounds just like a person.” They reached the truck. As they turned the rear corner Cruz acquired the look of a man who’d just said hello to a two-by-four with his forehead.

The back of the truck had been rolled up.

Cursing, he climbed inside. The agent could hear furniture being thrown around. “Something wrong?” he said mildly to the other member of the pair.

“We didn’t leave thee door up. Hey, Cruz, I thought you lock eet.”

“Lock it?” The other man’s voiced echoed from inside the truck. “Why lock it? To keep somebody from stealing this junk? I don’t see no ropes, so he didn’t get loose in here. Maybe somebody got curious and lifted the door and he hopped out.” He jumped down out of the truck, his eyes scanning the parking lot, the agent forgotten. “He’s got to be around here someplace. His wings were tied. He couldn’t fly away.”

“Are you sure?” The agent’s voice was tinged with sarcasm. “I’ve seen plenty of acts where the birds did that.” The two men ignored him. Manco ran down the alley between the drugstore and the bank.

“Sorry, boys, but I’ve got another act to review.”

Cruz put a hand on his arm. “Just give us a minute, please, just a minute. He’s got to be close by somewhere. We ain’t been gone that long.”

“Hey, down heere!”

Cruz let out a sigh of relief. “See? I told you it was a smart bird.” Reluctantly the agent allowed himself to be led into the alley. The casino doorman had seen him leave and would be after him in two minutes if he didn’t return.

It was more service road than alley and plenty wide. He didn’t think the two men had robbery on their mind. If so, they would have jumped him already, behind the truck.

Halfway down the road was an elderly gentleman who was not a casino patron. The agent knew this immediately because the man was wearing a long overcoat. You don’t wear overcoats in Vegas in the springtime. The smell of liquor was stronger here than at the gaudy bar in the casino. The man was swaying unsteadily, obviously uncomfortable at being the object of so much unexpected late-night attention.

“Hey, lay off. I didn’t do nuttin’.”

“We know, mon.” Manco was standing close to the rummy, licking his lips and look farther down the alley. “We’re just lookeeng for sometheeng.”

“Ain’t we all. Me, I’m lookin’ for the ten grand I dropped in this burg six years ago. Lost it in there.” He nodded toward the nearby mirage that was the casino. “No offense. They were honest cards.” The agent aknowledged this with a slight nod.

“It was a big bird.” Cruz traced shapes in the air with his hands. “About this size.”

The rummy’s eyes narrowed as he fought to concentrate.

“Big bird. All tied up?”

“Yeah! That’s him. You seen him?”

“Yeah, I seen him. Me an’ my buddies.” He turned and sort of gestured with his whole body. Cruz and Manco sprinted down the alley. The curious agent followed at a more leisurely pace.

A small fire crackled behind a pair of massive dumpsters. The group of bums clustered around it tensed, then relaxed when they saw that their visitors weren’t uniforms. A few lay against the rear wall of the bank. Others rested on their backs, staring up at the stars and remembering better nights.

Cruz arrived out of breath. “We’re looking for a bird. Big green parrot.”

“Parrot?” One of the old men sat up and frowned. “We ain’t seen any parrot.”

“Hey.” A younger down-on-his-luck gestured with a half empty bottle. “He must be talking about the chicken. That belonged to you, huh?”

“Chicken?” Cruz talked like a man who’d just had Novocain. “What chicken?”

“The big green chicken. Hey, look man, we didn’t know he belonged to anybody. He just sorta came hoppin’ down here and, well, some of us ain’t had a square meal in three days. He was big enough to feed the bunch of us and what with him all trussed and ready for the fire, well—hey, don’t cry, man. What was it, somebody’s pet?”

Cruz couldn’t answer. He just put his face in his hands and sobbed. His partner stared past the fire at the small pile of bones on the far side. “That weren’t no cheeken, mon. It were a parrot. A talking parrot. A special talking parrot.”

The younger bum leaned back, shrugged, and picked at his upper left bicuspid. “I don’t know about special, but he sure was delicious.”

The agent sighed. “Sorry, boys. I’ve got another act to review.”

“That’s all you got to say, mon?” Cruz stared blankly at the ground. “You’re sorry? Somebody ate the most unique act in the history of this town and you’re sorry?”

“Hey—that’s show business.”

With the pure white sand beach gleaming beneath their feet, the pale blue sea on their right and the warm sun shining down through a perfect cloudless sky it was impossible to believe anything was wrong with the world, Jon-Tom reflected.

“Wonder ’ow far from ’ere it ’tis to this Chejiji.” Mudge kicked a shell aside. “Not that I’m complain’ about the walk. This is charmin’ country. Plenty to eat an’ easy to catch, but even paradise can get borin’ after a bit.”

“I’ve no idea, Mudge. All I remember is that it lies southwest of here and we haven’t begun to turn west yet. It might take weeks to hike there.”

“Months,” put in Cautious.

Weegee was cleaning her lashes. “I, for one, have no intention of hiking hundreds of leagues. If we don’t find a village where we can buy or rent a boat pretty soon, I think we should seriously consider stopping and trying to make one.”

“A raft’s not out of the question. There are plenty of straight palms we could use.”

“Sure thing, mate,” said Mudge. “An’ while you’re at it, ’ow about singin’ up some saws an’ ’ammers an’ nails. Come to think o’ it, why not sing up a couple o’ ships’ carpenters as well. Because speakin’ for meself, I don’t know a damn thing about shipbuilding.”

“Come on, Mudge, we built ourselves a raft once before.”

“When we were travelin’ to fair Quasequa? You’re forgettin’ one thing, mate. You spellsang that one up.”

“Oh, that’s right. Well, we’ll do something soon. I promise you won’t have to walk all the way to Chejiji, Weegee.”

Mudge leaned over and whispered to her. “’E’s always makin’ promises like that, ’tis Jon-Tom. Sometimes, through no fault o’ ’is own, ’e actually keeps one or two.” He raised his voice. “Anybody ’ungry besides me?”

“You’re always eating. I don’t think it has anything to do with hunger.”

“’Tain’t much to life if you don’t indulge, mate.” The otter scampered into the palms, returned a few minutes later with several large chunks of real breadfruit. It peeled apart in flat, faintly green sections.

“Now for somethin’ to put on it.” His eyes fastened on the water’s edge. “Ah, the very thing.”