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Harv looked at Myatake. "What do I need to do?" he asked.
"Simply fly to a location and pick up a package, then fly it back to Lake Gatun. After that, you will be freed."
"Sure."
"Well, maybe not, but you need to have hope."
Harv looked down at Vivaldi, who was busy licking his right paw, muttering, "Tastes like chicken. Always like chicken,"
Harv was fairly certain that he had a good chance of dying, even if he and Vera were the stars of this thread. But a plan would come along. It always did, somehow.
"Right. Let's get going, shall we?"
"Just know that I retain the squid, even though it is in my pocket."
Vera looked down. "That is just disturbing."
Trying to look nonchalant as is possible with an unconscious Japanese man over the shoulder of a model-handsome man, a talking dog muttering to himself about chicken, a ravishingly beautiful woman, and a man with a squid in his pants pocket, they made their way down the streets of Old Town. They could have competed in the Olympic Nonchalance Fifty Yard Saunter and placed at least Bronze.
Getting off the train, they walked up the trail to Harv's camp, where the Goose was moored. Dumping Fujimora's limp body in the cargo bay, Harv turned to the cockpit.
"I'm going to need a co-pilot," he said.
"Vivaldi-san can do it," said Myatake, whom Harv was beginning to think may not be an actual flower salesman.
"He's a dog! He doesn't have thumbs! No, it's got to be Vera."
"I know that the dog can co-pilot."
"Yeah? How?"
"I saw the trailer."
"Damn!"
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