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Kyna opened the door and jumped out. "Stay here. Moose are very shy." |
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"Oh? And when did you become an expert on moose?" |
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She snapped a telephoto lens onto the front of her Minolta. |
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"I'm not," she replied with great dignity. "But if I were a moose, and I wanted to take a bath, I'm sure I'd want my privacy." |
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"Does the word 'paparazzi' mean anything to you?" |
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Kyna stalked off through the grass, working the focusing ring on the lens. Ignoring her instructions, Cyrus got out and leaned across the hood of the car. He shook his head and laughed as he listened to Kyna crashing through the brush; she had as much chance of seeing a moose as he had of being elected president of the National Organization of Women. Just as he lost sight of her, he heard voices behind him and looked over his shoulder. |
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Two strangers were coming across the golf course toward him. Their faces were partially concealed behind long scraggly beards and their clothes were covered with road dust. They walked close together with stiff, nervous strides. Unaccountably, watching the men approach made the hairs on the back of Cyrus's neck stand to attention. He put a smile on his face and went to meet them before they crossed the road. |
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"Hey, man," one of the strangers called out. "You American?" |
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Cyrus kept the smile in place, but held his breath to keep from being overwhelmed by the cloud of cannabis smoke that surrounded the men. |
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The men exchanged glances. The taller manthe spokesmanhad nice features but cold eyes, and he couldn't seem to stand still. Cyrus noted that he kept one hand deep in the pocket of his filthy hiking shorts. |
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"We were wondering if, you know, you had any spare change?" |
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After giving it some thought, Cyrus decided it had to be tough being flat broke in somebody else's country. He fished |
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