ll walk natural,
can't you? Everyone says you can."

"Well, they've got a point," said Pembroke. "Incidentally, just where
are we, anyway? What city is this?"

"Puerto Pacifico," she told him. "Isn't that a lovely name? It means
peaceful port. In Spanish."

That was fine. At least he now knew where he was. But as he left the
shop he began checking off every west coast state, city, town, and
inlet. None, to the best of his knowledge, was called Puerto Pacifico.

He headed for the nearest service station and asked for a map. The
attendant gave him one which showed the city, but nothing beyond.

"Which way is it to San Francisco?" asked Pembroke.

"That all depends on where you are," the boy returned.

"Okay, then where am I?"

"Pardon me, there's a customer," the boy said. "This is Puerto
Pacifico."

Pembroke watched him hurry off to service a car with a sense of having
been given the runaround. To his surprise, the boy came back a few
minutes later after servicing the automobile.

"Say, I've just figured out who you are," the youngster told him. "I'd
sure appreciate it if you'd give me a little help on my lingo. Also, you
gas up the car first, then try to sell 'em the oil--right?"

"Right," said Pembroke wearily. "What's wrong with your lingo? Other
than the fact that it's not colloquial enough."

"Not enough slang, huh? Well, I guess I'll have to concentrate on that.
How about the smile?"

"Perfect," Pembroke told him.

"Yeah?" said the boy delightedly. "Say, come back again, huh? I sure
appreciate the help. Keep the map."

"Thanks. One more thing," Pembroke said. "What's over that way--outside
the city?"

"Sand."

"How about that way?" he asked, pointing north. "And that way?" pointing
south.

"More of the same."

"Any railroads?"

"That we ain't got."

"Buses? Airlines?"

The kid shook his head.

"Some city."

"Yeah, it's kinda isolated. A lot of ships dock here, though."

"All cargo ships, I'll bet. No passengers," said Pembroke.

"Right," said the attendant, giving with his perfect smile.

"No getting out of here, is there?"

"That's for sure," the boy said, walking away to wait on another
customer. "If you don't like the place, you've had it."

* * * * *

Pembroke returned to the hotel. Going to the bar, he recognized one of
the _Elena Mia's_ paying passengers. He was a short, rectangular little
man in his fifties named Spencer. He sat in a bo