Name's Madison, Blake Madison. 3rd hole down on the right if you are voting for me.

I was visiting a retired detective friend of mine on his houseboat, the Busted Flush, when he got a call.

"Hi, Bob, what's up?"

I was looking out at the Florida evening, wondering why I wasn't in California where I belonged. There is something about having the ocean on your right heading north that worries me. I could hear the sounds of incredulity in his voice.

"They did what? You must be kidding. Hey, hang on a minute -- Hey, Blake, did you know there was an election on?"

We had been drinking and partying and playing cards and making trips out to the Keys for a few days, so anything was possible.

"Yeah," I replied, "I think for the Big Enchilada."

He went back to the phone. I wandered down the deck. There was an abandoned brassiere. It must have belonged to Dimples. The other one, whatever her name was, the African babe from Chad, she didn't have dimples that big.

He came on deck.

"Blake, they want to hire you. "

"Who's 'they' when they are at home?"

"Turns out that there has been an election. The problem is that no one knows who won. Guess who gets to decide? The great state of Florida. Turns out that they want an honest count of the ballot."

Well, we laughed about that one for a couple of minutes.

"No, seriously, Blake. For the first time in Florida history they propose to do something honestly. Well, every criminal in town is in heaven. Imagine the opportunities for scamming this one!!" I pointed out that he was using Florida and honesty in the same sentence, and we laughed about that one for another minute. Then we had a beer, and calmed down a bit.

He started again. "Ever heard of "The Mudcat"?

"Nope."

"No reason you would have. He's the guy that runs most of Florida. Has his finger in every pie. Buys Republicans and Democrats for breakfast. Owns most of the judges. Looks like the election is going down to a judicial recount. And guess who has all the I.O.U.'s?"

"This Mudcat guy."

"Yeah, but funny thing. He's disappeared. And so they are all panicking. He's the guy who runs things, keeps them smooth, you know. How can you run an honest scam if the fixer is missing?"

"Can I ask the question again. Who's "they"?"

"Can't tell you that. But does the name Sherry Aims mean anything to you?"

For a moment I almost keeled over. I grabbed onto the deckrail. I nodded. He lookat at me quizzically, and went on.

"She's an F.B.I. agent, been working undercover for a couple of years in one of The Mudcat's Florida drug fund slush enterprises -- something called Hand Count Machines Inc. , a subsidiary of Butterfly Ballots International. She too has disappeared. They want you to find them fast. Like in two days."

"What's in it for me?"

"How would you like a lifetime's free pass on Air Force One?"

I didn't really. But I guessed there might be a few other perks. I shrugged my shoulders.

"O.K. "I said, "Where do I go?"

He smiled. "Great. They were last seen in West Palm Beach. I've got the address scribbled down. Welcome to Florida."

We had a drink. He saw me off at dockside. Just before I got into my rental car, I decided to pick up a newspaper for the hell of it. And there it was, all over the paper. And I couldn't have cared less. Anything that brought James Baker or Warren Christopher back into my life was nauseating anyway. I didn't care. I was looking for something else. The thing I was always looking for. I was looking for her.