Chapter 9
Duane stood at the threshold of the palapa and blinked against the sudden shade. Coming out of the bright sunlight while running on negative sleep wasn’t helping s**t. Visibility wasn’t helped by the Panamanian noonday sun glaring harshly off the water that lay in every direction. The palapa stood on the end of a dock reaching well out into Portobelo’s harbor. The small town and the ruins of its ancient forts were lost in the shimmering haze.
“Goddamn it.”
“Chill, bro,” Chad thumped him cheerfully enough on the back to drive him forward out of the tropical blaze and into the shadowed interior. He slammed into an unoccupied table that his eyes hadn’t adjusted enough to see. It was only by chance he hadn’t slammed into one of the stout wooden poles that held up a heavily-thatche
