Ling asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”“Sally and her boyfriend, Steve, are on that side of the table. Sanders is sitting next to me,�...� Betsy said. “Everyone, this is my mother, Ling.”“Sanders? You look familiar.”“We’ve met before, Ma’am.”“Now I remember. You’re the surfer.”“Yes, Ma’am.”“What are you doing here in Hawaii?”“I work for the state, analyzing commercial fishing data,” Sanders answered.“So you count fish?” Ling asked.“Mother!”“You might say that, Ma’am.”Sally leaned over to. He had short gray hair above a deeply creased face. He wore a stained, wife-beater undershirt and had in a holster on the front of his belt a very large, very shiny revolver. The wooden grip looked worn, as though the man had the habit of rubbing it with his hand. He was looking at me with curious and habitually suspicious eyes.I shuffled up to the counter and gave him the once-over. "You the owner?" I asked.He nodded. "Name's Winslow," he said. "What can I do for you?" Good evening, Mr.. More

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