Captain Jack Sparrow was having a very, very good time. He had quickly gotten the hang of how to work this vehicle, which seemed to be one of the better models available, and was familiarizing himself with the layout of Miami in the year 2003.

The town had grown. The last time he had been to Miami, at the tender age of fifteen, it had been a trading settlement in the middle of a swamp. Coffee and bags of coca leaves had changed hands, and the only tavern in town was closed because the bartender was out looking for the Fountain of Youth. Now, the city was even rowdier than Tortuga, alive with lovely young wenches wearing nearly nothing strolling up and down the avenues, pale families in loud shirts and loud people in baggy clothes, shops selling things that had most definitely not been around in Jack's time, and, best of all…

Hold that thought.

There was something flashing behind him. Jack turned around to see, then remembered the little mirror that hung on the front of the car that let him see what was behind him without turning around. Ingenious, that. He'd have to get one installed on his hat.

It was a car, if that was the word. It was blue. There were lights flashing on top of it. There was a man sticking his head out of the window and yelling at him to stop.

Jack's brow furrowed. Why were they telling him to stop? He couldn't think of any reason. Ah…there was some kind of crest painted on the car. Local law enforcement? Well, he wasn't sticking around to find out.

Jack stomped on the little pedal that made the car go. He grinned, anticipating the sudden rush of speed and air that would come with the acceleration. Freedom! It was even easier to get nowadays.

Unfortunately, he crashed right into a parked VW.

Officer Raymond Stevens was not in the mood for nonsense. He had already had a lousy day, having to deal with an escaped python and a hundred-pound bale of marijuana that had mysteriously crashed through someone's ceiling. All he wanted to do was go back to the precinct house and have a cup of coffee.

And now he had to deal with this jackass.

He approached the Ferrari. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you for your license and registration." Behind him, his partner for the day was fumbling with her sunglasses.

The guy in the car looked like a scuzzbag, but an interesting scuzzbag. Probably an Ecstasy dealer, judging from the mascara he'd smeared on his face. Not that it was his duty or inclination to bust dealers; this was going to be a simple ticket and nothing more, if he had anything to say about it.

Alicia Silverman, his partner, tapped him on the shoulder. "Ray, what can I do to help here?"

"Just stay back. It's just a ticket and an AAA call. I'll handle it." Ray leaned over the side of the Ferrari. "Sir, can I see your license and registration please."

"What—what did you just call me?" drawled the scuzzbag.

"Sir can I see your license and registration please," Ray repeated firmly. "Come on, buddy, you know the drill. License and registration."

Scuzzbag grinned at him. Ray winced. He had really, really horrible teeth. "Don't have it on me, sorry, seem to have misplaced it…"

Suddenly, Alicia was hanging over the side of the car. "Hey there."

"What's a lovely lass like you doing in such a dull line of work as law enforcement, then?" Scuzzbag asked her. Ray mentally slapped his forehead. This was no time for Alicia to be flirting.

Alicia tossed back her blonde hair. "Well, you know, it's just what I do." She giggled a little. "You know, you look a lot like Johnny Depp?"

"Thass a good thing, then?"

Alicia winked. "Sure is. In fact, you look so much like him, I'd better have a look at your license just to make sure you're not really him."

"Ah, there's the thing. I never really, you know, got around to getting one…Sorry to be wasting your time, milady."

Alicia's eyes narrowed into slits. "Either you show me some kind of personal identification or you're going to jail, sir."

Scuzzbag sighed and rolled up his sleeve. "Is that good enough for you?"

"It's a tattoo," Ray said. "Plenty of people have those. So unless you actually have your driver's license tattooed on your arm, which most tattoo parlors won't do—"

Scuzzbag frowned. "That doesn't mean anything to you?"

"Sorry, no."

"Not a thing."

Scuzzbag leaned back in the driver's seat. "Means I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, mate."

Sarafeena found a station that was playing Pink Floyd and resigned herself to a long search. As Pink Floyd turned to the Eagles, and the Eagles to Black Sabbath, there was no sign of the commotion that would surely accompany a rambunctious, alcoholic pirate.

She stopped at a Baja Fresh to get a burrito and review her options. One: She could drive around more looking for Jack. In a city as big as Miami, that could take several days, which she didn't have. Two: She ask people she knew. No. Stupid. Three: She could inquire at police stations and ask for an APB. Again, not a good idea for a cocaine dealer to be bugging the police. Four: She could ask Daniel.

Sarafeena and Daniel had been dating exclusively all through high school. Their relationship had dissolved into nothingness when Sarafeena took Daniel to a David Bowie concert for a graduation gift and Daniel had been invited backstage without her. Which wouldn't have been too bad in itself, but Daniel had reappeared with smudged rouge all over his torso, white stuff on his jeans, and a glazed smile on his face. It had taken a relatively small effort to put six and nine together.

Not that she was totally averse to the idea, nor did she not see the reasoning behind it. Daniel was pretty in a girly sort of way, with long flowing brown hair, big eyes, and a peaches-and-cream complexion. In fact, he was cuter than her. She had been more pissed that Daniel, when questioned, had insisted that all they had done was talk about space and eat ice cream.

But that was twenty years ago, and they were both older and more mature. They had collaborated on a lot of projects, and Daniel would bring up the concept of getting back together from time to time.

Crap. Daniel it was, then.