Gator A-Go-Go (23 page)

MIAMI

A
nother phone call.

“Hello?” said Juanita.

“Credit card’s been used again.”

“Where?”

“If I may say something, they’ve got agents all over this. Good ones. We could take a big fall, and for what?”

“The address.”

“You hear what I said?”

Juanita went from ice to thermonuclear in a blink. “You never speak disrespectfully to me! I took you in! I stood by you!”

“Didn’t mean it that way.”

“Anyone else would have been killed for letting Randall Sheets slip away!”

“I made it up to you. Even with everyone looking at us, I still went back for those informant files. Jesus, they were your brothers!”

“You’re the one who gave me their names.”

“And I’ve regretted it every day since.”

“Are we not paying you enough?”

“That isn’t what I mean. This is a business, and this makes no business sense.”

“Because of who you are to me, I will make an exception and ask you one more time, but only one more time. What is the address where the credit card was used?”

A pause. “Have something to write with?”

“That’s a good boy.”

FORT LAUDERDALE

The Challenger-led convoy sped south on A1A and turned right onto Harbor Drive.

A well-kept old Florida motel. Two floors, fresh yellow paint, blue trim. Configured at acute, retro angles protecting a courtyard with lush tropical plants and picnic tables.

Serge hopped out. “This is our place! The fabulous Bahia Cabana!”

Serge checked in at the office across the street. They gathered again in the middle of the courtyard. “Here are your room keys . . .”

Serge stopped and stared up the street at a much more expensive resort.

“What is it?” asked Coleman. “The
Girls Gone Haywire
bus.”

“
Girls Gone Haywire
is here?“ said Coleman.”Cool!”

“Not cool,” said Serge. “They exploit children.”

“So why are you smiling?”

“Because I have an idea.” He turned back to the students. “Okay, I’ll need some help with the pickup truck.”

“What kind of help?”

“Our next spring break history stop—this one’s the best! Clear everything out of the back bed.”

“You got it.”

Students emptied trash and tools. Serge retrieved a duffel bag from the Challenger’s trunk and flipped down the pickup’s tailgate. He unzipped the bag and pulled out what looked like a giant plastic tarp covered with cartoon fish and octopuses.

“What’s that?”

“The commemorative revival of where it all started.” Serge laid it in the pickup’s bed, uncapped a clear tube and began blowing.

Nothing happened for the first minute. Students watched curiously. Then the plastic began taking shape, slowly unfolding itself with each breath, until it flopped open in a circle.

Serge continued blowing furiously. The circle began to rise. Serge began to slide down the side of the pickup.

“Serge, you’re hyperventilating! Take a break!”

Serge shook his head and clenched the tube in his side teeth. “Only way to inflate anything is all at once as fast as you can.” Blowing accelerated.

“Serge! Stop!”

“You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Bam.

“Serge fainted!”

Coleman ran over as air wheezed out the inflation tube.

Serge sat up with giddiness. “I see sparkly things.”

“Inflating stuff gets you high?” said Coleman. “I’m there!”

He took over where Serge had left off. Puffy cheeks turned scarlet. He fell on the ground next to Serge. “Sparkly things. Excellent.”

Students peered over the side of the truck. “A kiddie pool?”

Andy hid in one of the motel’s alcoves, dialing a cell phone. He put it to his head.

“Andy, what’s happening?” asked Agent Ramirez.

“I think Serge is inflating a kiddie pool.”

“Serge?”

“The lunatic I told you about.”

“I know all about Serge,” said Ramirez. “You have to get away from him immediately. He’s extremely dangerous.”

“I’m scared.”

“You should be.”

“What happened in Panama City?”

“Best to put it out of your head. The important thing is that you let me take you in. But we need to hurry.”

“Because there’s an informant.”

No answer. “Agent Ramirez?”

“I’m here.”

“Serge said there’s an informant. Is that true?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“Serge said if there’s an informant, then taking me in is the most dangerous time.”

“That’s why I’m personally going to escort you myself. I’ll be the only one you’ll meet.”

“You won’t have a giant SWAT team or something?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but when there’s an informant, you never know,” said Ramirez. “That’s how they’ve been able to track you down the coast. I’m not sure who I can trust anymore.”

“Oh my God.”

“Andy, you have to keep it together just a little longer.” Ramirez looked out his car window at surf and palms. “I’m almost to Fort Lauderdale. Tell me where you are and I can pick you up in no time.”

Andy took a deep breath. “Okay, I can handle it.”

“Where are you?” asked Ramirez.

“Andy!” yelled Serge. “Where are you?”

“Shit!”

“Don’t hang up!”

Click.

Andy pocketed the phone as Serge came around the corner.

“There you are! What are you doing lurking back here?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on! You’re missing all the fun!” Serge looked left and right. “Just need to find a hose . . .”

Andy pointed behind the building.

“Glad to have you on the team.” Serge unscrewed the fitting and carried green rubber loops over his shoulder.

The rest of the students were waiting. Serge attached the hose to another nearby faucet and unrolled it back to the truck.

“You’re probably wondering, ‘What the heck is crazy ol’ Serge up to now?’ We’re at the finish line! All the way back to the beginning of our history quest! Or at least we will be when we get to the next stop.” He pointed the hose, and water splashed down into the bed of the pickup. “Spring break is one of the very few social phenomena where you can actually pinpoint the exact geographical location of its origin, latitude 26-06-59 north, longitude 80-06-19 west, the tiny bowl of primordial soup from which it bubbled to life. Now symbolized by our kiddie pool . . .”

Water reached the top of the first inflatable ring, then the second.

“. . . It all started just blocks north of here on the side of A1A when, in 1928, the city constructed the first Olympic-size pool in the state of Florida. It would have stopped there, except for the father of a student attending Colgate University in Hamilton, New York. Back then, they didn’t have many indoor facilities, and swim teams couldn’t practice in cold months.“ Water cascaded out the back of the pickup.”That dad was living in Fort Lauderdale and contacted legendary coach Sam Ingram, saying the team could gain an edge if they came down and worked out in Florida—”

“Serge, the pool’s overflowing.”

“And we’re in a drought. Another sign of what’s gone horribly wrong with society . . .” He ran and turned off the faucet, then quickly returned and pulled a Magic Marker from his pocket.

“Where was I?”

“Colgate.”

“Right. In 1935, the swim team came to practice in the Casino Pool, filled with comfortably warm saltwater from the Atlantic.” Serge reached into the bed of the truck and wrote something on the plastic. “Besides splashing around, they also enjoyed pristine beaches and an incredible climate that stood in stark contrast to what they’d just left. The very first spring breakers! When they returned to school, word spread. The following year: Why hunker down in snow when paradise awaits? More and more teams descended, and the informal practices turned into the massive annual College Swim Coaches Association forum. Non-athletes started joining the party, their numbers swelling steadily over the next twenty-five years until
Where the Boys Are
blew the roof off.“ Serge pulled a plastic specimen jar from his pocket and set it next to the pool.”Let’s rock!”

A Crown Vic with blackwall tires drove past the end of the street. Agent Ramirez opened his phone.

FORT LAUDERDALE

S
erge’s convoy peeled out on A1A. “Remember to take plenty of pictures . . .”

A Delta 88 passed them northbound. Guillermo pulled up to an independent convenience store and went inside. He casually collected sodas and granola bars.

The man behind the register was bald with gray on the sides.

Guillermo set his purchases on the counter. “You the owner?”

The man nodded and began ringing up.

“Noticed your security cameras . . .”—pointing fingers in different directions—“. . . That’s the business I’m in. Make you a great deal on a new system.”

The owner scanned the bar code on a Sprite. “We like the one we got.”

“I know those models,” said Guillermo. “They never last. And when they go, you won’t find another offer like mine.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. That’ll be nine sixty-two.”

“Understand.” Guillermo pulled a ten-spot from his wallet. “But mind if I take a look at the monitors and recorder in the office anyway and see if I can work up a price? What do you have to lose?”

“I don’t think so.”

The ’73 Challenger turned off A1A and parked under a sign.

F
ORT
L
AUDERDALE
A
QUATIC
C
OMPLEX
.

Serge led the gang through yet another gate.

“Damn!” said Joey. “Look at the size of this place!”

Competitors triple-twisted off high dives and breast-stroked down lap lanes.

“Is that the Casino Pool?”

“No,” said Serge. “Fuckers demolished it in the mid-sixties.” He dipped a hand in the new pool and rubbed it on his neck. “This is its spiritual replacement, so we’ll have to make do. The cool part is that it’s open to the public for swimming.”

“We’re going to swim here?”

“Got something far better in mind. Follow me.”

They walked out the rear of the patio, across a lawn and past a giant abstract sculpture of someone doing the Australian crawl. Ahead: a nondescript building stashed in the rear of the property. Serge stopped at the entrance. “Andy, come here . . .”

Behind: A white Crown Vic with blackwall tires raced by the swim complex on A1A, Agent Ramirez frantically dialing and redialing his cell phone. “Come on! Why won’t he answer?”

“Check it out, Andy.” Serge looked down at the sidewalk and old inlaid blue-and-white ceramic tiles: I
NTERNATIONAL
S
WIMMING
H
ALL
OF
F
AME
. “I’m getting tingles.”

Andy stood next to Serge, staring down with a pained expression of desperation as his pocket silently vibrated.

“You need to loosen up.” Serge slapped him hard on the back. “I know you’re thinking something utterly horrible might happen any second, but I have the same feeling all the time and it doesn’t stop me from being a happy chipmunk. Let’s go inside!”

Serge signed the guest book with bold calligraphy. They had the place to themselves as he gave the group his whirlwind A-tour. “. . . Here are Buster Crabbe’s medals and trophies . . . life-size mannequin with a creepy wig of Duke Kahanamoku, father of modern surfing . . . Mark Spitz . . . Rowdy Gaines . . . 1935 seashell plaque honoring Katherine Rawls, the greatest swimming sensation of her day, who trained here . . .” Students rushed to keep up with Serge’s unbroken stride. “. . . Esther Williams’s movie poster . . . 1958 photo of the Casino Pool with Mediterranean bathhouse . . . and finally the piece de resistance—check out this glass case. Those are Johnny Weissmuller’s five gold medals from the 1924 and ’28 Olympics in Paris and Amsterdam. Imagine that! Tarzan’s coolest shit! And nobody knows it’s just sitting here in this fabulous empty museum, which should be mobbed but isn’t because they don’t have any rides. Let’s get the hell out of here!”

“But, Serge”—Joey held up his watch—“We’ve been here less than two minutes. And we only stopped running when we got to the gold-medal case.”

“That’s right. I like to turn it into a ride.” Serge ran out the door.

Despite their age advantage, the kids had to hustle. They jumped back in vehicles as Serge left the parking lot. He raced fifty feet and parked in another.

The kids pulled into adjacent slots. “We drove ten seconds just to park across the street?”

“It isn’t about parking. It’s about hallowed earth.” Serge dropped to his knees and placed a palm on the hot tar. “This is the exact birthplace of spring break, where they paved over that first pool. A moment of silence. That’s too long.” He flipped down the pickup’s tailgate and hopped into the kiddie pool, reclining with arms hooked over the inflated edge. “Who wants to join me?”

Students stared at Magic Marker on the side: T
HE
C
ASINO
.

“Andy?” said Serge.

He jumped and swung the phone behind his back. “What?”

“Get in here! The water’s great!”

“I don’t really feel like—”

“Andy!”

“Okay.” He hid his phone on top of the pickup’s front left tire and climbed over the side of the pool in shorts.

Serge pumped his eyebrows. “How do you feel?”

“Stupid.”

“All the best things in life feel stupid at first. I think Dahmer said that.”

A police officer approached the pickup on foot. “Excuse me?” Serge turned. “How may I help you, officer?”

“I’m not saying what you’re doing is wrong. But what
are
you doing?”

“Resurrecting our state’s lost heritage!”

“Why do you have a kiddie pool in the back of a pickup?”

“Because if I set it up on the ground, that would be unusual.”

“Are you okay?”

“Excellent! You’re standing on sacred ground,” said Serge. “This was the original site of the Casino Pool, birthplace of spring break. So existentially any pool set up on this spot becomes the Casino, like this one. Under new management. Tarzan, Amsterdam, Colgate. I drank a lot of coffee today.”

The officer had seen everything but this extended the list. “Well, you’re not disturbing anyone and . . .”—he craned his neck to survey the pickup’s bed—“. . . I don’t see any beer cans or drugs, which is a welcome change, so I guess there’s nothing else here for— . . . Are you trying to signal me?”

“Me?” asked Serge.

“No.” The officer pointed. “Him.”

“I was just scratching,” said Andy.

“The heartbreak of psoriasis,” said Serge.

The officer tipped his cap. “Have a nice day.”

A few blocks north, other students with beer on their minds ran across A1A toward a convenience store.

The first jerked the door handle.

Bolted.

“That’s weird.”

They cupped hands around their eyes and pressed them to the glass. “I don’t see anybody.”

“The lights are on.”

“Damn.”

In the back room, Guillermo sat at a surveillance monitor and rewound a tape. It was a split screen: the view from behind the register, and another outside toward the gas pumps, in case of drive-offs. On the desk in front of Guillermo lay a sheet of paper with the location and time of a cell phone purchased with a credit card.

Guillermo stopped the tape and pressed play. Customers buying cigarettes and scratch-off tickets. The digital time record in the top corner was two hours early. He hit fast-forward. People comically scurried around with coffee, hot dogs and Alka Seltzer. The white numbers at the top of the screen flipped rapidly until they approached the time on Guillermo’s printed record. He hit play again.

A young man bought a cell phone with a credit card.

Guillermo froze the image. “So that’s what Andy McKenna looks like now.”

He unfroze the video and watched the other side of the screen. The youth climbed into a pickup with a Florida Gators bumper sticker.

Guillermo ejected the tape and took a wide step around a slick of blood spreading from the store’s owner.

Serge slapped the water’s surface in the kiddie pool. “Who’s the next lucky winner?”

Cody climbed up.

“Are you digging it? I’m digging it!” Serge reached over the side of the pool for his plastic specimen jar and dipped it in the water. “I’m saving this sample forever! . . . Who’s next?”

Students continued swapping places. Andy walked around the front of the pickup and grabbed his phone off the tire. He pressed buttons.

“Agent Ramirez?”

“Andy, where are you? I’ve been driving up and down A1A!”

“No. It isn’t safe.”

“You’re less safe where you are.”

“You don’t understand Serge. There’s no telling what he’s capable of if you show up.”

“Think he might be with Guillermo?”

“At first I wondered, but now I’m sure he’s not. He thinks he’s protecting me. Which I’m beginning to believe is even more dangerous.”

“Why do you say that?”

Serge stood behind the pickup with a map of Florida rolled into a cone like an old-style megaphone. “Swim! Swim! Swim! . . .”

Two students in the water. “Serge, our bodies are longer than the pool.”

“Swim! Damn it! . . .”

“I hear yelling,” said Ramirez. “Is everything okay?”

“No. Listen, you coming to me is out.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Think I can slip away later. Then we’ll meet. It’ll eliminate any unpredictable confrontation with Serge.”

“Just tell me when and where.”

“I saw this place yesterday . . .”

Serge raised the paper megaphone. “That’s it! Keep swimming! Tonight we’ll shave all your hair and come back to break every Casino record!” He refolded the map and walked around the front of the pickup.

“Andy, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“I . . . What? . . . This?”

“Where’d you get the cell phone?”

“At a convenience store.”

“You were trying to make
a call,
weren’t you?”

“Me? No. I swear.”

“Gimme that thing.” Serge snatched it away. “Now get back in the pool.”

“I don’t think it’s a good time.”

“Why not?”

Andy stretched out an arm. “Look.”

Students chanted: “Cole-
man
! . . . Cole-
man
! . . . Cole-
man
! . . .” Coleman stood on top of the pickup’s cab. “Woooooooo!” He licked a finger and stuck it in the air. “. . . Cole
-man!
. . . Cole
-man!
. . .”

“Coleman!” yelled Serge. “No!” Too late.

Serge and Andy defensively raised arms as they were soaked by the belly-flop splash. They ran around the back of the truck. Coleman lay facedown on a plastic mat.

Serge stood in horror. “You popped the Casino pool!”