Gator A-Go-Go (24 page)

BAHIA CABANA

S
erge burst in the door.

“There you are,” said City.

“When are we going to do something?” asked Country.

“Not now.”

“But we’ve been cooped up in here all day.”

“I offered to take you with us,” said Serge.

“On one of your lame tours? No, thanks!”

“I want to go to dinner,” said Country. “You promised.”

“Someplace nice this time,” said City.

Serge opened his cell phone. “But you already have plans for tonight.”

“That’s
tonight?
”

“We went over it several times. You agreed in exchange for the dinner I promised . . .” Serge walked to the far side of the room and dialed a number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Guillermo. It’s me, Serge.”

“How’d you get this number?”

“Pedro. He’s a real talker. Just yap, yap, yap.”

“Got your greeting card.”

“Like it? Always try to be thoughtful, but you can’t be sure what to get some people.”

“You’re a dead man.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“What do you want?”

“Remember De Niro and Pacino in
Heat?
”

“I saw it.”

“Didn’t you love that movie? I sure did! One of my favorites, especially the codes they lived by—”

“Is this going anywhere?”

“That scene when they took a time-out and met in that coffee shop.”

“You want to meet?”

“This is getting out of hand. We should negotiate a truce.”

“Sure, we can negotiate a truce. When would you like to chat?”

“I knew you were a reasonable person. How about this evening?”

“That works.”

“Great,” said Serge. “Here’s the hotel and room number . . .”

A ’68 Dodge Monaco raced south on A1A and screeched into the parking lot of a convenience store.

The address matched Agent Mahoney’s credit card trace.

He ran to the front door.

Bolted.

“Don’t tell me . . .”

Without hesitation, he grabbed a metal trash can, smashed out the door’s bottom glass and crawled through.

First check: behind the counter. Nothing.

Then the back room.

Mahoney’s feet went out from under him as he crashed in a pool of blood.

He made a quick 911 call and dashed over to the surveillance recorder. A finger pressed eject.

Empty.

A camera crew in matching red shirts and low spirits sulked back to their custom motor coach.

Rood leaned against the side of the bus and kicked sand off a shoe. “This sucks.”

“All afternoon and no decent women who’d let us film,” said his assistant. “Unless you want to count those four old ladies.”

“The G-Unit, for God’s sake.” Rood kicked his other shoe against a tire. “Have I been reduced to this?”

“We should go back to Panama City. Those bitches can’t still be there.”

“I think you’re right.” He turned to the rest of the crew, unstrapping gear and collapsing tripods. “Everyone, back on the bus.”

“Hold it,” said the assistant. “What’s this?”

“What?”

“Three o’clock. Can’t miss ’em.”

Rood turned. “Holy mother.”

Coming toward them: a pair of women hotter than anything they’d netted the whole trip.

“Excuse me,” said the blonde. “Aren’t you Rood Lear?”

Rood glanced at his assistant. “Patience.” He sucked in his gut. “Why, yes I am. What can I do for such exquisite creatures?”

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” said the other. “You’re famous!”

“Like a star!” said the blonde.

Rood licked his lips. “Would you like to be in one of my films?”

“Would we! . . .”

“You really mean it? . . .”

“That would be a dream come true . . .”

“Better not be playing with us . . .”

Rood smiled at his assistant. “This can’t get any better.” He held out a hand to shake. “What are your names?”

“City and Country.”

Another sideways grin from Rood. “It just got better.”

The assistant: “Why don’t we all head up to our suite?”

“Can’t right now,” said City. “Have to be somewhere.”

“But this evening?” said Country. “Will that mess it up?”

“We’re booked pretty solid,” lied Rood. “But I think we can fit you in.”

The women huddled and whispered. They smiled and giggled in Rood’s direction, then whispered some more.

“What are you ladies talking about?” asked Rood.

“Uh . . . could we . . .”—Country lowered her head and feigned bashfulness—“. . . talk to you in private?”

Rood smirked at his assistant. “Be right back.”

“Go get ’em, tiger.”

He walked a few steps. “What is it?”

“We’d kind of like to ask a favor,” said City.

Uh-oh, thought Rood. Here it comes. Money. “What kind of favor?”

“You’re cute,” said Country. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Me?”

She blushed and looked down again. “I’ve never . . .
been
with a celebrity before.”

Rood almost choked. “That’s the favor? You want to spend some time?”

The women smiled at each other.

This time Rood did choke.

“Need a glass of water?”

Rood shook his head. “You mean
both
of you?”

They nodded eagerly.

He gulped and blinked hard. “Think I can clear the suite for a bit.”

“No.” Country pointed toward one of the resort’s upper floors. “Our room.”

“Why?”

“That’s where we have all our . . .
toys.
”

Rood became woozy. “What time are you free?”

“Say nine?”

“Nine’s my favorite number.”

The women waved as they sauntered away. “Don’t be late.”

Rood walked back to the bus and braced himself with an arm against the door.

“Jesus,” said the assistant. “You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”

“They want a threesome.”

“Them? Holy shit.”

“And just when I started to think life wasn’t fair.”

THAT EVENING

Two men sat in an idling Delta 88 with the lights off. Into their second hour with little conversation. Watching the high-rise hotel a block away.

“Don’t like the looks of this,” said Miguel. “I think it’s a trap.”

“I
know
it’s a trap,” said Guillermo.

“Then what are we doing here?”

“Every trap is an opportunity to set your own trap.”

“So that’s why you’re wearing a room service uniform?”

“Nothing gets by you.”

“Who is this Serge guy anyway?”

“A nuisance we can no longer afford.” He looked at the car’s analog clock and grabbed his door handle. “It’s time.”

“He said an hour from now.”

“That’s why it’s time.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll be fine. Just make sure not to fuck up your end.” He patted his jacket pocket. “Call me on the cell if it looks like I’m made on the way—or if anything else is out of place once I’m inside.” He hopped out.

Miguel watched as Guillermo waited for traffic to clear before jogging across A1A, still moist and shining in the moonlight from an earlier rain. Miguel picked up binoculars, tracking his colleague. Guillermo avoided the main lobby entrance and circled to the pool deck. Binoculars slowly panned the main entrance. Tourists unsteadily getting out of a cab and laughing. Idiots. The magnified field of vision drifted southward over the parking lot. A family at an open trunk struggled with a stubborn baby stroller that wouldn’t close. Miguel smiled. Farther, a bum on a park bench. Worth watching. Common stakeout disguise. A romantic couple strolled past the bench and suddenly high-stepped as the bum vomited explosively toward their feet. Well, there’s undercover and then there’s what can’t be faked. The binoculars moved on, reaching the street straight out the windshield in front of him. Coast clear. Time to pan back the other way.

Suddenly, his entire view was filled with a crazy, smiling face. “
Ahhhhh!
” Miguel jumped back in his seat and dropped the binoculars.

Serge waved manically, wearing his most tattered comfy T-shirt and sweat pants. He walked around and tapped the side glass.

Miguel hit an electric level, lowered the window a slit. “Get lost!”

“I’m not asking for money or to clean your windshield with spit.”

“I said, get lost!”

“Just need a light. Mine got all wet when I was caught in the rain.”

“Are you deaf?”

“It’s only a stupid light.”

The window rolled up.

Serge knocked on the glass. Miguel stared straight ahead. Serge knocked and knocked. His voice was muted through the closed window: “Be a neighbor.”

“Goddamn it!” Miguel lowered it a slit again. “I’m warning you!”

“We’re wasting time arguing, when I could already be long gone. Just a light. Come on.”

“Fuck it.” Miguel reached in a hip pocket for his Zippo, opened the window the rest of the way and held it outside. “Where’s your cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Then why’d you ask for a light?”

“To keep your hands busy and away from the gun. You’re the lookout.”

“Shit!” Miguel went for the piece in his jacket but stopped when he felt a cold barrel on his cheek.

NINE O’CLOCK

R
ood had been waiting by the bus since eight, wearing his sexiest, tightest slacks and a silk shirt. He checked his watch again.

9:01.

Two women trotted across the street.

“There you are,” said Rood.

“Worried we were going to be late?”

“Not for a second.”

He took one on each arm. “Shall we?”

The trio strolled up the drive and through the resort’s automatic lobby doors.

“My gosh,” said Country. “Can’t believe we forgot.”

“Forgot what?” asked City.

“You know. The
drugstore.
”

“What’s at the drugstore?” asked Rood.

The women tittered. “It’s a surprise.”

“Something we can’t do without.” City opened her purse. “Here’s our room key and number. Why don’t you go up and make yourself at home? This’ll just take a few minutes.”

“You both have to go?”

Giggles again.

“I get it,” said Rood. “A chick deal, like restrooms.”

They took a couple steps back toward the entrance. Country stopped and turned around. “Oh, one more thing. If anyone asks, your name is Serge.”

“Serge?”

“That’s my uncle.”

“Why do I have to say I’m your uncle? For that matter, who’s going to ask? Is someone else staying with you?”

“No,” said City. “And it’ll probably never come up.”

“That’s right,” said Country. “Shouldn’t have mentioned anything. Forget about it.”

“Wait a minute,” said Rood. “I don’t want to get in the middle of a situation. Is this like a jealous boyfriend or something?”

“Or something.”

Rood fished the magnetic room key from his pocket. “Maybe I ought to take a rain check.”

Country went over and wrapped sultry arms around Rood’s neck. “Look, it is my boyfriend. And he is jealous. Very jealous. But he’s also totally harmless. I’m not worried about him doing something crazy; I’m worried about him breaking up with me.”

“Guy’s a pussycat,” City said from behind. “Once he thought
my
boyfriend was flirting with Country, and it took us twenty minutes to stop his crying.”

“He’s got a good heart,” said Country, tightening her arms around Rood’s neck. “But sometimes I need a real man.”

“I help where I can,” said Rood. “My name’s Sal.”

“Serge.”

“Right, Serge. How long you going to be?”

Automatic doors slid open. “Back before you know it.”

A rabbit argued with a Martian.

Coleman giggled on the couch and popped a beer. “Serge, come quick! This is the one where Bugs goes to the moon and saves our planet. It’s so realistic.”

“I’m busy.” He grabbed his cell and started to dial. He stopped and looked at it. “Battery’s dead! Of all times—not now!” He ripped apart his suitcase. “Where’s that damn charger? . . .”

“What about the room phone?”

“Might be traced . . .” He snatched car keys from the dresser.

“Where are you going?” asked Coleman.

“
. . . You have stolen the D-12 modulator . . .
”

“Find a pay phone.” He ran for the door, unbolting locks. “But where are pay phones these days with all the cells? Now I’ll be late and screw up the Master Plan. I’m so stupid!”

“Why don’t you just use Andy’s phone?”

Serge slowly walked back. “Just about to think of that.” He reached the dresser and picked up the disposable phone he’d confiscated at the Casino kiddie pool.

“
. . . Earth to Bugs, come in . . .
”

Serge dialed. “Hello, is this the anonymous Crime-Stopper Tip Reward Hotline? . . . Oh, I’ve got a tip all right! Real doozy! Someone you been looking all over for, possibly committing a crime as we speak. Here’s the address . . .”

Bugs clung to the tip of a crescent moon.

“. . . Thanks,” said Serge. “And may I say your phone manners have been impeccable, not like those 911 operators who never take me seriously when they’re tearing down a landmark. If that isn’t an emergency, what is?”

“
. . . Get me out of here!!!!!. . .
”

Serge plopped on the sofa next to Coleman. “What did I miss?”

“The whole thing.”

“Dang, and it was one of my favorites.”

“Another’s coming on.”

“Righteous! I love this one!”

Coleman grabbed another beer. “What about that lookout guy you got in your trunk?”

“He’ll keep,” said Serge. “Pump up the volume.”

Rood pressed an elevator button. His mind fluttered through porno reels of his deepest fantasies.

The appointed floor was empty except for room service trays. Rood whistled down the hall. He stopped in front of a door and checked the number against the magnetic key’s sleeve.

Rood went inside the dark unit and closed the door behind him. He felt along the wall for a light switch. Before he could find one, a lamp came on across the room.

“Who are you?” asked Rood.

Guillermo sat in a cushy chair, gun resting on the arm. “You know who I am.”

“Let me explain.”

“Please do.”

“I’m Serge.”

“I know.”

Back at Bahia Cabana.

Serge and Coleman cackled through another Looney Tunes.

The door opened.

City grabbed a wine cooler and plopped into a chair. “Better have reservations at the Four Seasons for what we went through.”

“Serge, are you listening?” said Country.

No answer.

She stepped in front of the television. “I’m talking to you!”

Serge tilted to the side. “Could you please move? You’re blocking—”

“After all we just did!” said Country. “And you’re watching fuckin’ cartoons?”

“But it’s a classic,” said Serge. “The one where the guy doing demolition finds a singing frog in the cornerstone.
Everybody’s doin the Michigan rag!
. . .”

“Un-freakin’-believable. Not even a thank-you.”

Serge looked up. “When you’re right, you’re right.” He stood. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” asked Country.

“To show my gratitude.”

He led her into the bedroom and closed the door.

Another typical round of female shrieking. “
. . . Oh, yes! . . . Harder!. . . Faster!. . . Didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve gotten even better!. .. Dear God!.. . Is it because of what you’ve got around the base of your cock? . . .
”

Serge thrust again. “That would be my guess.”

“
. . . Ohhhh! . . . Ohhhh! . . . Yes! . . . Yes! . . . What is that thing? . . .
”

Another thrust. “I enlarged the hole in the middle of my favorite View-Master reel of the Everglades.”

“
. . . Don’t stop! . . . Oh, God! . . . I’m coming! . . . I’m coming!!!!!!!
”

The ecstatic yelling came through the wall into the living room. Coleman turned and grinned drunkenly at City.

An empty wine cooler glanced off his forehead.

“Ow!”

In the bedroom, Country tried catching her breath after going off like a string of black-cat firecrackers. She wiped sweat from the blond hair matted across her face. “That was beyond incredible . . .”—still panting hard—“. . . The best I ever—”

“Just wait till round two.”

“Round two? I don’t think I can take any more.”

“You’ll take it and like it.”

He jumped up and went across the room in the dark.

“Where are you going?”

“To get more inspiration.”

Country strained to see in the blackness. “What are those sounds?”

“Shhhhhh!”

He returned to the bed, immediately picking up where they’d left off.

“
. . . Oh, God!. . . Yes!. . . Yes!. . . Oh—
. . . Hold on. Time out! Time out! . . . What the hell’s hitting me in the face?”

“Uh . . . nothing.”

More thrusts.

“Shit! You got me in the eye!” Country rolled over and clicked on the bedside lamp. She stared at Serge’s chest, then up at his face.

“What in the fuck?”

“Is something the matter?”

“What’s all that crap hanging from your neck?”

He looked down. “Oh, Tarzan’s five gold medals.”

“Gold medals?”

“From the Olympics.”

She looked at his chest again. “They’re just those chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil that you taped string to.”

Serge looked down again. A pause. “No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are!” Country snatched one off a string, peeled the foil and took a bite.

A gasp. “The hundred-meter freestyle!”

“Sorry . . .” She set the coin on the nightstand. “Didn’t mean for you to have a cow.”

“No . . . ,” said Serge, breathing quickly. “Heritage . . .”

She looked him in the eyes and dropped her voice a sensual pitch. “That turns you on, eh?” She grabbed the coin and took another bite, this time running her tongue around the edge first.

Country almost choked on it as Serge lost control and harpooned her deeper than ever before.

Her chin snapped up toward the ceiling. “
. . . Yessssssssssssss! . . .
” She snatched the rest of the coins from Serge’s neck and swatted the lamp off the nightstand, shattering its bulb on the floor.

On the other side of the wall, Coleman pointed at the TV with the remote. “No, you see, that’s why it’s so funny: The frog only sings and dances for the construction worker.”

“Frogs can’t sing and dance,” said City.

“This one can.”

“Hold it,” said City. “Turn down the volume.”

Coleman did, and they both listened to new sounds from the wall.

“
. . . Yes!. . . Faster!. . . Harder!. . . Chocolate, mmmmm!. . . I’m unwrapping another one . . .
”

“. . .
Eat the history!. . .
”

LATER THAT NIGHT . . .

“Development, development, development!” said Serge. “Will they never stop with this state?”

“What are you going to do to me?” asked Miguel, a gun pressed to the middle of his back.

“Construction sites everywhere!” said Serge, carrying two large monkey wrenches over his left shoulder. “On the other hand, I
love
construction sites, especially at night. Ever since I was a kid, poking around with a flashlight to see how things are made and what’s going on inside walls. I’m naturally curious that way.”

“You’re the one who whacked Pedro, aren’t you?”

“No, that was gravity, the senseless killer.”

“You’re going to fire me into the air?”

“Negative.” They walked past a pallet of bricks. “But you will be facing gravity, so I suggest you start thinking of a counterstrategy. I always am. Like a jet pack. You wouldn’t know where I can get one?”

Miguel shook his head.

Serge began to smile as they stepped through the wire mesh of a concrete form. “There isn’t much security at construction sites, because who’s going to walk off with sheets of drywall and twelve-foot rebar except me? And that was just to take care of another jerk . . .”

Miguel began to weep.

“. . . Plus this place is
totally
unguarded, lucky for us. Well, for me. There’s luck for you, too, but it’s not the right kind.”

Weeping became racking sobs.

“Buck up,” said Serge. “You weren’t too misty when your gang was trying to kill Andy. He’s just a kid, for heaven’s sake.”

“That wasn’t my idea,” said Miguel. “I was going to try and stop it. You have to believe me!”

“Really?”

Miguel nodded furiously.

“Then I guess the only fair thing is to show some mercy.”

“You’re going to let me go?”

“I said
some
mercy. Jesus, you give people an inch . . .“ Serge tucked the gun in his pants.”Now lie on your stomach right there. And don’t try anything. I’m a pretty quick draw.”

Miguel flopped down. Serge clamped the monkey wrenches on a circular metal hatch and pulled in opposite directions.

Creak.

“Wow, that was easy. Probably didn’t even need those things.” He tossed the wrenches in the dirt and unscrewed the loosened hatch the rest of the way.

The gun came out again. “On your feet.”

“I’ll give you money.”

“Get in.”

Miguel stared through the opening, then back at Serge. “In
there?
”

“It’s a two-foot hatch, but you should fit.”

“Isn’t it full of—”

Serge shook his head. “Completely empty. They don’t fill until ready for use. Otherwise it destroys the works.”

“But I’ll suffocate.”

“Not a chance. It’s deceptive, but there’s a ton of room once you’re inside, more than enough air till morning.” Serge pulled a flashlight off his belt and held it together with the gun, sweeping its beam through the hole. “Loads of space. The real trick is the blades.”

“Oh my God! I’ll be chopped to pieces!”

“Will you stop making everything worse than it is?” Serge aimed the flashlight through the hole again. “You must be a real treat on long trips . . . See? They’re just generally called blades, but the edges are completely dull. And not too tall, about a foot, so you shouldn’t have much difficulty stepping over them, at least for the first couple hours.” A wave of the gun. “Now in.”

Miguel trembled as he climbed headfirst through the hole. He got stuck halfway and hung by his stomach, kicking his legs.

Serge threw his hands toward the stars. “Everyone wants my help.” He grabbed Miguel by the knees and boosted him the rest of the way inside. Miguel fell to the bottom with a heavy thud and an echo: “
Ouch!
”

Serge picked up the hatch cover.

Miguel’s face appeared in the middle of the round opening. “You mentioned mercy?”

“That’s right. I always like to give my students a way out of jams. Because I’m into optimism. What about you?”

A blank stare.

“Should try it sometime,” said Serge. “No point going through life sweating the small stuff when shit like this can spring up. In your particular case, the mercy is gasoline capacity. Once I turn this baby on, it can’t run forever. If you just keep hopping over those blades until the fuel runs out—which should be around dawn when work crews arrive—you get to live. But if the blades start tripping you up”—Serge winced—“well, let’s just say things start going downhill pretty fast.”

“You really think I have a chance?”