“MacGregor’s plan was to kick the Spanish out of Florida, and he started by attacking Fort San Carlos, which was at the end of this street we’re now passing. They didn’t even have a strategy, just an unheard-of direct charge at the fort without cover, which never would have worked except this gang-who-couldn’t-shoot-straight was getting eaten alive by insects. So they broke sprigs off local plants known to repel bugs and stuck them in their hats. The guys on the fort walls saw them advancing straight through the marsh and thought: Nobody’s this stupid. Something must be up. Then they mistook the hat sprigs for plumes that only officers wore, multiplied it out by the corresponding divisions of enlisted men, and believed they were being attacked by a force of thousands. Surrendered without a fight.”
Coleman pointed up at Serge’s head. “Is that why you taped all those twigs to your baseball cap?”
“My adversaries will think they’re facing overwhelming numbers.”
Coleman crumpled an empty beer can. “Some story.”
“Gets even weirder. Green Cross nation only lasted two months, until the Spanish stopped laughing and kicked them out. But then …” Serge pointed at the flag on the other side of the hood. “… Another bunch of loons led by an ex-Pennsylvania congressman and a French pirate overtook the island and briefly claimed it for Mexico. Amelia Island was a refuge where every crackpot with some lunatic notion was allowed to express himself with tiny armies, like a military version of talk radio.”
They continued south. Two hours passed. They reached a shore. A line of cars was backed up ten deep. Eventually, vehicles began moving at a crawl. Then stopped again.
Gulls and herons swooped over the Javelin’s roof in a brisk outgoing breeze. They began crossing the St. Johns River. The car’s engine was off.
“I’ve never taken a ferry before,” said Coleman.
“One of America’s most excellent but rapidly disappearing road-trip pleasures.” Serge turned the steering wheel left, then right. “I could have taken a faster route, but we’d miss the ecstasy.”
Coleman was on a train schedule. He cracked his 10:15 beer. “So why aren’t you in a better mood?”
“Because that jerk wouldn’t let me drive the barge. Usually when I ask for something fifty times, they cave.”
“Why are you turning the steering wheel if the car’s stopped?”
“Pretending to drive the ferry.” Serge sneered out the windshield at the barge tender. “And he thought he was dealing with a child.”
Coleman sipped his grog and glanced out the window. “Sure is pretty. Never been this far north in Florida before.”
“Few people have because we’re way off all the major highways.”
“What was that place where I regained consciousness this morning?”
“Fort Clinch State Park, just across St. Marys in Georgia.” Serge cut the wheel left with the current. “The leg of A1A we just traveled is one of Florida’s best-kept secrets, an uncrowded driving-tour orgy, starting with the Palace Saloon on Amelia Island, oldest bar in the state, established 1878, where I got excellent photos of the mural, tin ceiling and mahogany bar where the Rockefellers used to roll …”
“And you wouldn’t even let me get a drink. You just stuck your camera in the door for two minutes.”
“One and a half. Because time management is crucial.” Serge turned the wheel right. “Then continuing south along the magnificent shoreline bluffs of the Talbot islands and salt-marsh flats at Fort George …”
“… Where you spent an hour chasing butterflies and smelling plants.”
“That’s why time management is so important. You never know what emergency might arise.” The wheel rotated left again. “It’s essential to showcase crack motion-efficiency skills if I expect to land my new job.”
“What does a travel guide do?”
“Provide inside tips for visitors not familiar with the area, like leaving extra space at dark intersections so you don’t get boxed in by car-jackers and dismembered behind a time-share booth.”
“Who doesn’t know that?”
“Everyone who uses traditional travel websites,” said Serge. “Those big Internet companies worry that providing grids of tourist homicides, will only make people stay home, which is insane because the first rule of business is to keep your customers alive.”
“Fuckin’-A.”
“And they need my expertise now more than ever. Something’s gone horribly wrong in paradise. There used to be an agreement among criminals that we left the most vulnerable alone.”
“I think I signed that.”
“It’s useless paper now. Last Christmas they were jumping pregnant moms for gifts in mall parking lots, and one gang went on a rampage slashing inflatable snowmen in Clearwater.”
“That’s just wrong.”
“Which is why I’m as good as hired today.”
The barge docked on the south side of the river, and the gate came down.
“But it’s your eighth Internet Job Fair,” said Coleman. “Three fired you, and the rest turned you down, including two who physically threw you out on the sidewalk. How will this time be different?”
