“Hell no. I was a puny nine-year-old and my tackle was too light. I just played with them, jerking bait chunks up and down, slapping the surface of the water to get a scent trail going. Once I had this giant hammerhead a good three feet out of the water, those freaky prehistoric eye-pods whipping back and forth, ripping the bloody hell out of my fish. All in all, excellent childhood.” He held the cell phones side by side. “Here we go. Last calls from both phones to the same number. Better use Steve’s instead of the foam-heads’ or they might get the idea I had something to do with that.”
“You did.”
“Why invite conflict?” Serge hit the call-back button. It began ringing.
A voice on the other end: “Steve?”
“Steve’s not here. This is Serge.”
“Who’s Serge?”
“Steve’s silent partner. I’ve taken over his operation.” Pause.
“My caller ID says you’re using Steve’s phone.”
“A rocket scientist.”
“What… uh, happened to Steve?”
“Don’t play dumb,” said Serge. “We both know what happened to Steve.”
“We didn’t do that.”
“Whatever. Listen: Since we’re going to be doing a lot of business together, I thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Serge.”
“You already said that.”
“This was the formal introduction. We need to build trust. What are your feelings about a blood oath? I’ll even let you pick the finger.”
“Buddy, I don’t know who the fuck you are.”
“The guy who’s going to get you out of a jam. Steve’s gone-your information stream’s fucked. I’m guessing your boss will want to make an example out of someone.”
“How do you know I’m not the boss?”
“You answered the phone?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not the boss.”
“This is bullshit. You don’t have any information.”
“Where do you think Steve got his?”
“I really don’t-“
“And I’m going to have to tax you for Steve, which you’re free to continue denying. An extra ten percent on the gross haul.” “Ten percent! The Jellyfish will kill us both.”
“Jellyfish?”
“Shit. I wasn’t supposed to say that.”
“You have my number.”
Click.
“What now?” asked Coleman.
“My daily tradition.” Serge started the car and headed back to the mainland. “Read the local paper.”
“Why are you always reading newspapers when we could be having fun?”
“Coleman, that is fun, one of the biggest joys of travel. Most people just visit a place like tourists and only skim the surface. But reading the daily paper lets you see through the eyes of a local. Plus this is my old hometown-I have to read the paper.”
The Javelin came off the crest of the bridge and approached the intersection of Blue Heron and Broadway.
“Serge, what if that guy doesn’t call you back?”
“He’ll call.” Serge searched the sides of the road. “He’s scared to death of this Jellyfish character, and screwed without Steve.”
“So he needs you.”
“I always try to put myself in the position of helping others … There’s a news box …” He pulled over. “I love this intersection!”
“It just looks like a million others.”
“The pawnshop’s still here-and the Dairy Belle! We used to walk there from my house when I was a kid and get ice cream. It’s just about all that’s left to remind me of my childhood …” He pointed toward the other side of the street. “… Those Mayan ruins used to be a Publix supermarket with the old chevron logo where I’d ride in the shopping-cart kiddie seat, back when they still had mechanical cash registers.”
“What happened to it?”
“Probably the same thing that doomed the venerable Spanish Courts motel and the Bazaar market with the trilon sightseeing tower-my old Riviera Beach got too dicey a proposition after it became a crack flea market. I’m getting the paper now.”
“Rip it up.”
Serge returned and flipped through sections, gleaning the meat of articles. “… Missing person’s body found in bedroom after six weeks; relatives thought the smell was dead Norwegian rats in the wall … Members accuse condo association of holding secret meetings in Canada … Superhot teacher has sex with her student…”
“That makes fifty-one now.”
“Fifty-two … Cuban refugees land in middle of coastal defense exercise … Immigration uncovers plot to smuggle Eastern Europeans into Orlando as circus performers …” Serge turned another page. “Oh my gosh!”
“What is it?” asked Coleman.
“This is a great day!” Serge held the page toward Coleman. “Look who’s giving a lecture.” “Don’t know him.”
“Coleman, he’s a Florida legend! I’ve wanted to meet him my whole life and now I get the chance. All because I read the local paper.” Serge looked at his watch. “Shit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Looks like we missed it. But if I hurry, maybe we can catch him on the way out.” Serge threw the car in gear.
“But what about those people you want to kill?”
“I know this is irresponsible, but sometimes you have to treat yourself.”
The Javelin made record time across West Palm Beach, turned onto Okeechobee Boulvard and skidded up to the curb in front of a giant modern building with glistening glass facade. A crowd walked down the front steps.
“We’re in time,” said Serge. “They’re just getting out.”
“What is this place?”
