“At first she wasn’t sure. Just had your name mumbled from her brother’s lips. So she went to the convention center show where Howard was supposed to appear next, figuring you’d be there, which you were, then followed you to the Skynyrd bar.”
“That is a big coincidence,” said Serge. “But it still doesn’t explain why she thinks I’m with the crew who attacked her brother.”
“Think about it,” said Mahoney. “All your cloak-and-dagger to infiltrate the gang, meeting with Steve, the guys at the Wreck Lounge …”
“You know about that?”
“… Surreptitious phone calls, feeding disinformation on nonexistent couriers-everything you did was designed to fool the gang into thinking you were a legit and let you in. Meanwhile, she’s been observing the whole time. Your plan worked too well. It also fooled her.”
Serge looked back toward the stage. Tahitian drums beat louder. Story’s hips reached blinding speed. “I don’t know …”
“Okay, if nothing else,” said Mahoney. “Doesn’t it seem a bit odd she’s still hanging with you?”
“We’re an item.”
“Please!”
Serge’s head sagged. “I thought it was too good to be true, View-Master and all.”
“How are you going to handle it?” asked Mahoney.
“Ambush.”
“You’re going to kill her just for being mistaken?”
Serge shook his head. “The Benevolent Ambush. If I wait for her to come to me, it might not turn out too well. I need to get the drop when she least expects it so I can explain everything without having to dodge bullets.”
“Isn’t she staying with you?”
“No. Packed everything up before her audition earlier today and moved in with roommates at her new school.” “That fits with everything I just told you.” “When you’re right, you’re right.”
“Serge, I know how stubborn you are, so you’re not going to like what I’m about to say next, but I want you to leave town, the whole state would be even better. Just until this blows over. I promise I’ll take care of the gang.”
“No can do.”
“Damn it, Serge! A crew is after you, Story’s after you and … I shouldn’t be telling you this but I’m way past the point of caring about whatever’s left of my career: State agents are closing in. They’ve been homing off your laptop’s wi-fi connection. You’ve been lucky because you move around so much, but it’s just a matter of time.”
“Have to stay. It’s a question of character, my loyalty to Howard.”
“Can’t you be reasonable this one time? I don’t have a good feeling.”
“Neither do I,” said Serge. “But nobody lives forever. Had a good run.” He reached down in his lap and placed a large, lumpy envelope on the table. He slid it across to Mahoney.
“What’s this?”
“Addresses and keys. Various storage lockers around the state.”
“Please tell me you’re not keeping bodies in refrigerators.”
“My Floridiana collection. If anything happens to me, I want you to be my executor-split it with Howard. That second page is the request for my funeral arrangements.”
“Serge, you’re scaring me. Don’t talk like that.”
“In return for the treasure trove, a small favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Adopt Coleman.”
“Huh?”
“He’s already an adult, so you won’t get to take him on Cub Scout trips. And he’s ‘special’ on multiple levels, but they say those are the most loving.”
“Serge!”
He pushed out his chair and stood. “What are you doing?”
“I gotta be me!”
He sprinted out of the restaurant.
The Eel’s cell phone rang. He opened it. “Talk.”
“Hello, worm.”
“You must have the wrong number.”
“I don’t have the wrong number,” said Serge. “I know most people call you Eel, but I think worm is a better name, or sea slug. What do you think?”
“Who are you?”
“Serge, the guy who’s been messing up your operation. You should never have touched that kid.”
“What are you talking about? Where’d you get this number?”
“From the cell phones I collected at your Homestead stash house, Jellyfish!”
A prolonged moment of steaming silence on the other end of the line. Then: “Why don’t we meet somewhere and discuss this?”
“We will,” said Serge. “Wait, I just thought of a better name for you. Dead Man.”
“You do realize what you’ve just done.”
“See you in hell.” Click.
A goon came over. “Who was that?”
The Eel studied the display screen on his cell. “Someone who just seriously fucked up. He called from a hotel phone and told us where he’s staying.”
“I know that place,” said the goon. “It’s in Miami Beach.” “Get Frankie. Take the van.”
Serge walked away from a courtesy phone in the lobby of a Miami Beach hotel.
“Serge,” said Coleman. “Why’d you use that phone when you got your cell?”
“To tell him where I’m staying.” “Why would you want to do that?” “Make myself bait.”
MIAMI BEACH
Two bulging men with long, stringy hair glanced down the length of the hotel bar.
“That’s him.”
“You sure?”
“Inside source got us a name on our witness.”
“That kid we put in the hospital?”
“Police moved him to an undisclosed location. But we lucked out and got his sister’s name. Tracked her to a local college.”
“So how does the guy over there fit in?”
