“That’s another reason I need to do this. Up to now, I’ve always been confident that I’d never harm someone who didn’t deserve it. But then I found out I’ve been blacking out during the day, asking about myself, and sleepwalking at night, babbling in the mirror. For heaven’s sake, I nearly killed Coleman!”
“Let me get you help.”
“You’ve helped enough,” said Serge. “Made me face the truth about myself. You were right back during those hurricanes when you thought my personality was splitting. Just took a couple more years.” Serge looked down at the gun in his hand. “No, I can’t subject society to that kind of risk.”
“Listen to me,” said the agent. “Done a lot of study on your case. There’s all kinds of new breakthroughs for your condition.”
“Really?” Serge smiled and relaxed. “Thanks, Mahoney.”
“Glad you’re starting to think straight.”
“I am.”
Serge stuck the gun back in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
THE FLORIDA KEYS
Serge’s funeral was held at one of his favorite places on earth.
Mahoney had made the arrangements, faithful to the request on a sheet of paper Serge had given him at the Mai-Kai.
The sun was high and strong, humidity brutal. Mahoney stood in the concealment of a nest of banana trees on Big Pine Key, fedora in hand, wiping his forehead with a silk handkerchief. It had flamingos. To the east, a small bridge arced over Bogie Channel to No Name Key. In the middle of the span, Coleman stood with a plastic tube. He was joined by a collection of diehard regulars from the venerable No Name Pub, along with members of a Keys twelve-step cult deprogramming group who had become devoted disciples of Serge’s a few years earlier, all wearing identical T-shirts with their guru’s face over his motto: i follow nobody.
Mahoney’s mind raced back through the events of the last forty-eight hours:
Standing in that hotel room, Serge suddenly sticking the gun back in his mouth, Mahoney yelling, “Noooooo!” Lunging forward, a step too late. Serge pulling the trigger.
Then Mahoney, freezing in shock. “What the hell?”
And Serge, smiling. “You didn’t really think the gun was loaded?” He tossed it on the bed.
Bang.
A mirror shattered.
Mahoney’s mind sped back up to the present. He stared at the top of the Bogie Channel Bridge and wiped his face again, then turned to the person standing next to him in the trees. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Got you good, didn’t I?” said Serge.
“I should turn you in.”
“Thanks for the funeral.”
“Least I could do.” Mahoney looked across the channel at a pair of sedans on the opposite bank. Men in white shirts, thin black ties, aviator sunglasses. One aimed a telephoto lens at the mourners on the top of the bridge. “Gave my word, but then I unintentionally brought all that state heat down on you with my crazy chasing around.”
“You’re a good man,” said Serge.
Mahoney peeked through the trees again at the other agents in the distance. “This ruse should give you a couple days head start.”
“They actually put you on indefinite suspension for meeting with me?”
“No, they don’t know about the meetings. But I violated about a thousand regulations conducting my own private investigation without filing reports. They frown on that.”
“I’ve seen the police shows. What now?”
“Bought a fishing pole.”
“Why don’t you come over to our side? You’re practically there already.”
“Criminals?”
“No, freelance law enforcement. We have lots of fun.”
“I don’t approve of vigilantes.”
“We can take care of them, too.”
Mahoney shook his head. “Hear the bonefish are biting off Boca Chica.”
“That’s hard to compete with. If you change your mind …”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“Have some business to tidy up in Miami.”
“Story?”
Serge nodded.
“You had me completely fooled. Can’t believe she was in on it the whole time.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“I know: You want to protect her. I guess Howard wasn’t as in coherent in the hospital as I thought when he met with his sister and mentioned you. She needed an ally going after the gang.”
Serge just smiled.
“How’s the kid doing, anyway?”
“Just released from the hospital. Story said he still looks like shit and has to wear that wrap around his chest for the ribs.”
Mahoney looked back at the bridge. Coleman twisted the lid off the plastic tube. “He really thinks you’re dead?”
Serge shook his head. “Just gets weepy at sentimental gatherings.”
“Got to admit, he played his part surprisingly well.”
“He wasn’t playing,” said Serge. “We had to keep him in the dark and put on a show-for everyone’s safety.”
“So he really didn’t know about your plan with Story?”
“Talks too much in bars. Which I was able to put into play for our benefit.”
They both stared back at the gathering. Coleman dumped the plastic tube over the side of the bridge, and a collection of toenail clippings scattered on a light breeze as they fluttered down into the channel. The disciples in Serge T-shirts respectfully bowed their heads and raised fists to the sky: “Shula!”
Mahoney lifted his chin. “They’re coming.”
