“At least try to be a little more discreet. We’re in a convertible.” Serge turned back around and hit the steering wheel again. “C’mon!”
“Must be a wreck,” said Lenny.
“It would have to be a ruptured tanker of liquid phosgene to take this long. Otherwise, they’d already be sweeping up glass.”
“What do you think?”
“It’s I-4. Take your pick,” said Serge. “I’ve seen sinkholes, armed assaults, forest fires that flushed wildlife into traffic. And then there was the cow.”
“The cow?”
“There was this one cow. She liked to stand alone all day up to her tits in the middle of this little lake off the side of the road.”
“That was a driving problem?”
“Everyone slowed down and watched. They thought she was in trouble. Hundreds called the highway patrol, wanting them to send a rescue helicopter with a canvas sling harness and a winch.”
“Did they?”
“No. There was nothing wrong. But the calls kept pouring in and tied up all the emergency lines. So the highway department put up a sign, one of those big mobile things on wheels, a bunch of flashing orange light bulbs that spell out stuff like RIGHT LANE CLOSED AHEAD. Except this one said, THE COW IS OK. True story.”
“What happened?”
“Made everything worse.
Lenny nodded, then pointed ahead at the stationary lines of cars. “Might as well turn the engine off and save gas.”
“And put The Club on.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” said Lenny. “How come you always put your Club on backward, with the lock facing the dash?”
“Fuckin’ kids — they stick machine screws in the lock and yank the mechanism out with dent-pullers. But they don’t have the necessary clearance if I reverse the bar. The things you have to do to survive in this state.”
A BMW blew by in the breakdown lane and kept going, passing the entire line of cars and disappearing over a hill.
“That’s the fourth guy who’s done that since we’ve been here,” said Lenny.
“It’s just not right,” said Serge.
“We could do that, too, but we don’t,” said Lenny.
“Because rules are important,” said Serge. “Otherwise, everything starts breaking down.”
The backseat: “Um, do you think we could have, you know, another…”
Lenny passed a doobie back.
“If we’re going to be here much longer, I’ll have to occupy my mind,” said Serge. He turned off the Cadillac and walked to the rear of the car.
“What are you doing?” asked Lenny.
“Getting my toys.” He opened the trunk, removed a gym bag and got back in the driver’s seat. “I bought you a present.” Serge pulled something out of the bag. He could have easily handed it across the seat to Lenny, but he threw it, the way guys have to.
Lenny dropped it on the floorboard.
“Nice catch.”
Lenny picked up the red-and-white canister. “Cruex? What are you trying to tell me?”
“No, you dingleberry, unscrew the bottom.”
Lenny struggled to figure out the can, twisting with everything he had. “You know what a dingleberry actually is?”
“I’ve heard the rumors,” said Serge. He reached over. “Here, let me.”
Serge grabbed the can and twisted off the bottom, revealing a secret compartment.
“Cool,” said Lenny. “A stash safe.”
“I bought it at Spy vs. Spy.”
“What’s that?”
“A new chain that sells a bunch of espionage and counterespionage stuff, but it’s really a toy store for guys — useless gadgets men can’t resist. Night-vision scopes, walkie-talkie pens, voice-activated bomb-disposal robot/beer caddy…”
Lenny stuffed a baggie of pot up the bottom of the can. “Why’d you have to pick Cruex?”
“Had a friend who went to college in Boston. His roommate was from Colombia, and during spring break, the roommate says, ‘Hey, why don’t you come visit back home with me?’ My friend says sure. It’s a legitimate visit — no drugs or anything — and he’s coming back through Miami, and Customs goes ape. What’s an Anglo kid doing on vacation in Bogotá? They rip his luggage apart, make him take a laxative and shit on a clear toilet in front of all these people…”
“They actually have clear toilets?”
“The government does. But they seem to be the only ones who want them. I think that speaks volumes. Anyway, get this — they grabbed my friend’s can of shaving cream and sprayed some out and tested it.”
“That’s spooky,” said Lenny.
Serge removed another canister from his bag and began shaking it. A metal ball rattled inside.
“Spray paint?” asked Lenny.
“Spy spray paint.” Serge got out of the car and walked back to the rear bumper. He bent down and sprayed the license plate.
“What are you doing?” asked Lenny.
