“Nobody ever says that. I have no idea where I get some of these thoughts, and you know what? I don’t care! Because I’m alive and the sun is shining!” Serge reached in his back pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper.
“What’s that?”
“It’s my Life List.”
“What’s a Life List?”
“The list of things you want to accomplish before you die. The idea is to keep you planning for the future or else you end up seventy years old on your porch with a rusting chain-link fence around a front yard full of barking Dobermans and a dismantled Skylark, and you never know why.”
“Where’d you come up with this list idea?”
“First heard about it from Lou Holtz. ‘Become coach of Notre Dame’ was on his list, and you know what?”
“He became coach of Notre Dame?”
Serge nodded. “I said to myself, ‘I gotta get me one of them lists.’”
“So what’s on yours?” asked Lenny.
“Item number one: space flight.”
“You’re too old to join NASA.”
“That’s why I’ll have to deal with the Russians. After the Soviet collapse, everything’s for sale over there.”
“What else?” asked Lenny.
Serge held up his piece of paper: “Swim the Florida Straits, communicate with the monkeys on Key Lois, steal the DeLong Ruby, break a bull at the Okeechobee Rodeo, get into a Disney ride in less than an hour, locate the Fountain of Youth, win the Daytona 500, bring the panthers back to healthy numbers, travel in time…”
“But time travel’s impossible.”
“I know,” said Serge. “I wanted to keep the list realistic, so that’s why I only want to travel one week. And that way, if something goes wrong with the time ship and I can’t get back, I’m not stuck in some strange future land where the government makes everyone wear tunics and report unwelcome behavior.”
“I hate that,” said Lenny.
“Tell me about it.”
Serge stuck the list back in his pocket and got out the global tracker.
“How’s the signal?” asked Lenny.
“Real strong. Solid all the way.” Serge pointed at a traffic sign. “Take the causeway. It’s our best bet.”
They crossed US 1 and the Indian River, then went down the bridge onto Merritt Island.
“Are those real alligators in that canal?” asked Lenny.
“That’s what those are.”
The pair began seeing the tips of shiny metal tubes over the trees.
“Look,” said Lenny. “Kennedy Space Center.”
“And there’s the new shuttle mock-up they put on display at the visitor center.” Serge grabbed his camera from under the seat and snapped half a roll of film as they went by. He faced forward again. “Oh my God!”
“What is it?”
“The signal!” said Serge, holding up the tracker. “It changed direction. It’s pointing back at the visitor center. Turn around!”
Lenny swung across a break in the median and headed back. The Cadillac turned in the entrance of the space complex and parked next to a row of idling Gray Line buses. Serge jumped out and tucked a pistol in his waistband. He reached back in the car and grabbed the global tracker off the passenger seat. The signal pointed toward the admission gate.
“This is it! Payday!”
They took off running.
14
Another month, another book club meeting. Miami Beach this time. Books, Booze and Broads cruised down A1A in a rented Grand Marquis.
“We’re finally going to meet Ralph Krunkleton,” said Maria.
“Not at this rate,” said Sam, checking her wristwatch. “Just look at this traffic jam.”
“We’ve still got plenty of time,” said Teresa.
“How much farther?”
“Twenty miles.”
Twenty miles ahead, a strip mall:
“Get a move on!” the owner shouted in the back room of The Palm Reader. He leaned over and did a line. “We have to close up and clear out before that stupid author shows up for his stupid signing!”
The buzzer at the rear service door rang. The boss jumped. “What was that?”
“The door.”
He opened it a crack. Four people stood behind hand trucks stacked with brown cartons. In the background, a white commercial van from a book distributor in Hialeah.
“Hi, I’m your wholesaler,” said a smiling woman holding a dachshund.
No response. The door stayed open only a slit.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, trying to see inside.
“Fine. Go away.”
“But we brought some more books.”
“We didn’t order any.”
“I know,” said the woman, smiling again. “We got so much more press than we expected that I was afraid you’d run out. I took it upon myself to bring extras. You’ve been such good customers…”
A pause.
“Go away.”
“If you don’t need them, then we do. We’d like to get them signed for our other stores. This is our hottest title.”
One of the tropical shirts tapped the boss from behind. He jumped again. “What?”
“Someone’s out front asking for you.”
“Get rid of them.”
“I think it’s the author.”
“Shit!”
“What should I tell him?”
“Tell him we’re out of books.”
“You’re out of books?” said the woman at the back door. “Then I’m glad we came.”
The employee tapped the boss again. “I don’t think I can get rid of them.”
“Why not?”
“There are others.”
Blinding lights came on in the front of the store, the strings of beads breaking them into hundreds of bright shafts that showered the back room. The boss shielded his eyes. “What the fuck is that?”
