Mosquitoes buzzed around fluorescent lights. Outdoor speakers played faint Muzak. A deep, rhythmic pounding came up the street, quiet at first, but getting louder. A white Mercedes Z310 came around the bend on A1A. The tinted windows were down, Igor’s head bobbing.
Lenny tried to adjust his eyes in the jet-black trunk. He screamed and he banged. The car came to a stop and Lenny listened carefully. The engine turned off. Lenny started screaming and banging again.
The trunk lid suddenly opened, bright light. Lenny shielded his eyes.
“Seven-Eleven,” said Igor. “What do you want?”
Lenny crunched his eyebrows in thought. “Jumbo dog…no, chicken salad. And a cookie. But if they don’t have chicken, don’t get the tuna—”
The trunk lid closed.
Ivan and Igor hit the chips rack, then the beer case. Hiding Paul’s body in the underbrush hadn’t been easy, and they still had quite a bit of blood on their shirts, but no more so than the other customers.
“Coors good?” asked Ivan.
“It’s all right.”
“You want me to get it or what?”
Igor scanned the rest of the display. “Have you had the new Killians with the pressurized ball in the can for real draft taste?”
“Come on! We’re fogging up the door!”
Coors it was. They moved on to the deli. Ivan grabbed the first sub he saw. Igor picked up three in succession, put each back. He waved at the cashier. “Are these salads fresh?”
“Made this morning.”
“What time?”
Ivan grabbed a salad and jabbed it in Igor’s stomach. “Take it and let’s go!”
They dumped their purchase on the counter. The cashier began ringing.
“The slot for the little bags of croutons was empty,” said Igor. “I don’t think I should be charged full price for the salad.”
“I have to charge what the label says.”
“But I didn’t get my croutons.”
“We’re out.”
“I know.”
“All I can do is void it.”
Ivan smacked the back of Igor’s head again. “Pay the man and get in the car!”
Further into the night. A1A became deserted, the last decent people straggling home. Traffic lights cycled through their colors with no cars. Next shift. A hooker rode to work on a bike with a banana seat. A police cruiser slowly rolled by, shining a search beam down each alley. A pack of wild dogs came out from behind a muffler shop, fighting over a large piece of unidentified meat, scattering when headlights hit them and a Mercedes turned into the parking lot of the Orbit Motel.
Ivan and Igor carried plastic convenience store bags to their room. The dogs took off down the street after a banana bike.
“I don’t know why you’re in such a grouchy mood,” said Igor.
Ivan stopped walking. “Did your mother, like, fall down several flights of stairs when she was pregnant?”
“No.”
“Get kicked by a horse?”
“No.”
“Handle a lot of plutonium?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
Ivan resumed walking to the room. He unlocked the door, and they dumped their stuff on the dresser.
“Go get him out of the trunk,” said Ivan. “You think you can handle that?”
Five minutes later, Ivan stood in his socks in front of the TV, looking for something with the remote and shaking a bag of sunflower seeds into his mouth. Then he remembered Igor was taking a long time.
Ivan opened the door and stuck his head out. “Igor?…Igor?…”
Serge snipped away with heavy-gauge metal shears.
“It’s important to have the right tool for the job.” Snip, snip. “They’re Sears, you know. Lifetime guarantee.” Snip, snip. “Aren’t you just fascinated by the place we’re at?”
Igor didn’t blink.
“Me, too,” said Serge. “Cape Canaveral, from the Spanish for ‘cape of canes’ because of all the reeds the sailors saw. Say the name today, and people think modern, futuristic, space travel. Yet it also has one of the oldest histories of any place in the country.” Snip, snip.
Serge stepped back to inspect his work, then nodded to himself and began snipping again. “The cape jutted out so much, it became Florida’s most prominent navigational feature for early explorers. That’s why there are so many shipwrecks around here. Hence, the Treasure Coast.”
Serge switched to bolt cutters. Snap, snap.
“The area was mapped as early as 1502. The Spanish tried to establish their first settlement here, but the Indians were too savage, so they moved a bit farther north to a little place called St. Augustine. Isn’t that a fun fact? Did you know they had to bulldoze historic Indian grounds when they were building some of the launch pads? Talk about your symbolism overload.”
Igor finally figured out Serge’s plan and started screaming under the mouth tape.
“You’re right,” said Serge. “It
Serge snipped a few last times and stood up straight. “There!”
He reached down next to Igor’s leg and turned a key. A quiet electric motor came to life. “You realize you kidnapped my best friend. I saw you with that cage of scorpions. You weren’t exactly planning a Hallmark moment.”
