Lenny got out a shoebox of little cars and began laying tracks. Serge got out the Legos.
“What are you doing?” asked Lenny.
“Making the Brick Wall of Death,” said Serge. “Where’s your lighter fluid?”
“I don’t have any lighter fluid.”
“How can we play Hot Wheels without lighter fluid?”
Lenny’s mom sat in the living room reading the
Lenny held up a roll of aluminum foil. “Mom, can we use this?”
She looked up and nodded. Lenny headed back to the bedroom.
A minute later, Lenny held up a large cardboard box. “Can we use this?”
She nodded.
A minute later Lenny sprinted by in the background, then ran back to the bedroom with a fire extinguisher. Lenny’s mom put down her paper and went into the kitchen. She slipped on Jeff Gordon pot holders and opened the oven door. She set a ceramic serving dish on the table.
“Dinner’s ready!”
No answer.
She headed down the hall. “I said, dinner’s ready!”
Still no reply.
She stepped into the bedroom doorway. Nobody in the room. Just a big cardboard box in the middle of the floor. The box was covered with aluminum foil.
“I said,
A voice from the box: “Mom! Shhhhh! We have to maintain radio blackout!”
“You can play later,” said Mrs. Lippowicz. “Food’s getting cold.”
The foil-lined top of the cardboard Gemini capsule flipped open, and Serge and Lenny stood up. They followed Mrs. Lippowicz into the kitchen.
“It’s hot, so don’t touch the dish.” She stuck two big serving spoons in the casserole.
Serge got up and held her chair.
“Why, thank you, Serge.”
Lenny began chowing. Serge tucked a napkin into his collar and cleared his throat. Lenny looked up. “Prayer,” Serge whispered.
“Sorry.” Lenny put down his fork, folded his hands and bowed his head.
“May I, Mrs. Lippowicz?” asked Serge.
“Of course. Thank you, Serge.” She turned to Lenny. “Your friend has such nice manners.”
Serge bowed his own head and closed his eyes. “God, please protect us from your followers. Amen.”
They began serving.
“Good prayer,” said Lenny.
Serge piled his plate. “It’s from a bumper sticker.” He took a bite. “This is delicious, Mrs. Lippowicz. You’re an incredible cook.”
“Thank you. It’s tuna noodle casserole with browned Tater Tots on top.”
“The Tater Tots make it,” said Serge.
Mrs. Lippowicz passed Lenny the salt and pepper. “Why can’t you be more like your nice friend Serge?”
Serge’s eyes opened in the bottom bunk. Something had awoken him. He looked around, then noticed the bed was vibrating. His eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. The vibrations increased.
Serge looked up at the bunk above him. The shaking got worse. “What on earth—?”
He tried to sit up, but the bed pitched and knocked him back down.
“Lenny, what the hell are you doing up there?”
No answer. The bed started rocking violently, the bottoms of its four wooden legs rattling and tapping on the floor. Serge grabbed the sides of his mattress and hung on as the bunk began to slowly slide and rotate across the terrazzo bedroom floor like a puck on an air hockey table.
“Lenny! Take it easy! It’s not going anywhere!”
Serge stuck his head out the side of the bed and looked up. The bed bucked again and tumbled him onto the ground.
The rocking stopped.
“Lenny? You okay?”
“I’m pretty thirsty now.”
“No kidding. You were going at it like Chuck Yeager trying to pull an X-15 out of a terminal spin.”
Lenny swung his legs over the side of the bunk and jumped down. “I’m completely awake now.” He went over and opened a dresser drawer and took out a baggie. “And I’m out of weed. We have to go get some.”
“I’m not going to a drug hole, especially not at this hour.”
“How about a restaurant or a lounge? I’m pretty good at connecting on the fly.”
“My choice?”
“Sure.”
“Then I have a historic place in mind.”
Lenny checked the Magilla Gorilla clock on his dresser. Almost one. “Is this place still open?”
“Not even hopping yet.”
Ivan reached over to the Mercedes’s driver seat and shook Vladimir’s shoulder. “Wake up!”
“Wha — what is it?”
“They’re on the move!”
The Benz fell in line six cars back as the van merged southbound on I-95. They passed the executive airport, then Oakland Park and Sunrise Boulevard, the van accelerating the whole time, changing lanes.
“Keep up with them!” yelled Ivan.
“I’m trying!” said Vladimir.
The van cut left across three columns of traffic and squeezed between a Dodge pickup and the median retaining wall.
“Lenny, we’re not in a lane anymore,” said Serge. “You can’t drive with your head below the dash.”
“Just a sec. My beer rolled under the seat.”
Ivan pointed. “They’re getting away!”
