Serge flinched at the name. “The people at the hotel desk across the street said this is where a lot of political operatives hang out, so I’m studying them to learn how to blend in.”
“They’re just smoking fat cigars and trying to fuck the waitress.”
“To the untrained eye it might seem boorish, but since they’re always telling us how to live our lives, they must know what they’re doing. That’s why I need to observe their behavior in the wild. Then, after our mission tonight, we’ll use what we’ve learned to volunteer at local party headquarters.”
“I don’t know,” said Coleman. “I get the feeling they won’t like me.”
“I’m sure they won’t,” said Serge. “But that’s not your fault. I’ve been studying politics my whole life, so I know exactly how to get along. Right about the time that they throw you out of the office, they’ll probably be carrying me around on their shoulders and chanting my name. Just gather what intelligence you can before you’re ejected . . .”
Coleman pointed. “Looks like they’re getting up.”
The trio of operatives finally put out their cigars and went inside. The table was quickly taken over by three more guys with flag lapel pins. They fired up stogies and ordered drinks.
Serge opened a notebook. “This should be an interesting comparison.”
“But they’re the same as the other guys,” said Coleman.
“No, they’re different,” said Serge. “The first guys were Republicans; these are Democrats.”
“How do you know?”
“They didn’t tip as well before trying to screw the waitress.” Serge stood. “Get up.”
“But I haven’t finished my drink.”
“Bring it with you. We’re switching surveillance back to the first guys before they leave.”
The pair returned to air-conditioning. The restaurant was dim with dark mahogany walls covered in oars, life rings and antique harpoons.
“There they are,” said Serge.
“They seem to be having fun,” said Coleman. “Listen to them laugh.”
“That means the country’s on the right track.”
The pair walked over and leaned against the wall behind the trio, who were whooping it up and egging one another on in a spirited competition.
“Those things are so cool.” Coleman chugged his drink and wiped a spot on his shirt. “I used to love those crane games at carnivals where you tried to capture stuffed animals and hand grenades, but I could never win.”
“And now a bunch of seafood restaurants across the country have crane games with live lobsters in a tank,” said Serge. “And these guys are playing it. I think this is important.”
“What does it all mean?”
“When a country begins grabbing live lobsters with carnival cranes, it means capitalism has an insurmountable lead.” Serge nodded. “Forget oil pipelines and the space race. The Russians are watching this on YouTube and going, ‘Just fucking great.’ ”
“The winners are leaving,” said Coleman.
“And so are we,” said Serge. “I need to buy cigars and lobsters.”
“What for?”
“They just recharged my reservoir.”
AFTER MIDNIGHT
It was another upscale high-rise hotel overlooking Biscayne Bay.
They paid for the view. Down below, convertibles raced along the twisting waterfront like a grand prix. Fleets of taxis whisked away people who had enjoyed themselves over the legal limit. There was a party on one of the yachts anchored off the MacArthur Causeway.
Up in the rooms, some were asleep, some watched TV, others had sex with strangers they’d just met in a cab.
In one particular suite on the seventeenth floor, a fleshy man sat on the foot of a bed, working the remote control.
“Serge, check out the movies you can get in this place:
“What more could you ask from a classy joint?” Serge paced in front of the giant picture window.
“That’s weird,” said Coleman. “The clown’s there, but where are all the children? . . .
“Coleman, just stay sharp.”
“And now he’s busting open the piñata with his cock.” Coleman killed a tiny bottle of Jack from the minibar. “I’m starting to get the idea this guy isn’t a legitimate clown.”
“Coleman! Turn that off!” said Serge. “We have to stay focused on our mission.”
“What’s the next step?”
“I told you: We wait for the phone call.” Serge glanced at a digital clock that read 1:58. “And it’s almost time . . .”
Two minutes later, the phone rang.
And rang.
Coleman polished off another miniature. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
