“It’s not an ingredient,” said Serge. “It’s the antidote. Because of its pH, vinegar is one of the few substances that can neutralize a chemical burn. A lot of people use water, which only makes it worse.”
“So what are you going to use it for?”
“What’s the only thing missing?”
Coleman stared at the floor, then the ceiling. He tapped his chin and suddenly raised a finger. “The famous bonus round! You’re holding another contest with that guy out in the trunk!” He clapped with good nature and took a seat on a bed. “Let’s get it on!”
Serge held up his hands. “Not so fast. We finally must surmount the greatest challenge of all to prepare the game show.”
“What’s that?”
“Wait for the Jell-O to harden.” Serge checked his wristwatch. “The stuff should take about four hours.”
“
“With your substance assistance, you have killing time down to an art form, but to me it’s Chinese water torture.”
Coleman shrugged. “Let’s get rockin’.” He grabbed a joint and a pint of vodka with a red-eyed crow on the label.
Serge grabbed a digital camera and notepad.
One hour went by. Coleman lay on a bed with a remote control, shot glass and bowl of chips on his stomach. Serge paced, ranting into a pocket recorder.
Two hours. Coleman slumped against a wall next to a broken lamp. Serge did a handstand in the corner.
Three hours. Coleman lay under the bed. Serge was down in the parking lot running high school suicide sprints.
Four hours. Serge ran in and urgently shook Coleman by the shoulder. “Wake up! Wake up! The gelatin’s ready!”
Coleman raised his head and bonked it on the bottom of the toilet tank. “Ow. How’d that get there?”
“Stop fooling around and meet me at the mini-fridge.”
Coleman employed his patented wedged-between-the-tub-and-toilet escape wiggle. “Wait for me! . . .”
Serge grabbed the door handle, then paused and looked over with a gleam in his eye. “This is going to be so excellent.”
Coleman knelt next to him. “Do it already!”
Serge opened the door, and their smiles fell with their jaws.
“It melted clean through the Tupperware,” said Coleman. “Only the ring around the edge is left.”
Serge’s eyes moved down. “And melted through the rack it was on. And through the bottom of the fridge . . .” He quickly pulled the appliance aside.
“And through the floor.” Coleman stuck his face in the dark hole. “How far do you think it goes?”
Serge’s face joined him. “The foundation of this second-floor room might have stopped it. Or they have the lights off in the room below.”
“What’ll we do?”
“Better call the front desk and tell them we don’t like this room. Or the room under us.”
A police commando unit tossed flash-bang grenades and boarded a Guatemalan fishing boat full of marijuana. They led four handcuffed crew members onto the bank of the Miami River.
“Mahoney stood in his office window, watched the raid go down like Linda Lovelace . . .”
He observed the drawbridge go up and wondered where Serge was. “Mahoney was nines to the Brook Campanella case tanking sour, and he’d gone a little soft for the dame.”
It was unlike Serge not to call while on a case, but he didn’t dare to do so since realizing Mahoney’s line was tapped.
A rotary desk phone rang. Mahoney answered with uncharacteristic speed.
“Shaka-laka . . .”
“Yes, this is Wesley Chapel from Big Dipper Data Management. I’m calling because you asked me to keep an eye out for anything from an Enzo Tweel or a South Philly Sal. Couldn’t really do anything with the latter because I only have a first name, but I thought you’d want to know that an Enzo Tweel checked out of a resort on Biscayne Boulevard a half hour ago. We got lucky. He apparently has some third-party credit card that isn’t coming up, but he used a computer in the business center to print an airline boarding pass under his name, and I confirmed his departure with the front desk.”
“Mojo Dingus.”
“You’re welcome.”
Mahoney hung up and began dialing again. He listened to the rings, but Serge wasn’t answering. He tried several more times with the same non-luck. Mahoney wanted to leave a voice-mail message, but the rotary phone didn’t have any buttons for menu selection number two.
Mahoney got an idea. He reached in a case file and decided to try another number.
Elegant hands in long white gloves gestured confidently toward the product line on the table.
“. . . This functionally attractive ensemble is from our new Fridgesmart collection, featuring modular design to maximize your valuable storage space and preserve flavor . . . Next, a colorful assortment of summer-cool pitchers to please the entire family and keep those beverages—”
“Serge, do I have to wear the white gloves?”
