Nuclear jellyfish, p.27
Nuclear Jellyfish, page 27
part #11 of Serge Storms Mystery Series
Coleman fired up a joint. “You like that rug?”
Serge looked down at the wiggling hostages. “It brings the room together.”
“Rugs are now in?”
“And rug songs.”
Coleman took a deep hit. “Can we go to the Rock Vault?”
“Lead the way.”
‘“Magic Carpet Ride’?”
“Good choice.”
The goons looked up in terror as their clearly off-kilter captors swayed to silent music inside their heads.
The music ended. Swaying stopped. Serge stood directly over the captives. “And now we’ve come to the Q-and-A portion of the program. Most of the other guys have tons of questions when they reach this point. That’s why I like people: We’re adorably curious. So, what’s on your minds?”
Muted desperation under mouth tape.
“Oh, right. Your particular procedure means you can’t ask questions at this time. No problem. It’s come up before. We’ll just go to Serge’s Florida Experience F. A.Q. And if you don’t know what F.A.Q. stands for, that’s actually the first question in my F.A.Q. None of the other travel service F.A.Q.s think of that. Accept no substitutes!” Serge squatted low for intimate conversation. “Second question: What kind of incredible learning curve of jollies is old Serge about to take me on? The answer is in that shopping bag! Shall we go to the shopping bag?”
Coleman took a triple hit off his roach clip. “Whoa! Good weed! Serge, can we go over to the shopping bag with out-loud music this time?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Cool.” Coleman stubbed out the roach and joined Serge, singing and jitterbugging across the room: “Let’s go over to the shopping bag! Let’s go over to the shopping bag! Let’s go over to the shopping baaaaaaagggggggg!… And see what fun’s inside!”
Serge grabbed the sack, and they began dancing back across the room to piercing whines of desperation.
Serge: “And see what fun’s inside!”
Coleman: “And see what fun’s inside!”
Serge: “Ohhhhhhhhh! Let’s look into the shopping bag …”
Coleman: “Right on into the shopping bag …”
Serge: “What the fuck’s in our shopping baaaaaaagggggg? …”
Coleman: “Some crazy fuckin’ shit!”
Serge opened the top of the bag and began rummaging. “Let’s see what we got here …” He extracted items one by one. “Doorbell, extension cord, vegetable peeler, post office overnight express envelope …”
Coleman, pianissimo in the background: “… Some crazy fuckin shit, some crazy fuckin shit…”
“… Bicycle inner tubes, soldering iron, model railroad tracks, tiny envelope of fake diamonds. That’s about it … Oh, and those two other big things on the floor with the molded rubber grips. Travel tip two-fifty-four: Always have a portable, self-powered five-in-one roadside auto emergency center. Heavy as hell, but worth every ounce. That’s because of the giant internal electric cell you charge up at home. But you ask, Serge, what are the five uses? To the F.A.Q.! One, fluorescent lamp for engine work; two, cell-phone recharger; three, battery jump-starter; four, flashing highway-shoulder warning light; five, air compressor with over-pressure cutoff to fill tires after using Fix-a-Flat … And for today’s lucky contestants, a sixth additional use chosen especially for you!”
“They fainted,” said Coleman.
Serge lightly tapped cheeks. “Wake up, you don’t want to sleep through the additional use or you’ll kick yourselves.” Tapping turned to slaps. “Wake up! … That’s better. Pay attention because I’m only going to say this once. My intricate plan begins with this doorbell. Houses are so much bigger today! Who can hear the doorbell from the Jacuzzi? So they came up with a new remote broadcasting system. See this little ringer?” Serge turned it around. “Wireless. Takes a single double-A battery. Adhesive back that sticks permanently to the outside doorframe and transmits a hundred feet to electric chimes …” -he held up a small white speaker in the other hand-“… that you plug into a wall socket in the back of the house … Again, I read in-quisitiveness in your eyes: How on earth did you dream this up? Home Depot! Whenever I’m suffering a creative block, I wander the aisles and ideas flood! … Now just sit back and enjoy the show.”
Serge turned on the soldering iron and grabbed the vegetable peeler. He dove into his science project with usual speed and obsessive attention. Covers were unscrewed on the doorbell chimes and roadside emergency units. Wires pulled out and stripped with the peeler, circuits rerouted. Tendrils of smoke rose from fused electrical posts. He gripped each of their heads. “Hold still. This won’t hurt.” More plugs went into sockets. Rubber tubes clamped onto male fittings.
Serge stood. “And that about does it… Brilliant, eh?”
They looked up with vacant eyes.
“I keep getting that expression,” said Serge. “You don’t get it? It’s so obvious!”
Still no flicker in their stares.
“Okay. Guess I have to explain everything. I’ll start at the back end with a little diamond-courier inside dope.”
Coleman’s head snapped up.
“Dope?”
“Knowledge.”
“Ick.”
“Live human couriers are still the preferred method, but believe it or not, some expensive gems are simply sent through the U.S. mail in small, unassuming packages like this one.” Serge held up the express pouch. “Heavily insured. Back in the day, this was unheard of, because when you purchased insurance, the amount of the surcharge was stamped on the package. And they didn’t have computers to track packages back then. So all that any postal employees in the transit stream had to do was multiply the surcharge stamps to get the value of a package’s contents. Not too good a procedure. But then came laser scanners! The insurance amount was concealed inside bar codes. The package could contain a Ginsu knife for all they knew. Then, upon hitting its final destination, the last bar scan triggered a code summoning a top local post office manager, who had to personally accept and sign for the package. Imagine that! Every day, millions in gems flying all around us, mixed up with Publishers Clearing House.”
Serge grabbed a small brown envelope, stuck it in the express package and sealed the flap. “These are just fake diamonds, though still a nice present for someone’s girlfriend if you don’t think it’ll last. And since they’re not real, I won’t need insurance. But don’t underestimate the importance of the package! Its value in the domino chain is essential! In this case, the dominos are a series of electrical circuits that need to be competed.” He set the parcel aside.
“Now, on to the heavy lifting. You’ve probably noticed that I’ve wrapped deflated bicycle inner tubes around your necks, and their inflation stems are connected to the rubber hoses of the roadside emergency air compressors. This button on top of the unit turns on the compressor by, as everyone knows, completing the circuit of the two wires attached inside. That’s why I removed the back panel and snipped the wires off the switch, which unfairly voided the warranty. Then I soldered the ‘on button’ wires to the model railroad tracks. But not any model railroad tracks! This piece here is called the switch. It’s one of those Y-connections where you can let the choo-choo go straight or divert it off into the mountain tunnel. The switches are complex to wire because they’re controlled by solenoids, but I rigged tons of them in parallel circuits on my train set when I was ten, then took little plastic people off the depot platform and put them on the tracks and-Oh my God! Here comes the Atchison Topeka & Santa Fe! I can’t watch! … Throwing the switch at the last second. Whew! … But wait, what are those other crazy people doing up on that trestle? Hours of endless fun!”
Serge grabbed the stretch of railroad track and its magnetic controller. “The beauty of a solenoid is that, in order to throw the switch, it requires but a single pulse of electricity, which can be supplied by …”-he grabbed another pair of wires leading to the wall- “… say, door chimes. And there you have all the dominos: If someone comes to this house and presses the doorbell, which I took the liberty of installing on your porch, it transmits a small frequency to this wall unit. The chimes will ring, but they’ll also supply power to the train tracks, which will switch, turning on the air compressor, filling the inner tubes around your neck and cutting off your oxygen. If it was a regular compressor and nobody was around to monitor, the tubes would simply keep expanding until they exploded and you’d be in the clear. But as I said, the roadside unit has an over-inflation cutoff. You wouldn’t want me rigging you to something unsafe.”
Now that the entire picture had taken shape, the goons fought to free themselves like never before.
“Whoa!” said Serge. “Hold on. You don’t have much to worry about. Given unlimited time, there’s a hypothetical point where people can wiggle themselves out of even the most complex restraints. Or someone else in your gang could drop by and stumble upon you. Just as long as nobody rings that doorbell. And what are the odds, way out here in the middle of a palm tree farm?”
Struggling continued unabated.
Coleman checked the fridge for beer. “You really thought this up in Home Depot?”
Serge nodded. “Had this plan in my back pocket ever since I bought those garden hoses in Jacksonville. It’s the perfect complementary bookend to those skinheads, whom I only wrapped to their shoulders-blood pressure, remember?-and now I’ve wrapped the rest of the way, completing the spiritual cycle of life, or, well …” He faced the goons again. “I always like my science projects to have a relevant theme. In this case we’re dealing with the transportation of diamonds.” He picked up the overnight express package. “Hey, look, it already has an address on it.” He held it to his face. “Well what do you know? It’s this place. Isn’t that an amazing coincidence? Better get it to the post office right away because, if you’re anything like me, you can’t wait to get a surprise in the mail!”
Serge collected three cell phones from around the room and started walking for the front door. He stopped and looked again at the express mailer in his hand. “Whoops, almost forgot to check this box on the form.” He turned it toward the goons and smiled.
Signature required.
FORT LAUDERDALE
Serge leaned back in a bamboo chair. Another dark room. Tiered wooden serving bowls sat on the table in front of him, next to a pineapple with a lampshade.
A man in a tweed coat and rumpled fedora grabbed the chair on the other side of the table. His necktie had a pattern of tiki gods, similar to the giant, carved versions guarding the entrance. He set a briefcase on the ground.
Serge pointed at the bowls. “I ordered the pupu platter. Try the crab Rangoon.”
“Serge, I have something important-“
“Bet you’re impressed I picked the Mai-Kai.” Serge glanced around at decorative coconuts, wicker and ceremonial face masks. “Since 1956, Polynesian splendor on the side of Federal Highway, recently mentioned by a Colombian hit man as a rendezvous point in the excellent documentary Cocaine Cowboys, now out on DVD.”
“This is serious!”
Serge opened a leatherbound menu. “I’m leaning toward the Singapore prawns.”
“Forget food! I need to tell you something-“
He was interrupted by loudness at the front of the room.
“Hold that thought.” Serge bent over to sip iced coffee through a straw from a hollowed-out souvenir fertility statue. “Stage show’s starting.”
A feverish beat of South Pacific drums filled the room as men in authentic loincloths twirled flaming batons. In the middle, five women, sensuous hips and grass skirts, gyrating at an astounding rate.
“Serge-“
“Isn’t Story great?” He took another sip. “Thought I was immune to exotic dancing, but this hula business is an entirely different proposition.”
“Serge! It’s Story I want to talk about!”
Still watching the stage: “What about her? … Hold it …” He turned to Mahoney in alarm. “You’re not speaking noir.”
“Back on my meds.”
Serge slumped in his chair. “Now why’d you go and do that? We had a thing, you and me.”
“I know what you’ve been into.”
“Enlighten.”
“Picking off the Eel’s gang.”
“Why would I do something like that?”
“Your code. They beat Howard pretty good. But not good enough. Left a living witness. There’s a contract out on him, which I’m guessing you already knew.”
“If I cared.”
“Serge, you don’t have to play coy. I gave you my word, so I can’t take you in on this. But let us handle it. They moved Howard to another hospital under an assumed name, and he’s got around-the-clock police protection.”
“President Kennedy had protection.”
“There’s more. A contract on you, too. The mess at those motels, not to mention down Homestead way.”
“Me?”
“Damn it! What do I have to say?”
“That you’ll stop taking your meds.”
Mahoney looked toward the stage. “Remember when I asked if you’d met anyone new, possibly even traveling with them? Someone who might be feeding info on your movements to whoever wants you dead?”
“Yeah, back at Harry and the Natives.”
“I was wrong.”
“This is a first.”
“It’s Story.”
“What about her?”
“She’s not passing info. She’s after you herself.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I would have thought so too, until I found out she’s Howard’s sister.”
Serge’s head snapped back. “You’re shitting me.”
“Been using you to lead her to the gang. Steve ring a bell?”
“I didn’t kill Steve.”
“I know.”
“Another first.”
“Don’t get all happy. I’d have bet anything it was you until I saw the tape.”
“Tape?”
Mahoney reached down for his briefcase and opened a laptop on the table. “Security camera at the end of the motel hallway. I downloaded the digitized footage.”
The agent turned the computer toward Serge. On the grainy screen, a woman walked down the hall. Stiletto heels, mini skirt, big hair. She stopped in front of a door and knocked.
“That’s Steve’s room,” said Mahoney.
“I get it now. Barracuda hooker. One of the oldest scams,” said Serge. “Getting her foot in the door to let the Eel’s hit men in.”
“There are no hit men.”
“What are you talking about?”
Mahoney fast-forwarded the video. The woman came back out and closed the door.
“She’s the killer?” said Serge.
“Keep watching.”
The woman walked back down the hall toward the elevators. As she grew closer to the camera, facial features became recognizable.
“It’s Story!” Serge smacked himself in the forehead. “Of course. Said she was studying.”
“Believe me now?”
“I believe she wants revenge for Howard. But there’s no way she’d whack me.”
“Howard was pretty incoherent by the time she got to the hospital. The police guard overheard him mention your name before going back under.”
“But I’m Howard’s friend. If she’s using me to get to the gang, she must know I want the same thing she does.”
“Serge, she’s not using you to lead her to the gang because she thinks you’re after them. It’s because she thinks you’re one of them.”
“What!”
“At first she wasn’t sure. Just had your name mumbled from her brother’s lips. So she went to the convention center show where Howard was supposed to appear next, figuring you’d be there, which you were, then followed you to the Skynyrd bar.”
“That is a big coincidence,” said Serge. “But it still doesn’t explain why she thinks I’m with the crew who attacked her brother.”
“Think about it,” said Mahoney. “All your cloak-and-dagger to infiltrate the gang, meeting with Steve, the guys at the Wreck Lounge …”
“You know about that?”
“… Surreptitious phone calls, feeding disinformation on nonexistent couriers-everything you did was designed to fool the gang into thinking you were a legit and let you in. Meanwhile, she’s been observing the whole time. Your plan worked too well. It also fooled her.”
Serge looked back toward the stage. Tahitian drums beat louder. Story’s hips reached blinding speed. “I don’t know …”
“Okay, if nothing else,” said Mahoney. “Doesn’t it seem a bit odd she’s still hanging with you?”
“We’re an item.”
“Please!”
Serge’s head sagged. “I thought it was too good to be true, View-Master and all.”
“How are you going to handle it?” asked Mahoney.
“Ambush.”
“You’re going to kill her just for being mistaken?”
Serge shook his head. “The Benevolent Ambush. If I wait for her to come to me, it might not turn out too well. I need to get the drop when she least expects it so I can explain everything without having to dodge bullets.”
“Isn’t she staying with you?”
“No. Packed everything up before her audition earlier today and moved in with roommates at her new school.” “That fits with everything I just told you.” “When you’re right, you’re right.”
“Serge, I know how stubborn you are, so you’re not going to like what I’m about to say next, but I want you to leave town, the whole state would be even better. Just until this blows over. I promise I’ll take care of the gang.”
“No can do.”
“Damn it, Serge! A crew is after you, Story’s after you and … I shouldn’t be telling you this but I’m way past the point of caring about whatever’s left of my career: State agents are closing in. They’ve been homing off your laptop’s wi-fi connection. You’ve been lucky because you move around so much, but it’s just a matter of time.”
