by Tim Dorsey
“Immunity’s still intact.” Ramirez paced behind a burnt-up car and wiped stinging sweat from his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything with your family.”
“One of the dead guys in the Everglades was your other witness, wasn’t he?”
No answer.
“Oh, my God! What am I going to do?” Children across the street stuck the carrot nose in a snowman. “… They’re going to find us, I just know it.”
“Listen very carefully. Nobody’s going to find anyone. You have my word.”
“I’ll bet your other witness had your word.”
“It was completely different with him.”
“Right, he’s dead.”
“No, I mean he wasn’t only a witness. He was a top member of their organization.”
“What’d you do, promise him the same sweet deal as me?”
“I had leverage. Caught him on his yacht, but that’s all I can say except we offered him life without parole or work with us.”
“I’m only a flight instructor. I wasn’t made for this.”
“Just hang in there.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
THE DUNES, ROOM 24
Raul peeked out the curtains for the hundredth time. “What could have happened to Pedro?”
Miguel joined him at the window. “And when are those kids ever going to come back?”
“They’re not,” said Guillermo.
“How do you know?”
Guillermo watched TV. Live aerial footage from a helicopter hovering over the roof of a nearby motel, where cops clustered around a sheet-covered body. “We just found Pedro.”
Outside, Serge and Coleman ran up the concrete stairs and into room 25.
“Where the fuck have you been?” said Country.
“Booze run,” said Coleman, lining bottles on the counter.
“You left us bored in here while you were out having fun?”
“It’s not like that,” said Serge. “I’m working.”
“Doesn’t look like you’re working.”
“Trust me.” Serge uncapped bottles. “You won’t be bored for long.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Now’s not the time to argue. We still have a tiny advantage.”
“What are you, playing fort again?”
“Guillermo knows the kids were in room 24 from the class ring in the mail slot…”-uncapping more bottles-“… But like I told you before, he doesn’t know we also have this room-not yet. And when he does…“ Serge tossed his keys to City.”I parked the car in front of the convenience store at the end of this block. Wait for us there.”
“Another place to wait? And this time in the heat? Fuck that!”
“Please.” Serge pulled pliers from his pocket. “I’m thinking of your safety. And I’m taking a wild guess this will draw the cops.”
“Come on, Country.” City sneered at Serge as they headed for the door. “You owe us big-time.”
“Will you hurry?” Serge opened the rest of the bottles.
Other side of the wall: “How does that mean the kids aren’t coming back?” asked Miguel.
“I’ll speak slowly for you.” Guillermo grabbed his keys. “We’ve been identified. Apparently those kids aren’t as harmless as we’d thought.”
“Maybe they had help,” said Raul.
“Gee, you think?”
Guillermo went to the curtains for his own parking lot assessment.
“What do we do now?” asked Miguel.
“Clear out,” said Guillermo. “Who knows who’s involved? Maybe Andy’s not even here. We don’t know what he looks like. The feds could be using young undercovers as bait.”
“That class ring was kind of easy. You sure we can trust our inside guy?”
“Don’t talk anymore.” Guillermo grabbed the door handle. “I’ll get the car. Miguel, you do a final walk-around of the hotel for anything out of place. Raul, wipe the room for prints and meet us.”
Two men left and slammed the door. Raul grabbed a bath towel.
Room 25: Serge heard the door slam in the next room and peeked out the curtains. Guillermo and Raul trotted down the steps. They split up, Guillermo climbing into a Delta 88. Serge closed the curtains. “Excellent. We’re not late after all. And if Pedro’s count was correct, that leaves one.”
Serge ran for the bathroom.
Coleman strolled at a less purposeful pace. He looked down and saw legs across the floor.
“Serge, what are you doing under the toilet?” Serge adjusted pliers. “Killing the pressure feed. I need a dry tank and bowl.”
“Is this the Simpsons part?”
A twist on the pipe valve. “Just flush that, will you?”
Coleman hit the lever.
Swoosh.
Serge crawled back out and ran into the kitchenette. He wet paper towels under the faucet.
“What are you doing now?” asked Coleman.
“Need a total seal.” He crammed balls of wet paper down the drain. “Don’t want to trust the sink trap. Grab some bottles.”
Down in the parking lot, Guillermo kept checking his watch and glancing out the windshield at the second floor.
Miguel finished circling the motel and climbed in the passenger seat. “Nothing.”
“What the hell’s taking him so long?”
“Probably trying to do a good job.”
“He couldn’t find his own ass if he had three hands.” Another look at his watch. “You better go check.”
Miguel got out of the car and ran toward the stairs.
Room 25: Serge’s right ear was against the adjoining door to the next unit.
“What’s going on?” asked Coleman.
“Shhhhhh!” said Serge. “It’s falling in place just like I planned. They’re beginning to get sloppy.”
Serge pulled the.45 from his waist and silently opened the connecting door. Guillermo’s crew had failed to check the tandem door on their side, which was still unlocked from when Serge and the kids moved freely between the two rooms. He slowly turned the knob…
Outside, Miguel ran up the stairs and along the landing.
Serge crept quietly into room 24. Just ahead, Raul, with his back to him, rubbing the dresser with a towel. He never heard ginger footsteps from behind. The butt of the pistol came down.
Stars.
Serge grabbed Raul under the arms and dragged him into the other room. He closed the adjoining side door as Miguel opened the front one.
“Raul? Where are you?…”
“Coleman,” said Serge. “Hand me that bottle and my smelling salts. Here’s what I need you to do…”
Guillermo watched from the parking lot. Miguel went in… then came out. He leaned over the second-floor railing and lifted upturned arms in a haven’t-got-a-clue gesture.
“Unbelievable.” Guillermo hopped out and ran up the stairs to 24.
In 25, Serge’s ear was against the door again. Heavy footsteps. “Perfect. Lured them back into the room and away from the car, where they would have been able to intercept and retaliate.”
“Escape clause?” asked Coleman.
“The exit window won’t stay open long. We have to work fast.” Serge waved smelling salts under Raul’s nose. His woozy head snapped sideways. Another whiff of the salts, and he was back with the living. Raul felt something wet in his hair. He reached up with his hands.
“Don’t touch it.” Serge aimed his.45. “On your feet!”
“Who are you?”
“Pedro says, ‘Hi.’ Actually, he says, ‘Ahhhhhhhhh!’”
“You’re so dead!”
“Someday,” said Serge. “Save me a seat.”
As previously instructed, Coleman walked behind their guest.
Raul glanced over his shoulder, then back at Serge. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Here’s a critical fact you need to remember,” said Serge. “No matter how much you panic, the closest source of water is the toilet.”
“Why do I need to know where water is?”
Guillermo raced around number 24.
“Sure he didn’t slip out without you seeing him?” asked Miguel.
“Positive. Never took my eyes off the room.” Guillermo opened the sliding glass door and looked down off the balcony. He came back in with a puzzled look. “What could have happened to him?”
“It’s like he vanished into thin air.”
On the other side of the wall, Serge tapped his nose. That was Coleman’s cue. He flicked a disposable lighter behind Raul and touched it to the Bacardi 151 in his hair.
Raul’s hands shot up. “Aaaaaauuuuhhh! I’m on fire! I’m on fire!”
“The toilet!” yelled Serge, pointing toward the bathroom. “Don’t forget the toilet!”
Raul ran by screaming.
“I love flamb-,” said Serge.
“But there isn’t any water in the toilet,” said Coleman. “You filled it with another bottle of one fifty-one.”
“Did I do that?”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!“ Raul came running out.”I’m more on fire!…”
Guillermo heard the hysterical screaming in Serge’s room. But then, there was even louder yelling from spring breakers in the unit on the other side.
“Guillermo…,” said Miguel, picking up a towel dropped in front of the dresser.
“Quiet. I’m trying to think.” Guillermo slowly rotated. He stopped and stared at the adjoining door. “What is it?” asked Miguel. “The next room. That’s it.”
Guillermo ran over and opened the first door but the second was locked. He put his shoulder into it. The door gave slightly, but the deadbolt held. He hit it again.
“Serge,” said Coleman, watching Raul run in frantic circles, slapping the top of his head, “I think I hear someone trying to knock down that side door.”
“Right on schedule. This is going to be tight timing.” Serge grabbed Raul by the arm and pointed. “The sink! Water in the sink!”
Raul ran.
Coleman stepped up next to Serge and looked toward the kitchenette. “More one fifty-one?”
“That would be repetitive. One-ninety-proof grain alcohol.”
A shoulder hit the side door again.
Coleman looked at the ceiling. “Why aren’t the sprinklers going off?”
“He’s not staying in one place long enough, and alcohol burns at a low temperature,” said Serge. “But he still doesn’t like it.”
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! More fire!…”
Another shoulder into the door. This time the frame began to fracture.
“The pool!” Serge pointed at the open sliding glass doors. “Water in the pool! You can make it!”
Raul dashed across the room and never broke stride as he dove off the balcony.
Serge and Coleman ran out and looked over the railing.
“Oooooh,” said Coleman. “He didn’t make it.”
Guillermo had given up on his shoulder and pulled a.380 automatic, preparing to shoot his way through.
Suddenly, even louder shrieking from some kind of pandemonium outside.
“Guillermo!” Miguel shouted from the balcony. “Come quick! The patio! I think I found him!”
Guillermo ran to the railing. People splashed water from the pool onto a smoldering Raul.
“Serge,” said Coleman. “The guy stopped trying to knock down the door.”
“Shhhhhh!” Serge counted under his breath. “Five, six, seven… They must be out on the balcony now, trying to figure where their pal fell from… Escape window just opened!”
They ran out the door and down the stairs. “I get the Simpsons part now,“ said Coleman.”Flaming Mo.”
Guillermo leaned over the balcony, tracing Raul’s flight trajectory up to the next room. “Miguel! Quick!” He ran back inside and unceremoniously shot the locks off the connecting door with excess ammunition.
They rushed inside. Empty but recently occupied.
Miguel fanned his nose. “Jesus, what is that smell?”
“Liquor.”
Another urgent room sweep. They checked the bathroom, closet, under beds. Then a second round. Guillermo ran past the TV and hit the brakes. He looked back. “Fuck me.”
“What is it?” asked Miguel.
They both looked on top of the television. A propped-up envelope. In big letters across the front: GUILLERMO.
He tore open the flap and pulled out a get-well card.
Howdy, Guillermo,
Ain’t spring break a gas? All the history! Here’s your first hint: Follow time backward. Bet you can’t catch me… before I catch you.
Warmly in Florida,
Serge A. Storms
Chapter Thirty-Six
GUILLERMO
Back in the nineties, Juanita was always taking in strays.
Young street boys looking for trouble.
She waited in a Mercedes outside the county jail.
Her extended family was growing in both size and loyalty. She should have been a psychiatrist.
Guillermo was barely eighteen when he finished a three-month stretch for petty larceny. He walked out the back of the jail with two plastic bags of personal junk and no direction.
Juanita rolled down her window. “You need a place to stay?”
“What do I have to do?”
“Whatever I tell you.”
He got in.
To the cast of surrogate sons, she was the mother they never had. To Juanita, it was business.
Guillermo quickly became her most valuable asset. Grooming time.
One Saturday afternoon, he sat alone watching TV in a Spanish stucco house south of Miami. The Mercedes returned from jail.
Juanita came through the front door. “Guillermo, this is Ricky.”
“Hey.”
She set her purse on the table and removed a blood-pressure gauge. “Ricky, come here.”
“What’s that for?”
“Just put out your arm.”
Juanita fastened Velcro and pumped a rubber bulb. She reached in her purse again and handed Ricky a nine-millimeter automatic with a full clip and an empty chamber.
“Guillermo, stand up.”
He did.
She turned to Ricky. “Shoot him.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Shoot him.”
“Is it loaded?”
“Shoot him.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“A test.”
Ricky aimed the gun with a trembling arm. Juanita checked the pressure gauge, needle spiking.
He dropped his arm. “I can’t do it.”
Juanita ripped the Velcro off. “Guillermo, come here.” She refastened the inflatable sleeve around his left arm, then turned her back to them, removing and replacing the clip. “Ricky might have just saved your life.”
Guillermo was confused.
She handed him the pistol. “Shoot him.”
“A test?”
She nodded.
Ricky got it now and smiled. No way the gun was loaded.
Guillermo took aim. The gauge’s needle hung steady at the low end. “One question, Madre.”
“What is it?”
“Did he pass the test?”
“He didn’t do what I asked.”
Bang.
The smile disappeared. Ricky looked down incredulously at the broadening stain in the middle of his chest.
A crash to the floor.
Juanita checked the gauge again. No movement. “Interesting. You can take that off now.”
Guillermo ripped it from his arm.
She stuck the gun back in her purse. “How do you feel?”
“Hungry.”
“Good boy. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
THE PRESENT
Luxury suite number 1563.
Near panic.
Students pounding beers as usual. Except this time it was self-medicating.
“You don’t know who this Serge character is?” said S
pooge.
“Thought he was with you.”
“He’s not with us. I thought he was with you.”
“Holy God. Maybe everything he’s said is bullshit. Maybe he’s the killer.”
“But he left Panama City with us before that mess in our old room.”
“That just means he’s working with someone else. Remember, he’s the one who started all this talk about assassination.”
“Spooge is right. We never saw anyone in our room at the Dunes. He could have closed those curtains himself.”
“We’ve got to get out of here!”
They all jumped up at once, stuffing what was left of their luggage. Melvin walked out of the bathroom. “What’s going on?”
“We just realized nobody knows who Serge is.”
“I know Serge.”
They stopped and stared at Melvin.
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“So you trust him?”
“It’s really my father who knows Serge.”
“But your dad will vouch for him, right?”
“My dad’s scared shitless of him.”
“Screw this. We’re out of here!”
“Why?” asked Melvin.
Joey said, “We think he might be the killer.”
“Serge?” said Melvin. “No way.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Serge may be a lot of things, but I guarantee he’s not the killer,” said Melvin. “Bet my life on it.”
The students half relaxed.
“Still feel better if we moved. I’m getting nervous staying in one spot so long.”
“I’m with Joey,” said Spooge. “Even if Serge is legit, those bodies in Panama City were for real.”
The other students picked up bags and headed for the door.
It flew open.
“Hey, everyone! I’m home!”
Serge strolled in with Coleman, City and Country. He headed for the coffee machine. “What’s with all the packed bags? You going somewhere?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Spooge. “I mean, we know you said to stay put, but we hadn’t heard anything from you in so long…”
“… That’s right,” continued Doogie. “Figured we’d use the time to pack and be ready when you said to split.”
“Excellent thinking,” said Serge. “In fact, we do need to roll.”
“When?”
“Immediately. I’ve made contact with the assassins and baited them, so they could be kicking in the door any second and spraying the place with bullets. We leave right after my coffee’s ready.”
