The Javelin came off the crest of the bridge and approached the intersection of Blue Heron and Broadway.
“Serge, what if that guy doesn’t call you back?”
“He’ll call.” Serge searched the sides of the road. “He’s scared to death of this Jellyfish character, and screwed without Steve.”
“So he needs you.”
“I always try to put myself in the position of helping others … There’s a news box …” He pulled over. “I love this intersection!”
“It just looks like a million others.”
“The pawnshop’s still here-and the Dairy Belle! We used to walk there from my house when I was a kid and get ice cream. It’s just about all that’s left to remind me of my childhood …” He pointed toward the other side of the street. “… Those Mayan ruins used to be a Publix supermarket with the old chevron logo where I’d ride in the shopping-cart kiddie seat, back when they still had mechanical cash registers.”
“What happened to it?”
“Probably the same thing that doomed the venerable Spanish Courts motel and the Bazaar market with the trilon sightseeing tower-my old Riviera Beach got too dicey a proposition after it became a crack flea market. I’m getting the paper now.”
“Rip it up.”
Serge returned and flipped through sections, gleaning the meat of articles. “… Missing person’s body found in bedroom after six weeks; relatives thought the smell was dead Norwegian rats in the wall … Members accuse condo association of holding secret meetings in Canada … Superhot teacher has sex with her student…”
“That makes fifty-one now.”
“Fifty-two … Cuban refugees land in middle of coastal defense exercise … Immigration uncovers plot to smuggle Eastern Europeans into Orlando as circus performers …” Serge turned another page. “Oh my gosh!”
“What is it?” asked Coleman.
“This is a great day!” Serge held the page toward Coleman. “Look who’s giving a lecture.” “Don’t know him.”
“Coleman, he’s a Florida legend! I’ve wanted to meet him my whole life and now I get the chance. All because I read the local paper.” Serge looked at his watch. “Shit.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Looks like we missed it. But if I hurry, maybe we can catch him on the way out.” Serge threw the car in gear.
“But what about those people you want to kill?”
“I know this is irresponsible, but sometimes you have to treat yourself.”
The Javelin made record time across West Palm Beach, turned onto Okeechobee Boulvard and skidded up to the curb in front of a giant modern building with glistening glass facade. A crowd walked down the front steps.
“We’re in time,” said Serge. “They’re just getting out.”
“What is this place?”
“The fabulous Kravis Center for the Performing Arts.” Serge pointed with a quivering arm. “And there he is!”
In the middle of the exiting audience, people shook hands with a distinguished older gentleman in a cowboy hat.
“Come on!” Serge jumped from the car and sprinted across the lawn. He was out of breath by the time he’d pushed his way through the crowd and finally reached the cowboy hat. He thrust out an enthusiastic hand. “Howdy! I’m Serge! Honor to meet you! Missed your talk-bet it was a doozy! I’m Serge!”
The man graciously shook the hand. “You okay?”
“Couldn’t be better now that I’ve met you!”
The man laughed. “Not everyone feels that way.”
“Give me their names!”
Serge suddenly stumbled forward as someone crashed into him from behind.
“Coleman! Behave!” Serge turned back around. “Sorry about that. This is my associate, Coleman. Coleman, this is Claude Kirk, the oldest living governor of Florida, elected 1966, also known as Claudius Maximus for how he shook the good-ol’-boy power structure to its knees and sent rascals scampering back under their rocks. I’m Serge!”
“You mentioned that,” said the governor, shaking other hands. “So what are you doing after this? Fighting crime?”
“Going home.”
“Got a ride?”
“Someone’s supposed to pick me up.”
“We’ll give you a lift!”
“Appreciate the gesture.” The governor looked at his watch, then scanned the edge of the street.
“Coleman,” said Serge. “You’ll love this. A few years back, the governor was being questioned on the witness stand in some court case by F. Lee Bailey, who asked Kirk to identify himself, and state for the record what he used to do. And he said he was a former governor of Florida. And Bailey asked what he was now, and Kirk said, A has-been, just like you.’”
The governor laughed. “That really pissed him off.”
“Coleman, why I really admire this guy is his unbridled passion for Florida, or at least what it could become if they’d only listen to him. After all these years, still battling the dark side.”
The governor glanced at his watch again. “Sounds like you really care about this state.”
“You have no idea!”
The governor took off his cowboy hat and wiped his forehead as he stared at the street again. “Damn hot out here in the sun. Maybe I will take you up on that ride.”
“Let’s rock!”
“Shotgun!” said Coleman.
“Have manners,” said Serge. “Shotgun goes to our special guest.”
The Javelin headed north on 1-95.
“Tell me son, are you a Republican?” asked the governor.
“No, a Whig. I’m leading the comeback.” Serge turned sideways, photographing the governor with his digital camera.
“Shouldn’t you be watching the road?”
“It’s okay.” Click, click, click. “I do this all the time.”
“I’d rather you watch the road.”
“Got enough pictures anyway.” Serge faced forward. “So what’s on the governor’s mind these days?”
“Sugar industry.”
“What about it?”
“I want to sink ‘em.”
“Why?”
“Special-interest lobbyists control all the politicians and keep price supports in place. If it wasn’t for that, Americans would have more affordable sugar.”
Serge punched the dashboard. “Sugar prices!”
“Even worse,” said the governor. “In the process of raising the cane, they’ve altered the flow of the Everglades, killing what’s left with fertilizer runoff. Then they leave town before having to clean it up.”
“I’m on board!” said Serge. “We’ll get some bricks and clubs and kung fu throwing stars …”
“Absolutely not!”
“But I thought you wanted to sink the sugar daddies.” “Within the system. That’s always been my philosophy. Work within the system for change.”
“Can I start my own system?”
“No.”
“Allllll right.” Serge reached under his seat and pulled out a yellow legal pad. He handed it back over his shoulder to Coleman: “Start a todo list. Action Item Number One: Sink big sugar within the system.” He turned to his right. “What next, governor?”
“It’s all about water. Between thousands of new residents moving into the state and the decline of the Everglades, we’re running out…”
“Dear God!”
“… Nobody’s thinking ahead,” continued Kirk, “and it’ll be too late when the people start screaming. It’s already started.”
Serge grabbed his chest. “Tell me, governor, what can we possibly do to thank you for caring.”
“Well, I do have one wish. I’d like to be buried on the capitol grounds.”
“Coleman,” Serge said over his shoulder. “Action Item Number Two: Bury the governor on the capitol grounds.”
“Now?”
“No, you idiot! After he dies … Sorry about that, governor …”
The drive continued into a residential neighborhood west of the interstate, next to a canal with familiar reptilian eye-knots poking out of the water.
“Coleman,” said Serge. “The governor almost single-handedly saved the Florida alligator from extinction.” He turned toward the passenger seat. “They were down to less than three hundred, right?”