“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.