Five Russians ran out on the sidewalk, looking around, soon joined by panting police officers.
Ivan scanned the parking lot. No people, no movement…wait, over there. A black van slowly pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared around a corner toward the interstate.
“To the Mercedes!”
Lenny climbed forward into the van’s passenger seat. The driver was a large older woman with a poufy gray hairdo and a goiter. Lenny leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thanks for picking us up, Mom.”
“You know I’m always happy to give you a ride home.”
“Mom?” said Serge. A Chihuahua bounced up from somewhere and landed standing in Serge’s lap, facing him. Serge jerked his head back. “What the—?”
The dog barked.
“That means Pepe likes you,” said Lenny.
“Who’s your friend?” asked the driver.
“That’s Serge,” said Lenny. “He’s…my new employer.”
Serge and the dog were having a staring contest.
“That’s nice.” The driver looked up in the rearview at Serge. “Thanks for giving Lenny a job. He’s a good boy. So what do you do? Work at the harness track?”
Lenny spoke preemptively. “No, we were just out for some fun today.”
The van accelerated down the middle lane of I-95.
“Lenny, you haven’t called for weeks, you haven’t shown up,” said his mom. “You know how worried I get.”
“Any mail?” asked Lenny.
“A little. I put it in your room.”
Serge looked up from the dog. “You live with your mother? You never mentioned anything.”
“I’ll explain later.”
“What’s to explain?” said Serge. “Either you live with your mom or you don’t.”
“Lenny, you’re not ashamed of me, are you?” asked the driver.
Lenny turned around. “Yeah, Serge, I, uh…I live with my mom. But only until I get a little older, you know, until I’m ready.”
“You’re forty-two,” said Serge.
Mom looked in the rearview again. “So what is it you do, Serge?”
“I run my own new-economy entrepreneurship. Involves a lot of driving.”
“Like traveling salesmen?” said Mom. She put on a blinker for an exit ramp. “Lenny, that explains why you were gone so long. You should have told me.”
Lenny leaned over and kissed her cheek again. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
The van pulled up the driveway of a single-story concrete ranch house next to the interstate ramp. White, baby-blue trim. The lawn was overgrown, a big teardrop oil stain in the driveway. Three people and a dog headed up the walkway. Lenny’s mom unlocked the front door and they went inside. Serge looked around the living room filled with religious paintings, crucifixes, ceramic Madonnas, votive candles and a Ouija board.
“Serge, don’t waste your money on a hotel tonight,” said Mom. “You can stay in Lenny’s room.”
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Lippowicz,” said Serge. “Let’s see your room, Lenny.”
“Well, it’s not really my room room. I just use it for storage. I rarely stay here.”
“What are you talking about?” said his mother. “You stay here all the time.”
They headed down the hall. Serge stopped in the doorway. “Bunk beds?”
“Mind if I have the top?”
Serge set his briefcase on the dresser and walked over to the closet. “Let’s get started.”
“Get started what?”
“Checking out your stuff.”
“I still have most of it.”
Serge opened the closet door. “Wow, you’re not kidding.”
He started taking down boxes. Lenny lit a joint and went over to the window and exhaled outside, where a Mercedes had been parked a half block up the street for the last ten minutes.
Vladimir leaned over the backseat and pointed at the van in the driveway. “What are we waiting for?”
“I told you,” said Ivan. “We have to be patient. We can’t just rush in there like we usually do.”
“Why not? It’s just some old woman’s house.”
“That’s what a safe house is supposed to look like,” said Ivan. “The doors are probably steel-lined and booby-trapped. All kinds of sophisticated surveillance electronics.”
“I wonder what’s going on in there?” asked Vladimir.
“Probably some big strategy meeting,” said Ivan.
“My turn,” said Lenny, sitting cross-legged on the floor and drawing a card. “‘Remove wrenched ankle.’”
Bzzzzz.
“I’m tired of playing Operation,” said Serge.
“How about Hot Wheels?”
Lenny got out a shoebox of little cars and began laying tracks. Serge got out the Legos.
“What are you doing?” asked Lenny.
“Making the Brick Wall of Death,” said Serge. “Where’s your lighter fluid?”
“I don’t have any lighter fluid.”
“How can we play Hot Wheels without lighter fluid?”
Lenny’s mom sat in the living room reading the Enquirer. Lenny kept walking by at intervals.
Lenny held up a roll of aluminum foil. “Mom, can we use this?”
She looked up and nodded. Lenny headed back to the bedroom.
A minute later, Lenny held up a large cardboard box. “Can we use this?”
She nodded.
A minute later Lenny sprinted by in the background, then ran back to the bedroom with a fire extinguisher. Lenny’s mom put down her paper and went into the kitchen. She slipped on Jeff Gordon pot holders and opened the oven door. She set a ceramic serving dish on the table.
“Dinner’s ready!”
No answer.
She headed down the hall. “I said, dinner’s ready!”
Still no reply.
She stepped into the bedroom doorway. Nobody in the room. Just a big cardboard box in the middle of the floor. The box was covered with aluminum foil.
“I said, dinner’s ready!”
A voice from the box: “Mom! Shhhhh! We have to maintain radio blackout!”
“You can play later,” said Mrs. Lippowicz. “Food’s getting cold.”
The foil-lined top of the cardboard Gemini capsule flipped open, and Serge and Lenny stood up. They followed Mrs. Lippowicz into the kitchen.
“It’s hot, so don’t touch the dish.” She stuck two big serving spoons in the casserole.
Serge got up and held her chair.
“Why, thank you, Serge.”
Lenny began chowing. Serge tucked a napkin into his collar and cleared his throat. Lenny looked up. “Prayer,” Serge whispered.
“Sorry.” Lenny put down his fork, folded his hands and bowed his head.
“May I, Mrs. Lippowicz?” asked Serge.
“Of course. Thank you, Serge.” She turned to Lenny. “Your friend has such nice manners.”
Serge bowed his own head and closed his eyes. “God, please protect us from your followers. Amen.”
They began serving.
“Good prayer,” said Lenny.
Serge piled his plate. “It’s from a bumper sticker.” He took a bite. “This is delicious, Mrs. Lippowicz. You’re an incredible cook.”
“Thank you. It’s tuna noodle casserole with browned Tater Tots on top.”
“The Tater Tots make it,” said Serge.
Mrs. Lippowicz passed Lenny the salt and pepper. “Why can’t you be more like your nice friend Serge?”
Midnight, Lenny’s bedroom.
Serge’s eyes opened in the bottom bunk. Something had awoken him. He looked around, then noticed the bed was vibrating. His eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. The vibrations increased.
Serge looked up at the bunk above him. The shaking got worse. “What on earth—?”
He tried to sit up, but the bed pitched and knocked him back down.
“Lenny, what the hell are you doing up there?”
No answer. The bed started rocking violently, the bottoms of its four wooden legs rattling and tapping on the floor. Serge grabbed the sides of his mattress and hung on as the bunk began to slowly slide and rotate across the terrazzo bedroom floor like a puck on an air hockey table.