“Stop talking.”
“. . . Mary was an unwed teen mom,” said Roger. “We’re concerned about his views on abortion . . .”
“. . . And we’re worried about His stance on capital punishment,” said Jansen. “Because of that incident . . .”
“Both of you, shut the fuck up! I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” Serge stood behind the drugged political operatives next to the fat Jesus, who was petting a lobster in a tank filled with iron pellets, and glanced over at the duct-taped hostage. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ALFONSO’S
Serge tucked Roger and Jansen snugly into their beds and made it back to the warehouse just as truck traffic cleared off the charcoal-black industrial road.
He moved the hostage outside, in back by the scrapyard, and made him change his clothes at gunpoint.
Now the captive was all shiny.
The tape remained over his mouth. In front of him, a giant aquarium with a lobster. The captive watched as Serge placed the lobster in a temporary bucket while he removed the iron pellets and replaced them with regular sea gravel “to establish the control element for my test results.” Then Serge attached something to the side of the lobster with several wrappings of water-resistant tape.
The prisoner observed Serge walk backward with a giant spool, laying down wire like a demolition team, from the aquarium all the way out of sight around the corner and through the front door of the warehouse.
Serge ran back in joy. “Almost done. Barely any waiting left. Just one more thing . . .” He reached in a bag and hung a jumbo magnet over the far end of the aquarium. The hostage looked straight up and saw a much bigger magnet.
“And that’s it!” said Serge. “Isn’t this great? . . . Ah, you don’t know what’s going on?”
Coleman exhaled a cloud toward the moon. “I don’t know either.”
“This is one of my all-time favorites!” said Serge. “But to truly appreciate it, you must first understand a lobster’s orientation mechanism . . .” And he laid out the whole scene, the internal sac and the little rock, blah, blah, blah. “You follow me? You have a grasp? Good! Then I taped this little gizmo to the side of Shelly. That’s his name; you might need it later. The thing I taped is a ball-bearing tilt switch. The little ball stays at one end of the plastic tube unless it’s tilted, and then it rolls to the other, where it simultaneously touches two metal contacts and completes the circuit. Very easy to come by, used in pinball machines and thermostats and car-trunk lids to turn the light off, and bombs—don’t worry, this isn’t a bomb—and some vending machines that now have alarms because people keep rocking them to get the bag of Cheez-Its hung up on the corkscrew.” Serge walked over and patted the man on the shoulder. “Next, you’re probably wondering about that spiffy new getup you’re wearing. It’s a shark suit, used to protect divers from nasty bites, and composed of a thin titanium mesh called chain mail. The only opening is the top part of the face where the scuba mask goes.”
“Serge,” said Coleman. “Can we get some Cheez-Its?”
“Not now.” Serge crouched down in front of the chair like a baseball catcher. “Here’s the deaclass="underline" I always give my students a way out. So all you have to do is keep the lobster entertained and at your end of the aquarium until dawn, when Alfonso and the crew arrive and will set you free. Shelly likes music, so you might try humming. Or wiggling around. Any kind of motion, because it’s probably pretty boring in the tank.”
Coleman tossed a roach on the ground and snuffed it out with his shoe. “What if Shelly decides to explore?”
“That’s what they call a game changer,” said Serge. “If he reaches the spot under the magnet, it’ll flip him over, tripping the ball-bearing switch . . .” His eyes followed the wire into the warehouse. “From there it’s all computerized. Alfonso has an automated program to run the scrapyard.”
“What’s it do?” asked Coleman.
“Creates more irony.” Serge pointed straight up. “The big magnet that lifts the junked vehicles will come down and grab him by the shark suit, and then it’s a wacky ride over there, when the power to the electromagnet is cut off, dropping him into the car-crusher. Which, of course, turns on.”
“What’s the irony?”
Serge pointed up again. “See the big crane claws surrounding the magnet? It’s like the reverse of the lobster game at the restaurant. This time the lobster captures the human.”
“Cool.”
Serge smiled a last time at his contestant. “I’ll leave you and Shelly alone now so you can get to know each other.”
The pair began walking away.
Coleman grabbed another joint from over his ear. “What kind of music do you think Shelly likes?”
“I’m guessing the B-52’s.”
The hostage watching in terror as Serge and Coleman climbed into the car on the other side of the yard, singing two-part harmony in the distance.
“It wasn’t a rock . . .”
“ . . . It was a rock lobster!”
The Firebird drove out the gate. It was quiet again except for bullfrogs in a stagnant storm ditch.
The hostage looked at the lobster. The lobster looked back.
The lobster wasn’t moving. Maybe it was asleep. So far, so good.
An hour went by. Since Shelly seemed quite inert at the moment, the hostage didn’t dare move or make a peep, lest he disturb the status quo.
Another hour. Still an indolent lobster. This might be easier than he thought.
Suddenly his eyes flew open. The lobster’s antennae began twitching more than usual. It backed up from the glass a couple of inches and stopped.
The man hummed as loud as he could.
The lobster began turning. The captive thrashed side to side to get its attention, but apparently the lobster had seen more interesting days. It completed the turn and began scooting through gravel toward the other end of the tank.
Humming went to max volume with no song in mind.
The lobster was almost under the magnet.
Now just hysterical screaming under the duct tape.
For some unexplained reason, the lobster simply stopped.
The man held his breath. Could he believe his eyes? The lobster began slowly turning around to face him again.
The burglar sagged with a huge sigh.
Then the lobster took a step backward . . .
. . . And flipped over.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!”
There was a loud ker-chunk sound followed by mechanical whizzing.
The captive looked up. This was no slow-motion, dramatic magnet. It came down with haste and was so powerful that the victim actually leaped off the ground with the magnet still a good foot away.
His face was mashed against it as the claw tongs closed underneath, carrying him into the night sky, legs wiggling like a detached lizard’s tail.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
THE NEXT MORNING
Police cars with lights ablaze continued streaming through the entrance of Alfonso’s Scrap Metal. More were already on the scene, taking notes and photos.
Alfonso had called them immediately to avoid an accessory charge. He played dumb. Not hard given the evidence.
The head detective sat on the other side of Alfonso’s desk in the warehouse office. He crossed his legs and noticed something in the sole of his shoe. He picked out an iron pellet, looked at it a moment and flicked it over his shoulder. “You’re telling me you have absolutely no idea who did this?”