“I don’t even know what they did,” said Alfonso.
“Our people just pulled a guy in a shark suit out of the crusher,” said the investigator. “Was your lounge open last night?”
Alfonso shook his head. “And I made sure everything was turned off before I left.”
“Our captain doesn’t like headlines. If there’s anything at all you can think of—”
A uniformed officer appeared panting in the doorway. “Sir, I just found something that might be important.”
“What is it?”
“The lobster’s upside down.”
The detective quickly stood. “Not again.”
FORT LAUDERDALE
Noon. The kitchen of an eighth-floor condo sat quiet. A laptop was logged on to a chat room, but the person in the kitchen wasn’t paying attention to the online exchange.
Brook Campanella stood at the counter, pressing her left hand down firmly. Her right hand grabbed a molded rubber grip. The silence was broken by a rhythmic grinding noise.
Choco-holic: “What’s the word from that private eye?”
Shitless in Seattle: “He’s narrowed on the address.”
Pirate Fan: “I’ve got my plane ticket.”
Mets Fan: “Leaving in an hour.”
Wasted in Margaritaville: “I’m already here.”
The Fluffer: “Is Lucy going?”
Choco-holic: “See you all in Miami!”
The grinding noise stopped, followed by the sound of metal clanging on a terrazzo floor where nine inches of shotgun barrel had just landed.
Brook Campanella set down the hacksaw and picked up a file, smoothing out the new bore of the sawed-off twelve-gauge.
MEANWHILE . . .
A black Firebird pulled into the parking lot of a busy shopping center.
Coleman looked up from his hurricane glass. “We’re stopping at Food King?”
“Supply run,” said Serge, jumping down from the car. “You know what else pisses me off? People who say ‘an’ historic event. You don’t say ‘an’ history book. The irony is it’s usually only people who think they’re smarter than you and also say ‘incentive-ize.’ ”
“The pricks.”
“And companies that say, ‘Your satisfaction is our number one goal.’ ”
“If that’s so, then give us the shit for free,” said Coleman.
“Exactly,” said Serge. “But instead they tell you they’ll come to fix your cable between noon and five, and I say, okay, I’ll pay my next bill between July and November, but they don’t laugh.”
They went through the automatic doors of the supermarket.
“Ooo! Ooo!” said Coleman. “I want to drive the cart! Can I drive the cart?”
“Go crazy.”
Coleman got a running start down an aisle, jumped up on the bar between the back wheels, flipped backward and knocked himself out.
Serge sat his pal up and shook him back into the world.
Coleman stood and grabbed the cart. “What are we shopping for?”
“Required ingredients for my new inspiration,” said Serge. “Things are starting to happen fast, so we’ll also need super-high-energy food.”
“What about Little Debbies?”
“Good thinking.”
They turned up the aisle. “Serge, people are doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Giving us looks. They see us with the single cart and think we’re gay.”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“Of course not.”
“But I see what you mean,” said Serge. “Some are glances of abject disgust, while others over-sell their friendliness to compensate for the injustice of our struggle.”
“Here are the Little Debbies.” Coleman grabbed a box off the shelf and set it in the cart.
“Coleman, what do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m putting it in the cart.”
“You never just put it in the cart.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
Serge shook his head. “Give me that.” He took the box and walked backward several steps into three-point range and made an arcing jump shot. The treats crashed into the cart. “That’s how you do it.”
“But, Serge, I don’t think I can shoot from that far away.”
“Give me the box again.” He paced to the other side of the aisle. “If you’re not a good perimeter shooter, I can always hit you with a no-look, behind-the-back pass, and you slam-dunk it.”
Serge slung the box to Coleman, who slammed it hard into the cart. “Like that?”
“You’re a fast learner.” Serge took the box again and began walking even farther than before. “The other options are the underhanded shortstop-to-second-baseman lob to begin a double play or, if the aisle is clear like this one, you can retreat as far as possible for a Hail Mary football chuck into the back of the end zone.”
Serge went as far as possible, then slapped the side of the box in his right hand and unleashed a high spiral that almost reached the air ducts and could be seen from anywhere in the store.
The box crashed a few feet short of the cart.
Coleman picked it up and slam-dunked it hard again.
Serge returned. “Now, that’s how you shop.”
Coleman stared into the cart. “Serge, these Little Debbies are all fucked up.”
“You’re right,” said Serge. “They should check those things before they put them on the shelf and hope we don’t notice. Stick ’em back and grab another.”
They continued, aisle after aisle, slinging and passing and tossing products, until the cart was half full. “Grab that cleaning product and look for giant ten-pound bags of sugar. It will become important later.”
“Why? Another inspiration?”
“You think I bought all that food-storage stuff back at headquarters just to keep leftovers great? We’re going to have the best Tupperware party ever!”
“Serge, I just noticed something.” Coleman threw a tin of mixed nuts. “The people aren’t giving us looks anymore. I mean not the gay looks. They’ve been replaced by these other looks.”
“You’re right,” said Serge. “Now all the looks are bad except without a subtext of butt-fucking.”
“What could possibly be the reason?” asked Coleman.
“You think maybe gay people don’t shop this way?”
“Serge, I’ve been looking around, and I don’t see anybody shopping like this.”
“It’s tourist season.” Serge lobbed a grapefruit. “There are a lot of Europeans in town.”
“They don’t do this in Europe?”
Serge shook his head again. “The countries are much smaller, so they have very tiny carts and no elbow room in the aisles to go Michael Jordan on the store’s ass.”
A few minutes later, the cart was nearly full. “I’m tired of throwing things,” said Serge. He grabbed an item off the shelf and set it on top.
A guy in a trucker’s hat walked by and mumbled, “Faggots.”
Serge turned around: “Hey, buddy, you should watch more Glee.”
“That show’s really growing on me,” said Coleman. “Especially that one chick who’s always plastered.”
“I was particularly impressed by the Madonna episode,” said Serge. “ ‘Express Yourself’ was quite moving.”
“Oh, definitely,” said Coleman. “She’s not just the Material Girl anymore.”
“But you know what makes it the best show on television?” said Serge. “They teach the youth of America that it’s cool to be tolerant.”
“In real life, most of the kids on that show would get daily beat-downs if they broke into song and dance in the middle of the gymnasium during PE.”
“But not on Glee,” said Serge. “The coach always knows that jumping jacks must take a backseat if someone spontaneously feels a Broadway show tune coming on.”
“Madonna would approve.”
“But here’s the most fascinating aspect of Glee. It proves that Sean Hannity and the rest of the gang at Fox News are actually super nice.”