Val ran around to the driver’s door. Anna stood beside the car, looking at the house.
“What are you waiting for?”
“There’s more stuff.”
“Forget your stuff!”
“I need it.”
“You’re not seriously thinking of going back in there?”
“He’s probably sleeping. I’ll just be a minute.”
10
A ’71 BUICK RIVIERA sat in the parking lot of the Winn-Dixie shopping center on Big Pine Key. The windows were down. Serge peered across the lot with a pair of camouflaged hunter’s binoculars. He raised a tiny digital recorder to his mouth. “Surveillance file zero-zero-zero-zero-one. Subject: white female approximately thirty-five to forty years old, driving beige, late-model Pathfinder. Established contact outside dry cleaners, several dresses and a jacket. No visible scars or tattoos, full set of teeth, brunette hair, nicely groomed but not overly so in a manner indicating bullshit personality…. Subject now exiting vehicle for supermarket. Will resume report once inside and target reacquired.”
Serge and Coleman pushed empty shopping carts side by side up the cleanser aisle. Serge had argued they should use only one cart for mobility, but Coleman didn’t want people to think they were gay. Serge lectured him about bigotry, and Coleman said he needed his own cart anyway for self-esteem…. Where’d the woman go?
They ran in panic along the meat case, checking each aisle, soup to nuts… there she was. Serge and Coleman executed a flanking maneuver down the salad dressing aisle and hooked back into breakfast. The woman looked up as two carts skidded around the far end of the aisle and crashed into each other. Serge and Coleman grabbed cereal boxes and pretended to read. The woman resumed shopping.
Serge raised a fist concealing the recorder. “Target reacquired… comparing flavors of nature bars, original and new…”
The woman turned toward Serge; he looked away quickly.
“Coleman! Her cart’s moving! She’s coming this way!”
They held cereal boxes over their faces. The woman passed by. Coleman tugged Serge’s sleeve. “Can I get something?”
“Of course. You’re an adult.”
“I don’t see Frankenberry.”
“They don’t make it anymore, the fuckers.”
“There’s no Quisp, either. And no Quake or Count Chocula.”
“Our heritage has been raped.”
“This one’s got a free offer.” Coleman turned a Pokemon box over. “Darn, it’s one of those deals where you have to mail away and wait six weeks.”
“I hate that,” said Serge. “You could be a whole new person in six weeks. I want to immediately dig in the box and find some rubber-band toy that can put your eye out. She just cleared the aisle. We’re back on.”
They began pushing carts again.
“Remember when you used to race as a kid?” said Coleman.
“I loved that.”
“Let’s do it.”
“Okay.”
They sprinted down the aisle like Olympic triple jumpers, simultaneously leaping onto the bars between the back wheels. Serge’s cart edged ahead of Coleman’s.
“I’m winning! I’m winning!…”
Past the Life and Cheerios. “Coleman, you’re veering into me!”
“There’s no steering!”
“It’s like wind-surfing. Shift your weight.”
“I can’t!”
Crash.
Serge and Coleman ran away from the cereal-strewn aisle with two carts nosed up into the shelves.
The woman took a number at the deli. Serge and Coleman arrived with a single new cart and hid behind the rotisseries.
“Look at this,” said Coleman, holding up a box by the cardboard handle. “Marked-down chicken.”
“I love marked-down chicken,” said Serge. “It’s always better. Put it in the cart.”
“Cheap generic pizza,” said Coleman, picking up a frozen disk. “And expired doughnut holes. I think we’re in the guy section.”
The cart began to fill.
“Ever put potato chips on a sandwich?” asked Coleman.
“That is the best! Then you mash it all down good. The bread ends up with a bunch of fingerprints, but the taste!”
“You can only do that when women aren’t around,” said Coleman. “And you definitely can’t pour bacon bits straight in your mouth from the container.”
“No kidding,” said Serge. “Once they see that, the sexual ship sails forever.”
“You know who really doesn’t put up with that shit?” said Coleman. “Lesbians.”
“What did I tell you about that kind of talk?”
“I’m not criticizing. I like lesbians.”
“I’ve seen your video collection.”
“That’s not what I mean. They have lots of strong points.”
“Like what?”
“Well, like they can install their own garbage disposals.”
“Did you eat a lot of glue as a child?”
“Sometimes.”
A butcher began slicing meat and cheese for the woman. Serge raised a fist to his mouth. “…Boar’s Head, Gouda…” The woman glanced over at Serge. He looked away. A speaker in the ceiling: “Cleanup, cereal aisle.” Two sun-burnt construction workers walked past Serge and Coleman’s single cart. “Faggots.”
“I told you,” said Coleman.
“Serves you right for that crack about lesbians.”
“But I was saying something positive.”
“It’s still against the rules.”
Coleman noticed the seafood section on the other side of the rotisseries. “Hey, I just remembered something I loved to do in supermarkets when I was a kid.”
“What?”
Coleman told him.
“That’s a great idea!” said Serge. “I completely forgot about that!”
Serge and Coleman ran over and leaned with palms pressed against the cold glass of the seafood case, staring inside. A couple of five-year-old boys walked up and put their hands on the glass next to Serge and Coleman. A man in a paper hat wiped his hands and approached from the other side of the case. “What can I get you fellas?”
“Nothing,” said Serge. “We just want to look at the fish with the heads still on.”
Coleman pointed. “She’s heading to dairy!”
“Let’s go!”
The woman was checking calorie counts on various yogurts, opting for fruit on the bottom.
Serge staked her out from over in eggs.
A stock boy arrived with a large cart. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” said Serge. “Where are the small eggs?”
“We don’t carry small,” said the stock boy. “The smallest we have are medium.”
“How small are they?”
“Really small.” He flicked open a box cutter.
“What if I don’t want really small? What if I just want kind of small?”
“Get the large. They’re small.” He slit open a carton.
Serge grabbed a Styrofoam container out of the cooler. “How big are the extra-large?”
“Medium.”
“And the jumbo would be large?”
“Medium to large.”
“Thanks.” Serge put the container back in the cooler.
“What about your eggs?” asked the stock boy.
“I don’t want eggs, just answers.”
The woman headed for produce and placed tomatoes on a scale. Serge and Coleman hid behind the florist display. Coleman picked up a rose and sniffed it. “I’ve never stopped in this part of the store before.”
“Neither have I.” Serge picked up a bouquet and checked the price tag.
“Maybe you should buy something to have on hand, just in case.”
“You’re right.” Serge placed the bouquet in their cart. “Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a dozen supermarket flowers for three dollars.”
Coleman looked toward the ceiling. “They have helium balloons. The ones made of foil.”
“Those are critical.” Serge reeled one down and inspected the pressure. “But you have to save them for the right moment. You don’t want to shoot your wad.”
Coleman reeled down his own balloon. “This one’s a double. It’s got a red heart inside a clear heart.”