Tim Dorsey - Pineapple grenade

“I thought you said this was an inappropriate time to be aroused.”

She caressed her left breast. “Espionage, danger, remember?”

“Right.” He pointed. “Behind the Jim Morrison hangar.”

The pair took off in a sprint. Serge stopped and turned around. “Coleman, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Coming with you.”

“Coleman!”

“I won’t watch. Much.”

“Go back to the parking lot with the walkie-talkie and do what I said.”

“Poo.”

Moments later:

“Oh God! Oh yes!” shrieked Felicia. “Faster! Faster!..”

Serge was on top, thrusting at maximum speed and looking out over her head with binoculars. A Grumman Mallard made a splash landing in the unseen waters, one of the few seaplanes in recent years to visit Dinner Key.

“Don’t stop!” Felicia dug her fingernails into Serge’s neck. “ I’m coming! I’m coming! Oh my God! I’m coming!..”

A walkie-talkie squawked next to her head.

He grabbed it. “Serge here. Come in, Coleman.”

“Are you still fucking?”

“Yes, what’s up?”

“Nothing. I was just trying to picture it.”

“… I’m coming!..”

“Was that Felicia?” asked Coleman.

“She’s busy.”

“Can I listen?”

“No. Call back when you have something.”

Serge set the walkie-talkie down and grabbed the binoculars again. The Grumman eased up to the dock…

Over in the parking lot, Coleman kicked a pebble.

Three white vans pulled up the circular drive and took a side road that led around behind city hall.

Coleman keyed his walkie-talkie. “Serge?”

“What?”

“I’m hungry.”

“So am I, but you don’t see me stopping what I’m doing.”

“Hold on,” said Coleman. “I couldn’t hear you. Three white vans just drove by.”

“Did you say three white vans?”

“Yeah, like we saw at that other place. Can we order a pizza?”

“Coleman, you were supposed to be on the lookout for three white vans.”

“I thought it was six polka-dot cement mixers.”

“Coleman…”

“The vans are heading your way. Now they are becoming polka-dot cement mixers, melting together in a big, glowing blob that’s yodeling through a ‘crazy’ straw to my soul.”

“You dropped acid, didn’t you?”

“No, I would never… Is it obvious?”

“Dammit, Coleman!” Serge jumped to his feet.

Felicia sat up with a wild mane of sex-hair. “What’s the matter?”

“Here come the vans.” They watched from the shadows until the vehicles passed. “And Coleman’s tripping. Hope you enjoy surprise parties.”

“Tripping?”

“It’s like herding infants in traffic. Last time he filled his underwear with lightbulbs and played a solitaire version of ‘duck-duck-goose’ for two hours.”

“Why?”

“I don’t even ask anymore. There’s Victor Evangelista.”

They looked down toward the dock and couldn’t miss Vic’s billboard of a Tommy Bahama shirt. Van doors opened.

“Look,” said Serge. “It’s Agent Oxnart again.”

“They’ve started unloading the plane,” said Felicia. “… Six, seven, eight…”

“What are you doing?” asked Serge.

“Counting… eleven, twelve, thirteen…”

“Why are you counting?”

“Shhhhh, you’ll mess me up… seventeen, eighteen…” She zoomed in with the binoculars. “And the branded codes in the wood. I just figured it out. I can’t believe it.”

“Figure out what?”

“Those are the same crates.”

“What do you mean?” said Serge. “They’re refilling similar boxes?”

“No, they’re the exact same ones. See for yourself.” She handed him the binoculars. “From the warehouse to Opa-locka to the Deering Estate to here. Lugar, Oxnart, Lugar, Oxnart.” She shook her head. “None of the arms ever left the city. They’re just running laps around Miami. And every time Evangelista gets paid on both ends… That’s the real reason we were detecting so many more guns than my country would ever need.”

“Told you it was a typical CIA operation.”

Felicia took a hard breath. “This is worse than I thought.”

“What?” said Serge. “I thought you’d be happy the weapons aren’t reaching Costa Gorda.”

“That’s when I thought the arms were the goal. But they’re just a means to an end, and I don’t know what the end is.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because Evangelista would be dead for sure if he was pulling this double rip-off on his own. Our generals and your agents would be tripping over each other to put a bullet in him.” She stared at the stars. “Someone much bigger is behind this, with a bigger agenda.”

“And you don’t think it’s the generals?”

Felicia bit her lip. “Just this feeling I have. Something the dead newspaper reporter mentioned that I can’t get out of my head.”

Serge covered his eyes with both hands. “Please, God. This isn’t happening.”

“I didn’t know you cared so much about my people.”

“Not that.” Serge nodded toward the dock. “Infants in traffic.”

“Coleman’s going down there and talking to them? What the fuck!”

“Surprise.”

“Do something!”

Serge raised his walkie-talkie. “Coleman, you need to get out of there!”

Felicia tugged Serge’s sleeve. “Why isn’t he answering his walkie-talkie?”

“It’s in his underwear.”

Coleman looked down at his talking crotch. “Trippy.”

Felicia jumped up. “I’ve got to stop him!”

Serge grabbed her arm. “Beyond the point of no return. Best to let it play out.”

“But he could wreck everything.”

“Usually it gets so weird, people just dismiss him as a street loon.”

“He’s patting them on their heads.”

“Duck-duck-goose.”

“They’re aiming guns at him!” said Felicia.

“The game is more competitive than I remember.”

The hatch closed on the plane. Mooring lines uncast for emergency takeoff.

“See?” said Serge. “Evangelista’s intervening and trying to cool them out. Maybe he’s done LSD and knows the score.” Serge keyed the walkie-talkie again. “Excuse me, Mr. Evangelista. Please don’t harm my docile friend. He’s just on acid.”

Felicia and Serge watched in the distance as Victor stared down at Coleman’s pants. “Who the hell was that?”

“Uh-oh,” said Serge. “More guns.”

Shouting in the distance again. Evangelista firmly extended his arms to regain command of the troops. “No! No shooting! It’s a critical time for our operation back in Washington. Put the safeties back on-now!”

A goon in a jumpsuit pointed an Uzi at Coleman. “But he saw everything. First Scooter and now this.”

“He’s just a drug addict!” yelled Vic.

“What about the voice in his pants?…”

The arguing between Evangelista and his men escalated. The plane began taxiing off in Biscayne Bay. A heated shouting match.

Felicia squinted from behind the hangar. “What on earth is he doing now at the back of that van?”

“Oh, Coleman,” said Serge. “Not even you…”

One of the jumpsuits pointed. “Look!”

Everyone turned to see Coleman with an RPG on his shoulder.

Victor held out a calming hand. “Easy with that. Try not to make any sudden moves. You don’t want to touch anything.”

The Grumman lifted off from the water.

Coleman touched something.

Woooooooshhhhhhh.

Everyone ducked.

The rocket-propelled grenade streaked across the night sky, exploding through the seaplane’s left wing and fuel tank. The fireball lit up everything for miles, and debris plunked down into the water like flaming rain.