Tim Dorsey - Gator A-GO-GO

A cell rang somewhere south of Miami. “Hello?” A hand quickly went over it, and the person walked outside. “Are you crazy calling me now?… No, I can’t talk. They’re circling the wagons. Everyone’s under suspicion… What I’m saying is they know you’ve got an informant in the family… How can you say there’s no way? We’ve got someone inside with you… I don’t know who our guy is, sheriff, janitor, anyone. Point is that’s how they must have found out… I understand you’d really like the name of our informant-I just need more time… Don’t even joke about taking back immunity. I’ll contact you as soon as I hear something. And never call me on this line again!” The phone slammed shut.

Another phone rang. Another person answered. “… Yes, I can talk… I see… You think you know who the informant in our family is? Very good, who?… You’ve only narrowed it to two people? That’s not good… I realize it’s a huge risk getting at the files right now. That’s what we pay you for… No, time’s already run out. Haven’t you been watching the news?… Okay, what are the two names?”

THE PRESENT

Four A.M.

Serge’s surveillance had synchronized his watch with the rounds of local police.

The latest squad car rolled toward him. And kept going. Serge jumped from a hedge on the side of A1A.

Pedro was already bound and gagged in his seat. Serge popped open a toolbox. He began loosening hex-head bolts with his largest socket. Some were stuck from the years, needing WD-40 and a hammer banging on the wrench handle.

Minutes later, all the right bolts lay on the ground. Serge’s wrist-watch said to dive in the bushes. Another cruiser drove by.

Quiet again. Serge dashed back.

Stifled screams under the gag. Serge untied it.

“Please! Dear God! Whatever you’re thinking… I’ll, I’ll pay you. Cash, cocaine, anything!”

“The name,” said Serge.

“What name?”

“Who you’re after.”

“They’ll kill me.”

Serge turned to walk away. “Suit yourself.”

“Okay, okay. Andy McKenna.”

“Andy? He’s just a kid. What’s he ever done to you?”

“Nothing. It’s his dad…” And Pedro laid it all out from soup to nuts.

“How many of you are there?”

“Four.”

“Good, very good,” said Serge. “Now, who’s behind it?”

Silence.

“Come onnnnnnnnnn …“ Serge gave him a buddy jab in the arm. ”You’re doing great.”

“Guillermo.”

“Guillermo?”

“But he’s just the crew leader for Madre.”

“Wait… but… you don’t actually mean the Madre.”

Pedro nodded.

“I remember reading about her back when Miami Vice was still on the air.“ Serge blew a deep breath through pursed lips.”Thought for sure she’d be dead by now.”

“Far from it,” said Pedro.

“So history comes full circle.” Serge stroked his uncharacteristic two-day stubble. “What impressed me is how you’ve been able to track him. Students on spring break are like stray cats. But I have a theory.”

Pedro clammed up again. Then: “I’d rather you kill me.”

“So it is what I think?”

“They keep me in the dark on that. You have to believe me.”

“I do. Does this Guillermo have a cell number?”

Another nod.

Serge got out a scrap of paper and pen. “Ready when you are.”

Pedro rattled off digits. Serge stuck the note in his pocket. “Most excellent. See how easy that was?”

“So you’re going to let me go?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Serge replaced the gag, then whistled in awe. “And how!”

Another cruiser rolled up the street.

When it was gone, Serge poked his head from the bushes and walked to a breaker box…

DAYTONA BEACH

The 911 call came just after dawn from a commercial air-conditioning repairman. He’d been cleaning coils on the pebbled roof of a two-story motel just south of the band shell. Soon, the roof swarmed with detectives and a forensic team, photographing Pedro from every angle. Or what used to be Pedro. Now he was more like Flat Stanley, his clothes a thin package of human jelly in a fly-swarmed stain.

They combed the rest of the roof. No sign of a trail from the maintenance doors-or anywhere else. It was like he just materialized out of the blue at the very spot they’d found him.

How the hell did he get there? And in that condition?

Nobody could figure it.

Until another 911 call. This time from the amusement boardwalk.

Luxury suite number 1563.

Two gentle knocks at the door, followed by two more. Students flinched.

“Who the hell can that be?”

“It’s Serge’s signal.”

“What if it’s someone using Serge’s signal?”

Melvin checked the peephole and undid the chain.

They saw Serge and bent forward as one, anxiously awaiting any news.

He strolled into the room like nothing happened.

“Well?” asked Joey.

“Just boring investigative work. Tedious documents and records.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Can we leave the room?”

“No. You’re okay for now, but I have some more chores until it’s completely safe.”

Speculation shot around the room. “Andy,” said Serge. “Could I have a word?”

“Sure.”

They stepped into the bathroom. Serge placed a paper bag by the sink and combed his hair in the mirror. “Or should I say ‘Billy’?”

Andy crashed into the tub, taking down the plastic curtain.

“I’m sorry.” Serge helped him up. “Have a weakness for the dramatic.”

The student grabbed a towel rod. “How much do you know?”

“Everything. Your father, the flights, yanked out of kindergarten…” Serge poured a cup of water from the faucet and handed it to him. “Why didn’t you tell me at the band shell?”

“Because I’m not supposed to,” said Andy. “That’s the big rule they gave us. Any exposure, and the whole family must relocate and start over. Almost happened a couple times in third grade when there was another Billy. Then we had to move. Michigan to Massachusetts.”

“What happened?”

Andy stared at the floor.

“Can’t be that bad.”

A tear fell. “My mom shot herself.”

“Sorry,” said Serge. “Didn’t mean to pry.”

“That’s okay. Long time ago.”

“Because of the witness program?”

Andy shook his head. “I was just a little kid. Dad told me she’d been very sick and was finally at peace. Went into remission before we left Florida, but it recurred. Because of how she’d… chosen to leave, local authorities had to run a mandatory investigation and officially rule the cause of death. Our witness liaisons thought it was too much attention, and off they shipped us again.”

“You still should have mentioned something,” said Serge. “Didn’t that business back in your Panama City room make any lights go on?”

“I was absolutely certain it couldn’t be the reason. We’re talking over fifteen years ago.”

“These people have been known to hold grudges.”

“Okay, so now we figured it out.” Andy braced an arm against a tiled wall and lowered himself onto the closed toilet lid. “Take me to the FBI.”

“Afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Serge gave him a penetrating look.

Andy got a different expression, backing up against the wall. “You’re… not…”

“Relax. I ain’t with nobody. It’s something Pedro told me.”

“Who’s Pedro?”

“Better you not know. Especially now.”

“What’d he say?”

“My suspicions were correct,” said Serge. “They have someone on the inside. That’s how they’ve been tracking you. And until I find out who, we can’t contact the authorities.”