Tim Dorsey - Gator A-GO-GO

“Andy, what on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“I… What?… This?”

“Where’d you get the cell phone?”

“At a convenience store.”

“You were trying to make a call, weren’t you?”

“Me? No. I swear.”

“Gimme that thing.” Serge snatched it away. “Now get back in the pool.”

“I don’t think it’s a good time.”

“Why not?”

Andy stretched out an arm. “Look.”

Students chanted: “Cole- man !… Cole- man !… Cole- man !…” Coleman stood on top of the pickup’s cab. “Woooooooo!” He licked a finger and stuck it in the air. “… Cole -man! … Cole -man! …”

“Coleman!” yelled Serge. “No!” Too late.

Serge and Andy defensively raised arms as they were soaked by the belly-flop splash. They ran around the back of the truck. Coleman lay facedown on a plastic mat.

Serge stood in horror. “You popped the Casino pool!”

BAHIA CABANA

Serge burst in the door.

“There you are,” said City.

“When are we going to do something?” asked Country.

“Not now.”

“But we’ve been cooped up in here all day.”

“I offered to take you with us,” said Serge.

“On one of your lame tours? No, thanks!”

“I want to go to dinner,” said Country. “You promised.”

“Someplace nice this time,” said City.

Serge opened his cell phone. “But you already have plans for tonight.”

“That’s tonight? ”

“We went over it several times. You agreed in exchange for the dinner I promised…” Serge walked to the far side of the room and dialed a number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Guillermo. It’s me, Serge.”

“How’d you get this number?”

“Pedro. He’s a real talker. Just yap, yap, yap.”

“Got your greeting card.”

“Like it? Always try to be thoughtful, but you can’t be sure what to get some people.”

“You’re a dead man.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“What do you want?”

“Remember De Niro and Pacino in Heat? ”

“I saw it.”

“Didn’t you love that movie? I sure did! One of my favorites, especially the codes they lived by-”

“Is this going anywhere?”

“That scene when they took a time-out and met in that coffee shop.”

“You want to meet?”

“This is getting out of hand. We should negotiate a truce.”

“Sure, we can negotiate a truce. When would you like to chat?”

“I knew you were a reasonable person. How about this evening?”

“That works.”

“Great,” said Serge. “Here’s the hotel and room number…”

A ’68 Dodge Monaco raced south on A1A and screeched into the parking lot of a convenience store.

The address matched Agent Mahoney’s credit card trace.

He ran to the front door.

Bolted.

“Don’t tell me…”

Without hesitation, he grabbed a metal trash can, smashed out the door’s bottom glass and crawled through.

First check: behind the counter. Nothing.

Then the back room.

Mahoney’s feet went out from under him as he crashed in a pool of blood.

He made a quick 911 call and dashed over to the surveillance recorder. A finger pressed eject.

Empty.

A camera crew in matching red shirts and low spirits sulked back to their custom motor coach.

Rood leaned against the side of the bus and kicked sand off a shoe. “This sucks.”

“All afternoon and no decent women who’d let us film,” said his assistant. “Unless you want to count those four old ladies.”

“The G-Unit, for God’s sake.” Rood kicked his other shoe against a tire. “Have I been reduced to this?”

“We should go back to Panama City. Those bitches can’t still be there.”

“I think you’re right.” He turned to the rest of the crew, unstrapping gear and collapsing tripods. “Everyone, back on the bus.”

“Hold it,” said the assistant. “What’s this?”

“What?”

“Three o’clock. Can’t miss ’em.”

Rood turned. “Holy mother.”

Coming toward them: a pair of women hotter than anything they’d netted the whole trip.

“Excuse me,” said the blonde. “Aren’t you Rood Lear?”

Rood glanced at his assistant. “Patience.” He sucked in his gut. “Why, yes I am. What can I do for such exquisite creatures?”

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” said the other. “You’re famous!”

“Like a star!” said the blonde.

Rood licked his lips. “Would you like to be in one of my films?”

“Would we!…”

“You really mean it?…”

“That would be a dream come true…”

“Better not be playing with us…”

Rood smiled at his assistant. “This can’t get any better.” He held out a hand to shake. “What are your names?”

“City and Country.”

Another sideways grin from Rood. “It just got better.”

The assistant: “Why don’t we all head up to our suite?”

“Can’t right now,” said City. “Have to be somewhere.”

“But this evening?” said Country. “Will that mess it up?”

“We’re booked pretty solid,” lied Rood. “But I think we can fit you in.”

The women huddled and whispered. They smiled and giggled in Rood’s direction, then whispered some more.

“What are you ladies talking about?” asked Rood.

“Uh… could we…”-Country lowered her head and feigned bashfulness-“… talk to you in private?”

Rood smirked at his assistant. “Be right back.”

“Go get ’em, tiger.”

He walked a few steps. “What is it?”

“We’d kind of like to ask a favor,” said City.

Uh-oh, thought Rood. Here it comes. Money. “What kind of favor?”

“You’re cute,” said Country. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Me?”

She blushed and looked down again. “I’ve never… been with a celebrity before.”

Rood almost choked. “That’s the favor? You want to spend some time?”

The women smiled at each other.

This time Rood did choke.

“Need a glass of water?”

Rood shook his head. “You mean both of you?”

They nodded eagerly.

He gulped and blinked hard. “Think I can clear the suite for a bit.”

“No.” Country pointed toward one of the resort’s upper floors. “Our room.”

“Why?”

“That’s where we have all our… toys. ”

Rood became woozy. “What time are you free?”

“Say nine?”

“Nine’s my favorite number.”

The women waved as they sauntered away. “Don’t be late.”

Rood walked back to the bus and braced himself with an arm against the door.

“Jesus,” said the assistant. “You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”

“They want a threesome.”

“Them? Holy shit.”

“And just when I started to think life wasn’t fair.”

THAT EVENING

Two men sat in an idling Delta 88 with the lights off. Into their second hour with little conversation. Watching the high-rise hotel a block away.

“Don’t like the looks of this,” said Miguel. “I think it’s a trap.”

“I know it’s a trap,” said Guillermo.

“Then what are we doing here?”

“Every trap is an opportunity to set your own trap.”

“So that’s why you’re wearing a room service uniform?”

“Nothing gets by you.”

“Who is this Serge guy anyway?”

“A nuisance we can no longer afford.” He looked at the car’s analog clock and grabbed his door handle. “It’s time.”