They parked on a secluded corner of a public-access lot. “Coleman, grab that duffel bag at your feet.”
A couple came off a walkway over the sea oats from the beach. Serge nodded seriously and respectfully.
“Who are those guys?” the wife asked her husband.
“Couple of clowns.”
They drove away, leaving Serge and company alone with unfinished business. He popped the trunk. “Time to rock and roll!”
Serge led Clyde across the sand in the grim weather, poking a pistol in his ribs.
Coleman struggled to keep up alongside, continuously rehitching the duffel’s strap over his shoulder. “Serge, I still think the guy looks too weird with all the stuff glued on him. We’re bound to get caught.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong.” Serge poked the barrel harder for motivation. “We’re out in the open with a clear view of any approaching cops. If we do see any, I’ll just slice off his wrist bindings and remove the mouth tape. What’s he going to say? ‘Help! Help! I’ve been held hostage by two guys who played kindergarten games all day while wearing pillowcases!’ He’ll come off like designer-drug fiend. Then if the cops question us we say that we just met him in the parking lot, and he must have relapsed after getting off the bus from rehab.”
“But what about our clown suits?” asked Coleman. “Won’t that make the police suspicious?”
“Again, just the opposite,” said Serge. “I’ll tell them: ‘Look at us. We’re professionals. Do we seem like pillowcase guys to you?’ Of course the answer’s obvious.”
“Mmmmmm! Mmmmmm!”
“Where are we taking him?” asked Coleman, trudging through the sand in big, floppy shoes.
“Over there, behind that clutch of palm trees for a little privacy.” Serge’s own large shoes slapped the beach.
Moments later: “That’s far enough.” Serge poked a gun in a stomach. “Now sit down and don’t give me any trouble or . . . or . . . well, there’s really nothing left to hold over your head. Just do it out of politeness.”
Clyde sat in the sand, and Serge began going through the bag Coleman had carried. First the rope, tent stakes and hammer. Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham! The captive’s ankles were secured to the ground. Serge pulled out a bottle of drinking water, the tape and a baggie of pills.
Coleman puffed a robot. “What are those?”
Serge held the baggie to his face. “This was a real bitch to prepare, so I hope it works. Remember the Fizzing Circles I showed you before? And I mentioned a tedious process that caused a mood swing and change of heart? I’ve since come around on that kind of constipated thinking. I’ve decided to go for a two-pronged project.”
“Dear God,” said Coleman.
“That’s right,” said Serge. “All the most critical pieces of scientific apparatus have redundancy circuits, so why not me?” He tossed the baggie in the sand next to the captive and held up a video camera. “Those babies in that bag might not do the entire trick, but the added visuals will put it over the top. When you commit to a project, you can’t just phone it in.”
Chug, chug, chug. “I still don’t know what those are.”
Serge knelt next to Clyde. “It took three whole boxes of Contac. Except not Contac, but the generic called Colored Capsules, because the folks at Contac are good people, too. And since they come in capsules, I twisted them all apart and dumped out the original contents. Then I wiped a bowl down and hit it with a hair dryer to ensure a moisture-free receptacle. I mashed up a whole bunch of the Fizzing Circles until there was just powder in the bowl. Next I carefully spooned it into the empty halves of the previously disassembled capsules and twisted them back together. It took forever, but one of the strongest motivational forces in the universe is irony.”
Serge reached into Coleman’s bag again and pulled out thick plastic goggles. “Clyde, you’re going to need these. Safety comes first.” He fitted them over the hostage’s head with a thick rubber strap.
“Mmmmmm! Mmmmmm!”
“Man, hold your horses,” said Serge. “The tape is just about to come off.”
Rip.
“Ahhhhh!”
“Keep it down or . . . or . . . just keep it down.” Serge uncapped the bottled water and wedged it in the sand. Then he opened the baggie and scooped out a handful. The other hand stuck the pistol in Clyde’s cheek. “Are you going to play nice with others? A nod will do.”
He nodded.
“Good. Now, as you heard me explain to Coleman, this isn’t poison or any addictive prescription, because I just say no to drugs. The ingredients in these capsules are just for upset tummies, and yours must be doing backflips right about now. And in your self-crafted rationale that I observed on that other beach, it’s totally moral for me to force you to take them. So open wide and don’t chew; the water will be coming right up to wash it down.”
The capsules were crammed in his mouth, then the water bottle. It was a struggle at first, but soon Clyde managed to get them swallowed.
“Good student,” said Serge, reaching back in the bag. “Just a few more times and I won’t bother you in this way again.” He repeated the process as needed until the baggie was empty.
“Excellent!” Serge reached in the duffel for more tent stakes and rope. Wham! Wham! Wham! The hostage’s arms were now stretched out over his head with wrists held fast to the ground.
Serge ripped off yet another strip of duct tape. As he pressed it in place: “You know, I did some Internet research on the subject of cruelty, and the stuff I read brought tears to my eyes. Someone actually crucified a pelican on a wooden light pole. I’ll spare you the rest of the ghastly details, but the horrible deaths animals experience in the name of idle entertainment are nothing short of heartbreaking. Not to mention that the tormentors proudly post the videos. What’s wrong with people like that?” Serge gestured skyward with the hand holding his own video camera. “I guess I just can’t understand the concept of torture.”
“Mmmmmm! Mmmmmm!”
Serge grabbed a pocketknife. The blade flipped open and stuck between the captive’s lips. “Hold still,” said Serge. “I’m going to cut a small slit to give you a little extra air, but I don’t know why. I must be going soft or something.” Slice. He inserted a drinking straw. “There! You still can’t scream, but feel free to go ‘toot, toot, toot’ like a toy train . . . And now that I’ve thought about it, I require it. Go ahead.”
The captive just stared up with horrified eyes.
“Come on!” said Serge. “Don’t make me regret giving you that slit. ‘Toot, toot, toot.’”
Clyde was tentative, and it came out more like a question. “Toot, toot, toot?”
The clowns doubled over with laughter. “I don’t know why that’s so funny,” said Serge. “Maybe it’s the goggles.”
“Or maybe all the corn chips you glued on his chest and legs,” said Coleman.
“You might have something there,” said Serge. “I’ll call him the Bandito.”
Puff, puff, chug, chug. “What now?”