Serge stood idly next to the car like he was bored.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Cheyenne.”
“You’re bringing her in on this?”
“Just the opposite.” His eyes scanned every conceivable direction. “I have to make sure she doesn’t get the slightest whiff of what we’re up to. I’m taking a wild stab this is a touch worse than romantic commitment.”
Serge began to whistle as he leaned against the back of the car, slowly rocking. “That’s long enough. She’s not around. Open the room and I’ll get our guest from the trunk.” He bent down and began inserting a key in the lid.
A woman’s voice: “There you are!”
“Jesus Christ!” Serge leapt up and landed sitting on the lid of the trunk. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Uh, just around the corner,” said Cheyenne. “What’s gotten into you? You’re awfully jumpy.”
“Nothing, nothing,” said Serge. “Almost had an accident up the road. Heart’s still pounding.”
A wary eye. “Are you sure that’s it?”
“Definitely!”
“If you say so.” An off-hand smile. “I didn’t know where you went, because I was kind of hoping . . . uh, you could show me your tombstone rubbings.”
“Yes, yes, sure. How long are you on tonight? I just have a couple pressing business matters to tie up, and then it will be a freaking tombstone jamboree.”
“Are you positive you’re okay?”
“I’ll ring you in the office when I’m free.”
“I’ll be waiting.” She headed back to her office, glancing over her shoulder in suspicion. Serge had a toothy grin and waved to her with wiggling fingers. Then she was gone.
“Hurry, Coleman!”
The trunk popped, and soon a familiar scene.
Two people sat next to each other on the edge of a motel bed. Coleman smiled and petted a frog. Serge petted a roll of duct tape.
A brief scream as the pastor regained consciousness and looked down at all the tight rope and his uncomfortable chair.
Ribbit.
“Where are my manners?” said Serge. “Jebediah, meet Jeremiah. Sorry, but he didn’t bring his wine.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Damn, you’re fast.” Serge began cleaning under his fingernails with the tip of a large-bladed hunting knife. “My conditions are nonnegotiable. First, release all the young women at your farmhouse. We both know what’s going on. Second, no more protests outside military funerals. Make that anywhere in the world while we’re at it.”
“You can’t do this!” said the pastor. “You’re abrogating my First Amendment rights!”
“Couldn’t agree more,” said Serge. “Few things are as important to me as our blessed Constitution.”
“You agree?” said the pastor. “Then how can you do this?”
Serge shrugged. “I’m wrong. Sorry.”
The pastor fumed with flared nostrils. “You’re going to hell!”
“Meet you in the elevator.”
The pastor threw a tantrum in his chair, making the legs tap-dance on the wooden floor. “Who do you think you are?”
“An angel,” said Serge. “Avenging or merciful. You make the call!”
“You’re no angel!”
“I was using poetic slack,” said Serge. “‘The better angels of our nature.’ That was Lincoln. And I want you to embrace all your fellow citizens as children of God.”
“I don’t want to.”
“‘You can’t always get what you want.’ That was Jagger.”
“You won’t get away with this!”
“I don’t have to get away with anything if you agree to my simple terms.”
“Never, you pervert! Not in a million years.”
“I was kind of hoping you’d say that, because I have so been wanting to try this.” Duct tape quickly went over the mouth, and the chair began being dragged backward.
Minutes later, Serge sat at the steering wheel of the Plymouth. “Coast clear? No Cheyenne?”
“Right-o,” said Coleman, leaning over a bong.
“You’re not even looking.”
“I’m high. I have extra powers.”
The gold Plymouth slowly pulled around to the dark side of the motel and the special parking area for the bass boats favored by the sportsmen staying at the inn. Serge backed up to one, got out and fastened the trailer hitch.
“You’re stealing a boat?” said Coleman.
“No, this is one I rented earlier and had waiting here on standby.” Serge climbed back in the car to the sound of banging in the trunk. “It’s actually a pretty good deal around here. I grabbed this baby on the wings of hope that I could employ it in my next science project.” The Plymouth pulled out of the parking lot and turned east . . .
Lake Okeechobee has various access points for fishermen. There are a number of ramps over the Herbert Hoover Dike to public launches. If you have a really big boat already in the water, then you have to enter through one of three locks.
“It’s not a very big boat,” said Coleman.
“No lock, no problem.”
Serge followed the road curling south toward Clewiston until he found one of the ramps, dark and deserted. The bass boat slid into the water, including the captive, tied up again to the chair. Serge got behind the wheel and pushed the throttle just above idle.
At this part of the lake, the open water is a few miles away. In between, marshland laced with canals, including a large one around the rim, logically called the Rim Canal. Serge rode it awhile before reaching an opening off the port side, and turned left into what’s known as the Old Moore Haven Canal.
From there it was a straight shot through ferocious thriving nature. Birds and bugs and bogs.
“Listen to that racket,” said Coleman.
“The swamp sizzles at night,” said Serge. “Humans might be at the top of the food chain, but out here we’re seriously outnumbered.”
“What is this place?”
“They call it Dynamite Pass. But it’s nothing like the cool name of the spot where we’re heading. In fact, I chose it just for the name.” Serge pushed the throttle forward again, and the boat began to plane. “Florida has some of the best place-names: Corkscrew, Spuds, Festus, Roach, Howey-in-the-Hills, Two Egg, but we’re about to reach my favorite one of all.”
Moments later, they dropped anchor at a crossroads of canals, sitting just a short distance from the lake proper.
“Okay,” said Coleman. “I give. What’s the name of this place?”
Serge stood with spread arms and yelled at the sky: “Monkey Box, Florida!”
“That is catchy.”
“In this case, I’m also media savvy: If you’re going to pull some newsworthy stunt like this, and aren’t geographically constrained, always pick a place with a name that makes the TV people go belly up. They won’t be able to resist!”
Coleman turned all the way around. “But there’s nothing here.”
“Florida doesn’t care, so why should we? Now help me with our newest best friend.”