Back to the anchor desk. “The erratic antics continued after landing on the platform, where Highpockets immediately ran to the massive drill. A warning to viewers: The following footage may be disturbing…”

Riles looked down and spread his arms. “Oil! Oil! I want to [bleep] it.” He lunged. The TV abruptly cut back to the anchorwoman. “ We must stop the film here, but it was at this point that all witnesses agree Highpockets voluntarily took a running leap down into the drill shaft mechanism. The rig’s crew briefly considered suspending operations out of respect and concerns of product contamination, but a petroleum engineer at the site assured them that the magnate’s organic matter added octane and gas mileage… In a prepared statement just released by corporate headquarters in Houston, the board of directors extended its condolences to the victim’s loved ones while lauding their CEO’s actions on the platform. I quote: ‘Riles was a dear friend to the entire Lunar Holdings family, and everyone is deeply touched by his ultimate sacrifice in the development of alternative biofuels. We are moving beyond petroleum to a greener America. Who would expect that from an oil company? Riles, that’s who.’”

Part Three

Chapter Forty

ROD AND REEL PIER

Agent Mahoney bobbed a line in the water.

A phone rang.

“Mahoney here. Mumble to me.”

“It’s Harold. If you’re still interested, I just got a hit on that credit card.”

“Where!”

“Bar in New Smyrna. It’s called…”

Mahoney knew the place inside out. “Thanks, Dutch.”

He closed the phone. “Here, kid. Have a fishing pole.”

“Gee, thanks, mister. And it’s got a fish on it.”

Mahoney cleared out of room 3 at the Rod and Reel Motel and sped east in a ’68 Dodge Monaco.

PALM BEACH

The Atlantic was calm. A light chop sparkled from a late-morning sun and glistened off the windows of old-money mansions.

Unlike other parts of the state, the continental shelf drops like a cliff just a few miles out, where the big freighters and yachts cruise. Route A1A continued south, leaving the famous Worth Avenue shopping district and swinging out to the edge of the beach. A ’73 Challenger rolled by security cameras at the entrance of the Trump compound, station wagon and pickup close behind.

Andy was up front with Serge. City and Country passed a bottle in the backseat. Coleman was there, too. Normally, it would have been tight quarters.

Serge looked in the rearview and raised his walkie-talkie. “Lord of the Binge, you okay?”

Coleman keyed his own walkie-talkie. “I like it here.”

Andy visibly shook as he turned around and stared at Coleman lying up on the rear window ledge, then back at Serge and his walkie-talkie. “No offense, but I’m not sure I want to be riding with you guys anymore.”

“Don’t have a choice,” said Serge, draining a travel mug of coffee.

“Is that a threat?”

“For your own safety.” Serge set the cup back on the dash. “You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“I get the feeling something will anyway.”

“I was saving this, because I knew how spooked you were.”

“Saving what?”

Serge took his hands off the wheel and clapped them together. “I have great news! This is going to make your whole day, sure to boost your spirits!”

“What is it?”

“Remember me mentioning the birthplace of spring break? I just found the original spot. I mean the exact, genuine GPS location, not like the Fountain of Youth, where they dug a hole in St. Augustine, planted a sign and took my fucking money without even letting me climb down the well, but I did anyway. More like fell-Coleman let go of my ankles. But what are you going to do?”

“I’d like to get out of the car now, please.”

“We’re going too fast.”

They left Boynton and crossed the Broward line.

“I still think we should call the authorities,” said Andy.

“Told you: There’s a mole.”

“But what can one guy do? If I call, they’ll send a whole team like they did before…”

“And take you to a safe house?”

“Right.”

“That’s why I can’t let you,” said Serge. “I know this game. When there’s a mole, the precise moment you’re in greatest danger is during the hand-off. It’s the last open shot they’ll have. Besides, I got something better than a regular safe house.”

“Which is?”

“Serge’s Safe Fun House!”

Somewhere along the Atlantic coast, a cell phone rang.

“Agent Ramirez here.”

“Received a hit on that credit card.”

“Finally! Where?…”

The ’73 Challenger continued down A1A, speeding past giant new condos and boutiques where history had been demolished.

“Serge,” said Andy. “Why are you waving a gun out the window at those buildings and making shooting sounds with your mouth?”

“Does that bother you?”

They crossed Sunrise Boulevard. Recent construction gave way to the old Lauderdale strip. Andy looked out the window at a postcard view: endless sea, bent coconut palms, lifeguard shacks and the famous whitewashed balustrade along the sidewalk. “Where are we?”

“The cradle.” He pulled into a convenience store parking lot, and students from the other vehicles gathered ’round.

“Supply run,” said Serge. “Stock up heavy. Gets expensive fast if you run out down where we’re staying.”

Coleman and the kids went for beer coolers. Serge spun racks of souvenirs. Melvin grabbed bags of chips.

Andy glanced around. “Pssst, Melvin. Can I ask you a favor?”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Don’t want Serge to hear.” Andy handed him his credit card and a disposable cell phone in a plastic blister pack. “Buy this for me.”

“Why don’t you buy it?”

“Serge doesn’t want me making any calls.”

“I don’t think he wants anyone making calls.”

“You’re not worried?”

Melvin laughed. “You don’t know Serge like I do. This is all just fake drama. That’s what I was finally able to explain to the other guys. He’s hilariously eccentric. I convinced them to sit back and go along with his imagination. Trust me, it’ll be a riot.”

“I don’t think this is fake.”

“Of course it is. Why? You know something we don’t?”

Andy opened his mouth, thinking of all the things he wanted to say-canceling each one before it came out. “Can you buy the phone?”

“It’s not my credit card.”

“These people never check.”

“I don’t think Serge is going to let me.”

“He likes you. Tell him it’s about a girl.”

Serge was at the checkout.

“Sorry,” said the cashier. “We just have those magnets and key chains.”

Serge leaned far over the counter and looked down. “Sure you don’t have anything else back there? Bet you do if you look. Tequesta artifacts; Stranahan family mementos; Las Olas bricks; wood splinters from coastal forts, whence this city got its name.”

“We have little thimbles.”

“You should have bricks. I can get some if you want. Hot seller.” He grabbed an item from a cardboard counter display. “Better than this cigarette lighter that looks like a penis. I can have you up to your neck in bricks by sundown. Just say the word.”

“Sir,” said the cashier. “Someone wants to buy something.”

“Oh, sorry.” He stepped aside. “Melvin, what are you doing with that phone? You know what we talked about.”

Melvin looked at his shoes. “It’s… a girl.”

Serge slapped him on the back. “You are a sly dog.”

A luxury motor coach blocked traffic in both directions on A1A as the driver negotiated a challenging turn radius.

Car honked. Not from annoyance. They recognized the company name and paint job. Girls Gone Haywire had come to town!