“Get in.”

Miguel stared through the opening, then back at Serge. “In there?”

“It’s a two-foot hatch, but you should fit.”

“Isn’t it full of-”

Serge shook his head. “Completely empty. They don’t fill until ready for use. Otherwise it destroys the works.”

“But I’ll suffocate.”

“Not a chance. It’s deceptive, but there’s a ton of room once you’re inside, more than enough air till morning.” Serge pulled a flashlight off his belt and held it together with the gun, sweeping its beam through the hole. “Loads of space. The real trick is the blades.”

“Oh my God! I’ll be chopped to pieces!”

“Will you stop making everything worse than it is?” Serge aimed the flashlight through the hole again. “You must be a real treat on long trips… See? They’re just generally called blades, but the edges are completely dull. And not too tall, about a foot, so you shouldn’t have much difficulty stepping over them, at least for the first couple hours.” A wave of the gun. “Now in.”

Miguel trembled as he climbed headfirst through the hole. He got stuck halfway and hung by his stomach, kicking his legs.

Serge threw his hands toward the stars. “Everyone wants my help.” He grabbed Miguel by the knees and boosted him the rest of the way inside. Miguel fell to the bottom with a heavy thud and an echo: “Ouch!”

Serge picked up the hatch cover.

Miguel’s face appeared in the middle of the round opening. “You mentioned mercy?”

“That’s right. I always like to give my students a way out of jams. Because I’m into optimism. What about you?”

A blank stare.

“Should try it sometime,” said Serge. “No point going through life sweating the small stuff when shit like this can spring up. In your particular case, the mercy is gasoline capacity. Once I turn this baby on, it can’t run forever. If you just keep hopping over those blades until the fuel runs out-which should be around dawn when work crews arrive-you get to live. But if the blades start tripping you up”-Serge winced-“well, let’s just say things start going downhill pretty fast.”

“You really think I have a chance?”

“Definitely.” Serge fit the hatch cover over the hole and began screwing.

A knock from the other side.

Serge sighed. He unscrewed the cover and pulled it back. “What now?”

“I can’t see in here. It’s completely dark.”

“Shoot, thanks for reminding me. If you don’t see the blades, they’ll start tripping you immediately, and then there’s absolutely no way you can make it.” Serge pulled the flashlight off his belt again and handed it through the hole. “You’ll need this.”

“Thanks.”

He screwed the hatch back on.

Five minutes later, Serge finished stripping insulation from a pair of wires and flicked his pocketknife shut. He touched the metal ends together. Sparks. The sound of a heavy industrial mechanism coming to life. The copper tips were twisted into a permanent connection with rubber-handled pliers.

The noise grew louder as Serge walked back around to the hatch. He banged a fist on thick steel. “How are you doing in there?”

“Not too bad. I think I might be able to make it.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“So how long are these flashlight batteries supposed to last anyway?”

“Oops, I didn’t think of that.”

Chapter Forty-Six

THE LATE NEWS

Television satellite trucks filled the parking lot of a resort hotel. Correspondents were stacked on top of one another, using a custom motor coach for backdrop.

“… Authorities still have no leads on the gangland-style assassination of Girls Gone Haywire founder Rood Lear, whose bullet-riddled body was discovered…”

“… Witnesses said two young women were seen earlier in the lobby…”

“… Following a heated confrontation in Panama City Beach…”

“… Described only as ‘persons of interest’ are leaders of the activist group MAGGH, Mothers Against…”

“… Responding to an anonymous tip, police arrived at the motel room seconds after the shooting but were too late to apprehend the assailant…”

“… Meanwhile, online sales of the controversial videos continue to shatter records…”

Someone held a microphone in front of Rood’s tearful chief assistant. “… He was always giving and giving…”

Two people sat in front of a TV, convulsing with laughter.

“Whew!” Serge wiped tears from his face.

“That was a good one!” said Coleman.

Serge’s laughter bled into an expression of concentration.

“What’s the matter?” asked Coleman.

“Not sure,” said Serge. “You know how you sometimes hear something and it doesn’t seem important at the time? But days later, out of the blue, when you’re doing a completely unrelated activity, the significance suddenly dawns on you?”

“No.”

“Andy said his mother shot herself.”

“Poor kid.”

“Coleman, women take sleeping pills or jump. Men shoot themselves.”

“Maybe she didn’t have pills or bridges.”

“Can’t explain it, but I just have this feeling.”

Coleman fidgeted on the couch. “What are you doing?”

“I think I’m sitting on something.” He clicked the TV remote and reached for a beer.

“Most other people would find out what it is,” said Serge. “Maybe even get off it.”

“Really?” Coleman rolled to his side and reached down.

“My phone charger!” said Serge.

“Why’d you put it under my butt?”

“Gimme that thing.” He went to the wall and plugged it in.

The display came up. “Coleman, you made me miss a call.” He redialed. “Serge here. You rang?”

“Nice try.”

“Hey, Guillermo. Thought you’d like that touch. Guess the cops didn’t get there in time.”

“You underestimate me.”

“Likewise; I got Miguel,” said Serge. “So I guess it’s just you and me now. We’re going to have so much fun!”

“Where’s Andy?”

“Someplace safe where you’ll never find him.”

“You’re not getting my meaning,” said Guillermo. “I’m not asking you to tell me where he is. I’m asking if you know where he is.”

“What’s your point?”

Click.

Serge looked quizzically at the phone.

“What is it?” asked Coleman.

“Shit!” Serge jumped up and ran out of the room. He knocked hard on the next door.

Spooge answered.

“Andy with you guys?”

“No, thought he was with you.”

He ran to the next room and knocked again. City and Country passed joints with the rest of the gang. “Andy in here?”

“Said he was going for a walk.”

Serge’s head fell back on his neck. “Andy, Andy, Andy, what have you done?” He looked at the students again. “How long ago?”

“Just missed him.”

“Wonderful!” He turned to leave.

“Oh, Serge. You know when Melvin’s coming back? He’s got the keys to the truck and we need it.”

“What do you mean, ‘coming back’? Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. Left with this guy in a car.”

“Guy?”

“Really old dude. Your age.”

“Wouldn’t happen to remember what he was driving?”

“That’s easy. Wicked excellent ride, Delta 88.”

“You guys are supposed to be smart,” said Serge. “None of this raised any flags?”

“Thought he was alumni or something.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he was looking at the Gators bumper sticker on the pickup before Melvin went over and asked what he was doing.”

“And then what happened?”

“I got more beer.”

LAS OLAS BOULEVARD

The case dossier lay in a lap.

“Agent Mahoney’s Monaco sat in a parallel space along the bistro district. Wine, sidewalk tables, palm trees wrapped year-round in strands of white Christmas lights-just down the street from the demolished Candy Store nightclub, national birthplace of the wet T-shirt contest in the bygone spring break era, making it a church of sorts. Mahoney had rescued his share of cops from that lounge, and now the chips were due. He stared at the folder of paperwork and faded photos resting on his legs.”