Atomic Lobster (22 page)

COZUMEL

S
traight-A college students bloodied themselves in falls, vomited and had indiscriminate sex, in that order, in the same hour.

Across the channel on the mainland lay the salsa flats of Cancún. Budget motels, even cheaper tequila. Farther inland, the town gave way to farmhouses and hot, dusty fields with a feverish yellow haze. Then even the farmhouses disappeared. Horned frogs and vultures. Eerily quiet, except for occasional gusts of spaghetti-western wind.

In the distance, a tiny ’62 Chrysler station wagon sped down a bouncy dirt road at seventy miles an hour. Across the barren landscape, its kick-up cloud resembled a ground-level jet contrail. The left shock absorbers were history, and the station wagon listed like it had two wheels in a ditch.

A lone hacienda came into view. It appeared vacant. Not as much as a weed in the scorched, lifeless yard. Half the roof was gone; so was an interior wall. The windows had no glass, and, from the proper angle, you could see straight through the building to the maroon sun burning into the horizon.

The car parked. Three doors slammed and as many men in linen suits walked through an empty doorframe. “Hello? Anybody here?” The Diaz Brothers split up. Tommy and Benito circled in opposite directions and bumped back into each other near the front. “Sure we have the right place?”

Rafael returned to the room with arms raised and a muzzle in his back, followed by five bearded men in tunics. They leveled Kalashnikovs.

Tommy and Benito racked their Uzis.

“Drop your weapons!” ordered the tallest tunic.

“You drop ’em!” answered Tommy.

Nobody did. They bore down on each other with empty eyes. It was a standoff. It was in Mexico.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” said Tommy, sweaty finger slipping on the trigger. “Let’s talk.”

“No talk!” yelled the tunic. “We were never even supposed to meet!”

“Then why’d you set this up?”

“You lost the last package. You die.”

“Not our fault. Someone killed the mule and took the shipment.”

“Even worse. Your organization’s fucked.”

“You’ve obviously never been to that part of Florida,” said Tommy. “Just another redneck rip-off.”

“How’d you let someone else get to him? How’d he get out of your sight before you could retrieve the package?”

“We took a different ship back in case he got nailed at Customs. Just like you told us to.”

The man ground his teeth and poked the air in front of Tommy with the Russian assault rifle. “That next package we gave you before we found out you couldn’t be trusted. We want it back!”

“Too late. Already in the pipeline.”

“Get it out of the pipeline!”

“We know what we’re doing.”

“You know how to lose a package.”

“The mules are the problem. The type of person willing to take that kind of work isn’t reliable,” said Tommy. “That’s why we’re using a totally different method this time.”

“A different method to lose a package?”

“Ever consider trying to be less annoying? You might think you’re popular, but—”

“Shut up! What is this method?”

“Shut up or tell you the method?”

“The method, you fuck!”

“Okay, number one…” Tommy began and didn’t stop until he’d laid out the plan to the final detail. “…and then we meet back in Tampa.”

The man gritted his teeth harder.

“Come on,” said Tommy. “We’ve already set it in motion. Weigh the risks of giving it a shot versus jumping in and mucking it up.”

The teeth remained locked. Finally, the man released his trigger hand. “This is your last chance!” He left the room, and the others followed.

WAINSCOTTING RESIDENCE

The noise was deafening.

Party Day.

Serge stood in the open office door at the top of the stairs.

Below: A sea of derelicts filled the living room, laughing, shouting, stumbling, dancing to the driving stereo beat. Through the middle, Coleman pushed a rolling serving cart.
“Cocktails, pretzels, smoke…”
The mob was thickest on the far side of the room, Rachael stripteasing atop the bar. She captured a dollar with her tits. The serving cart rolled by.
“…Yellow jackets, psilocybin, Diet Coke…”

Serge went back in the office. “This cannot end well.”

An hour passed. Serge sat behind the office desk, deep in thought.

Knock-knock.

The door opened; music volume spiked.

“…Rebel rebel, your face is a mess…”

Coleman closed the door and walked over to the desk. “Serge…”

“Not now.” Serge aimed his digital camera. Flash.

“Playing with your dirt again?”

“This isn’t
playing
.”

“I thought you kept your dirt in tubes. What are all those flat things?”

“Bought a bunch of ant farms. Wanted to see how they behaved in different genius soil.”

“How’s it going?”

“Kerouac ants had another cave-in.”

“Oh, yeah, just remembered,” said Coleman. “I knew I came in here for a reason.”

“To bother me?”

“No, someone’s outside to see you.”

“Who?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Another knock. The door opened. “Serge!”

“Lenny?”

“Long time!”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Heard you were having a party.”

“You did? But…how?…”

“I called him,” said Coleman. “Took the liberty of going through your address book. Except most of the entries were famous dead people and the names of cemeteries.” He pointed at the open door. “Have to get back to my guests.”

“The hostess with the mostest.”

Lenny watched him leave, then turned to Serge. “You hang out with that dude?”

Serge took another photo. “Yeah, why?”

“He seems like, you know, a real loser.”

“You’re judging?”

“But I thought
I
was your best friend.”

“You are.”

“Then what’s he?”

“My other best friend.”

“You’re seeing another best friend?”

PORT OF TAMPA

The SS
Serendipity
eased into its berth. Mooring lines secured. Gangway dropped.

The G-Unit stood near the front of a sweaty, impatient crush of people waiting for the hatch to open. It was important for them to be at the front because the ship had a short, ten-hour turnaround, and the ladies needed every second for their road rally around Tampa: prescriptions, banking, laundry, then back to their apartment to offload acquisitions and grab whatnot.

The ship finally opened up. Edith grunted against the weight of her rolling suitcase. “Can’t believe how heavy this is.”

Edna struggled with her own. “How much did those guys buy us?”

“Too much.”

Then down the ramp, and gravity reversed the problem, luggage threatening to steamroll the gals if it weren’t for helpful crew members, who assisted them into the terminal. They reached Customs and another massive backup. There was a clock on the wall. Eunice looked up at it through the swinging, fringed balls of her sombrero. “Already behind schedule.”

Edith was wiped when they reached the end of the luggage tables. “I need to lighten this.” She began jettisoning ballast.

“You’re getting rid of the statue?” said Ethel.

“Steve will never find out.”

It took an eternity, but they finally cleared inspections and played the sympathy card to cut to the head of the cab line. They tipped the driver extra at the outset, and again when he completed their chore run in record time, dropping them at their apartment.

Police were swarming the place. The landlord stood in the background.

“What’s going on?” asked Edna.

“Authorities uncovered a major counterfeiting operation.”

“Are we in danger?”

The landlord shook his head. “Left in the middle of the night.”

The women went inside their own unit, and Eunice bolted the door behind them. They fanned out, unpacking and repacking. Edith filled a dresser drawer. “I hope you’re not actually going to leave that thing out in plain sight.”

“What?” said Edna, carefully positioning her own Chac-Mool in a prominent spot on a bookshelf. “I think it looks great.”

“It’s hideous.”

“Edith,” said Eunice. “We’re barely ever here. If she wants to display that stupid thing, what’s the harm?”

They went back to their suitcases. “…still ugly.”

A knock at the door.

“We expecting anyone?”

DAVENPORT RESIDENCE

Debbie and Trevor stood in the living room, filling a beach bag with swimsuits and towels.

Jim and Martha were out on the back porch for discussion privacy.

“What do you mean you don’t like him?” asked Martha.

“I didn’t say I don’t like him. I’m just not sure he’s right for Debbie.”

“Jim, he’s perfect. Comes from a great family.”

“He doesn’t even have a job.”

“You just didn’t like him disagreeing with you at dinner the other night.”

“I didn’t.”

“See?”

“Martha, it’s not about my feelings. If he’s not deferential to parents on first meeting, how’s he going to be treating
her
in a few years?”

“You read too much into nothing. It’s good that he knows a lot about business.”

“You’re not picking up on this guy’s act?”

“It’s a natural fatherly instinct,” said Martha. “He’s competing for the attention of your daughter. Now, let’s get back inside before they think we’re talking about them.”

“They won’t think we’re talking about him.”

Trevor stuffed sunblock in the bag. “They’re talking about us.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Debbie.

“Your dad doesn’t like me.”

“Of course he likes you.”

“It’s perfectly natural for a father. Especially one whose dreams have passed him by.”

Jim came in through the back door. “Oh, great. You’re going to use our pool.”

“No.” Debbie continued stuffing her bag. “There’s a big party down the block.”

Across the room was a louvered closet door. Inside, a pair of eyes peeked through two of the top slats. The eyes belonged to an immense man with a self-amputated left hand.

“There’s a party?” said Jim. “Where?”

“Three houses up. Big postmodern place,” said Debbie. “You and Mom are invited, too.”

“When?”

“Guy just came to the door.”

“What guy?”

Debbie snapped the bag shut. “Stocky fellow.”

“Mr. Wainscotting?”

“Didn’t say. But he knew your name.”

“I’m surprised he even remembered me.”

Martha came in from the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“Wainscotting came by and invited us to a party.”

“He did?”

Debbie hoisted a strap over her shoulder. “Me and Trevor are heading there now. You should join us.”

Two jaundiced eyes kept watch from inside the closet. White knuckles quietly unholstered a .44 Magnum.

Jim walked over to his wife. “What do you think?”

“We do have to begin meeting the neighbors,” said Martha. “And if he came by to personally invite us, it’s only polite.”

The Davenports continued talking in a part of the room out of sight from the closet, but they could still be heard. Tex McGraw held the pistol against his chest and slowly cocked the hammer so there would be no loss of accuracy from the rotation of the double-action mechanism.

“Okay,” said Jim. “Let’s go to the party. We need to get out of the house anyway.”

One, two, three!…

The front door of the home closed; the closet door flew open. McGraw jumped out and spun around in the middle of an empty room. He ran to the windows and saw a couple strolling up the sidewalk.

OTHER SIDE OF DAVIS ISLANDS

K
nock-knock-knock.

Edith checked the peephole. “I don’t believe it.” She undid the chain and opened the door. Tommy Diaz and his smiling brothers.

“Steve!” said Edith. “What the heck are you doing here?”

His hands were behind his back. “Is that how you welcome your old friends?” He whipped out a bouquet.

Edith sniffed the roses. “It’s just such a surprise. Come on in.”

“Lovely place you have here.”

“Only for storage.” She reached for a vase on the bookshelf.

“Edith!” said Tommy, looking at the shelf. “You already put out the present I gave you. That means so much to me!”

Edith glanced at Edna and telegraphed the conspiracy, then looked back at Tommy. “What did you think I was going to do, throw it out? I couldn’t wait to find the perfect spot. First thing I did when we got in, isn’t that right girls?”

“Absolutely.” “First thing.” “Hasn’t stopped talking about it.”

“That’s great,” said Tommy. “Some people think it’s ugly and would have tossed it away, but I could tell you have sophisticated taste.”

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Eunice looked at the men’s hands. “What’s in those bags?”

“More presents!” said Tommy. They unloaded designer clothes, handbags, chocolates.

“You have to stop spending money like this,” said Edith.

Ethel sat to try new shoes. “She’s talking crazy.”

“It’s nothing,” said Tommy. “You’re doing us a favor allowing the pleasure of treating such lovely ladies.”

“Oh, stop it,” said a blushing Eunice. The women became engrossed opening presents.

“How
can
I stop?…” Tommy turned with his back to the room, blocking the view of the bookcase. “…We’re helpless in the presence of such lovely creatures….” The Chac-Mool came off the shelf and went into Tommy’s bag. A second, identical statue came out of the sack, replacing the first. “How about dinner tonight on the ship? Say, eight?”

“We’re there.” Edna pulled tissue from a Gucci purse. “By the way, how’d you find our apartment?”

The women looked up. The men were gone.

Serge recited poetry to the Jim Morrison ants.
“…Abyss, nothing, silent scream, eternal void, plus I’m just a fucking ant…”
He stopped and stretched. “I need a break. They’re all starting to look like regular bugs.”

He walked across the dark office and opened the door. “What?—” Four times as many people. Serge ran down the stairs.

“There you are!” said Coleman. “Check it out: This is the best party I’ve ever thrown!”

“Where’d all these people come from? I thought you said just a few of your closest friends.”

“That’s right. The rest are neighbors.”

“What are neighbors doing here?”

“I invited them.”

“Coleman!”

“Rule number one of power-partying: Avoid the police. Which means you invite all the neighbors. Some will come, but the real point is to make the ones who
don’t
come feel included. Then they’re
less likely to call the cops when things get out of hand because, in a way, it’s like reporting their own party. I went up and down the block knocking on doors.”

“This is insane.”

“Notice any police?”

“Yes!” Serge pointed out the front window. “Two in the driveway!”

“They’re supposed to be there,” said Coleman. “Rule number two: Rule number one doesn’t work, and some assholes always call the cops. That’s why I phoned the police department last week and hired a pair of off-duty officers for security….”

“God help us.”

“…And when on-duty cops respond to the noise complaints, they see their buddies making overtime and don’t want to screw up that sweet deal because next time it’s their turn. Just keep bringing food to the curb.”

Serge looked out the window. A squad car pulled up. The driveway officers smiled and waved with half-eaten hamburgers. The car left. Serge closed his eyes and massaged his temples.

“Serge…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t mean to pry, but you know that friend of yours?”

“Lenny?”

“Did you really used to hang out with him?”

“Yeah, why?”

“He’s kind of like…a total loser.”

A long sigh.

“Serge?”

“What?”

“But I’m really your best friend, right?”

PORT OF TAMPA

“People are such slobs.”

It was the quiet lull in the changeover between cruises. The ship took on fuel and food. Dockhands pressure-washed the hull. The
afternoon Customs crew cleaned house in an inspection terminal that looked like the aftermath of a British soccer riot.

“Look at all this trash,” said a short-sleeved inspector with an eagle patch on his shoulder. They swept up the small stuff and shoveled the rest: candy wrappers, Kleenex, soda cups, water bottles, newspapers, empty suitcases with broken zippers and handles. And the nontrash: wallets and cameras and cell phones forgotten in the rush. And stuff
remembered
at the last minute: pills and joints bought on the streets of Cozumel.

“Norton, look at this chess set.”

“That’s a nice one, Ralph. Too bad you can’t keep it.”

“I know.” He set it in a styrene collection bin. “And here’s another one of those ugly statues. I can’t believe people actually buy this shit.”

“I got one for my daughter’s birthday last year.”

“I mean the other statues.”

“You wouldn’t believe what those things are worth.”

“What? This?” Ralph held out the clay Mayan figure. “It’s just a cheap souvenir.”

“No, I’m saying if it wasn’t a replica. The genuine ones they’ve dug up go for like a hundred thousand dollars.”

“How do you know?”

Norton looked back at a glassed-in break room at the end of the terminal. “Bulletin they posted last week.”

“What bulletin?”

“You’re supposed to read the board.”

“Remind me.”

“That State Department summit in Oaxtal. Armed guerrillas coming at night and looting archaeology sites. We’re supposed to cooperate with the Mexican government to stop the smuggling of artifacts.”

“While they publish guidebooks encouraging the smuggling of
people
?”

“I’m just telling you what’s on the board.”

Ralph went to toss the statue in the bin.

“Hold it!”

They turned. Another Customs officer. This one was exempt from trash detail because he had a “W.E.T.” badge. Warrant Entry and Tactical Team. “What are you doing?”

“Throwing away trash.”

The officer shook his head. “Have to tag and save anything that remotely looks like an artifact. Keep the diplomats happy.”

“Since when?”

“Didn’t you read the board?”

“Oh,
that
. I thought it started tomorrow.”

“Just tag it.”

“No problem.” Ralph went to place it on the table. His right hand hit his left. He lost his grip. The statue bobbled. His hands shot out to make the grab, but it just tipped the figure higher into the air. He lunged and caught it…Nope, still loose. It bounced off his chest. The bumbling seemed like it would go on forever until Ralph finally trapped it against his thigh. “That was close!” He placed it on the table.

The W.E.T. officer shook his head again and walked away.

Norton came over. “Nice save. Can you imagine if that was real?”

“But it’s not.” He grabbed a tag from his pocket and turned around, knocking something off the table.