Insane City (2 page)

Seth spotted the hulking mass that was Big Steve by a boarding pass machine, his finger hovering

uncertainly over the touch screen, his face scrunched into a frown, looking like a man about to enter the

code that would launch a nuclear strike against Pyongyang, as opposed to a man confirming his selection

of an aisle seat. Big Steve was a man who always . . . wanted . . . to . . . make . . . absolutely . . . sure . . .

of . . .
everything
. Standing behind him in a movie concession line was a nightmare. He could take five

full minutes to choose a beverage, before moving on to the far more difficult issue of what
size
beverage.

Not to mention the popcorn decision, which more than once had made him miss the beginning of a feature

film.

Pacing around Big Steve like a small, jittery asteroid orbiting a planet was Kevin, who, as always,

was on his cell phone, lying to somebody about something. As Seth drew near, he gathered that in this

case the person being lied to was Kevin’s wife.

“. . . feeling a little sick, to be honest,” Kevin was saying, shaking his head at Seth to indicate that he

was in fact feeling fine. “No, I’m still going. It means a lot to Seth. I’ll just take it easy, skip the partying.”

Here Kevin grabbed his crotch to indicate that he did not intend to skip the partying. “I know, baby, I

know . . . I am soooo sorry you can’t come . . . Right. You too. Bye.” Kevin pocketed his phone, then, with

a swift and fluid motion, reached past Big Steve’s still-hovering finger and stabbed the boarding pass

machine’s screen.

“Hey!” said Big Steve. “What the hell!”

Ignoring him, Kevin turned back to Seth. “You ready? Everything good in WeddingLand?”

“I guess,” said Seth. “There was an issue with the centerpieces.”

“What issue?”

“I’m still not sure. Couple days ago, Tina calls me up, she’s crying like she found out she has cancer,

I mean
sobbing
, and I go, what’s wrong, and she says something about the centerpieces, and I go, hey, the

important thing is we love each other, and we’re getting married.”

“You stupid shit,” said Kevin.

“I know. She goes, ‘I can’t
believe
you sometimes,’ and hangs up.”

Kevin nodded. “We had these wedding favors, little custom-scented soaps that said ‘Love and

happiness always, Karen and Kevin,’ but two hours before the wedding Karen discovers they spelled

happiness
with a
y
.”

“Oh man.”

“Yeah. Talk about a wedding
totally
ruined.”

“So what happened?”

“Her mom and her aunt opened up all the soaps, we’re talking a hundred forty-five soaps, and used

razors to change the
y
’s to
i
’s.”

“No.”

“Yes. You look at the soap from our wedding, you’ll notice that the
i
is leaning, and has no dot.”

“No offense, but I never looked at the soap from your wedding.”

“Of course not. Nobody did. Nobody gives a shit about wedding favors. But Karen and her mom and

her aunt still talk about it, how they saved the day with their razors.”

Marty appeared, towing his and Seth’s suitcases.

“Ready, men?” he said.

Big Steve was frowning at his boarding pass.

“Row twenty-six,” he said. “That’s pretty far back, isn’t it?”

“We’re all in twenty-six,” said Seth.

“Maybe we should try to move closer to the front,” said Big Steve.

“Good idea,” said Kevin. “Get to Miami a little sooner.”

“Maybe we should go through security and find a bar,” said Seth.

“You’re the groom,” said Marty.

They took the escalator to the lower concourse and got into the TSA line. Kevin went first, followed

by Big Steve and Marty. After they went through the screening they all turned to watch Seth. This was the

first indication he had that something was up. The second was when the TSA agent, a large African-

American woman whose name tag read R. WILLIAMS, pointed at his suitcase and said, “Is this your bag?”

“Yes,” said Seth.

“I need to search it,” she said, picking it up off the baggage carousel.

“OK,” said Seth, following Agent Williams and his bag. He heard a snorking sound from the

direction of the Groom Posse. Agent Williams hefted the bag onto a table, then put on a pair of blue latex

gloves. She opened the bag and, after a few moments of rooting around, pulled out and held up a pinkish,

soft rubber object about the size of a football with a dangling electrical cord.

“What is
that
?” said Seth.

“I was going to ask you that,” said Agent Williams.

“That’s not mine,” said Seth.

“This is your bag, right?”

“Yes, but that thing is not mine.”

“But it was in your bag.”

“But it’s not
mine.”

“I understand that, sir, but it was in your bag.”

“But it’s
not mine
.”

Another agent came over, a thin, prematurely balding man whose tag said W. PITTOWSKI.

“Is there a problem?” he said.

Agent Williams showed him the pink thing. “This was in his bag, but he says it’s not his.”

“It’s not!” said Seth.

Agent Pittowski was peering at the object. “That’s a male sex aid,” he said.

“A what?” said Agent Williams.

“Artificial vagina,” said Agent Pittowski.

Agent Williams dropped the thing. It bounced off the table and rolled, jiggling, across the floor,

trailing its cord, like a badly deformed pig having a seizure. Some travelers stopped to look at it.

“I’m sorry,” said Agent Williams. “But I ain’t touching that.”

“That is
not mine
,” said Seth. The onlookers’ eyes went from the pink thing to Seth, then back to the

thing.

“Excuse me,” said Marty, stepping forward.

“Who are you?” said Agent Pittowski.

Marty pointed at Seth. “I’m this man’s attorney.”

“No he’s not,” said Seth. “He’s not even an attorney.”

“Well, not
technically
,” said Marty. “Not in the sense of practicing law or passing the bar exam. But

I do have a hundred and seventeen thousand in tuition debt from a third-tier law school, and by God that

should count for
something
.”

“He doesn’t need a lawyer,” said Agent Pittowski. “He needs to pick up his vagina and move

along.”

“It’s not my vagina!” said Seth. The onlooker crowd was growing.

“Do you have any proof that it’s his vagina?” said Marty.

“Shut up, Marty,” said Seth.

“Sir,” Agent Pittowski said to Seth, “if you don’t pick it up and move along right now, I’m going to

have to detain you.”

“He’s getting married this weekend,” said Marty.

“That is not my problem,” said Agent Pittowski.

“It’s
somebody’s
problem,” said Agent Williams, looking at the thing on the floor.

Seth, with a glare at Marty, grabbed his suitcase, picked up the vagina and stalked out of the security

area. He went to an overflowing trash can and put the vagina on top of the pile, then turned to face the

approaching Groom Posse, festooned with idiotic grins.

“Not funny,” he said.

“Yes! Funny!” said Kevin. He held up his phone. “And soon to be on YouTube.”

“I’ll kill you,” said Seth. “Seriously, I will.”

“Totally worth it,” said Kevin.

A briefcase-carrying, suit-wearing man in his fifties approached the trash can. Looking neither left

nor right, he opened his briefcase, put the vagina inside, closed the briefcase and walked briskly away.

“I’m guessing Secretary of Commerce,” said Kevin.

“Well, he’s got himself a nice little unit there,” said Marty. “The Fleshmatic Orgo-Tron, top of the

line, with heat
and
pump action. Hardly used.”

“Wait,” said Seth. “You
used
it?”

“Hardly.”

“Jesus,” said Seth, watching the suited man’s back as he disappeared down the concourse.

Kevin said, “The bar is this way.”

2

The man was telling Laurette to get up, but she was too weak from vomiting; she could not stand,

especially not on the wet and slippery deck of the boat, pitching in the turbulent waters of the Gulf Stream.

“GET UP! GET UP!” shouted the man. The crew were Dominicans, and Laurette had trouble

understanding their crude, heavily accented Creole. The man grabbed Laurette’s arm and yanked her to

her feet so roughly that for a moment she thought she would drop the baby. The thought flashed through her

mind:
Maybe it would be best. Maybe we should all die right now in the angry water.
For the hundredth

time since she had boarded this wretched boat, she wished she had never listened to her sister in Miami,

never trusted these men, never left Port-au-Prince with her babies.

Stephane, her little man, had risen with her and was holding on to her dress. “What’s happening,

Mama?” he said.

“It’s all right,” she said. The man was pulling her to the back of the boat. She almost fell, struggling

to hold on to the baby and keep Stephane close. “What are you doing?” she said to the man.

“You are getting off here.”

Laurette looked around, seeing only water in every direction.

“No!” she said, her voice rising. “We are nowhere!”

“We are close to Miami.”

“Where is it?” Laurette waved at the horizon. “Where is Miami?”

The man gestured vaguely. “Just over there. But we can’t go closer.”

“NO!” shouted Laurette. “You said you would take me to my sister! To the meeting place! You

promised this!”

“I’m sorry,” said the man. “This is not possible.”

“How will I find my sister? How?”

The man didn’t answer. They had reached the back of the boat. The other men were pulling a rope

attached to the tiny beat-up rowboat they had been towing since they left Haiti. Several inches of water

sloshed around the bottom of the boat.

“No!” said Laurette. She tried to yank her arm free.

The man tightened his grip. Laurette cried out in pain.

“The current will take you right to Miami,” the man said. “You will be there in an hour.”

“Please, no,” said Laurette. “We will go back with you to Haiti.”

“No,” said the man, dragging her toward the little boat. “You must get off here.”

“NO!” screamed Laurette. “NO, PLEASE!”

The man ignored her. He and the others grabbed Laurette and Stephane and lifted them roughly over

the side, into the little boat. It was pitching violently; Laurette fell awkwardly, bumping the baby’s head

against the side. The baby was screaming now. Stephane was crying. Laurette pulled them both to her. She

looked up at the men.

“Please,” she said. “They are babies. Please.”

The men looked away. The motor rumbled, and the big boat churned away. In a few minutes, it was a

tiny dark shape in the distance. Then it was gone.

The little ship pitched up and down in the rough water.

“Mama,” said Stephane. “What’s going to happen to us?”

Laurette meant to lie to her son, tell him they would be all right. But all that came out, before she

could choke it off, was a wail.

3

The airport bar was full of people sitting alone and staring at screens. Seth had a Grande

Margarita; Kevin and Marty each had two. Big Steve had none, having been unable to decide between the

Grande and the Supremo. The Supremo featured Patrón tequila, but it also cost two dollars more and Big

Steve wasn’t sure it would be worth it. In an effort to decide, he had asked the bartender a series of

increasingly specific ingredient-related questions, but this line of inquiry came to an abrupt halt when the