“City,” said Country, pointing at a counter. “Grab the vodka. We’re going to need it.”
Everyone settled in with booze, snacks and joints as Serge hooked up the DVD player. He inserted a disc that had been edited and burned from a laptop. A thumb pressed the remote.
PLAY MOVIE
The show began. Students streaming into Panama City Beach, yelling out car windows, dragging coolers…
Two hours later, the TV showed a long-range shot of a giant crane hoisting a steel beam up into the downtown Miami sky.
Fade to black.
Serge hit pause.
He slapped his hands together. “What’d you think?”
“Have to admit,” said Country, “not as painful as I’d envisioned.”
“Still two hours of my life I’ll never get back,” said City.
“But it’s not over,” said Serge.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
Serge aimed the remote.
PLAY
Large, white block letters filled the black screen.
EPILOGUE
Black dissolved to a sunny shore and a rolling montage narrated by Serge. The Eagles played in the background. The kids from Bahia Cabana waved good-bye and took off up A1A.
“… It’s another tequila sunrise…”
“Spring break finally ended, and the students returned north with a lifetime of stories to tell… Except one…”
A telephoto shot of a young man entering the lobby of the local FBI office, where Serge had dropped him.
“… Andy McKenna was reunited with his father at an undisclosed location and assumed a new identity.”
Four elderly women in leather leaned against the bar in the Iron Rhino Saloon.
“… The G-Unit established themselves as regular fixtures in the Florida biker scene, took up baking with an Internet brownie recipe, and were last spotted at a local planetarium for the midnight Sergeant Pepper’s laser show…”
A kiddie pool sat in a parking lot near Las Olas with a fully clothed man in the water.
“… Agent Mahoney recovered from his wounded leg and continued an indefinite leave for ‘needed rest’…”
Next: pandemonium in front of the shootout hotel, where Mahoney flashed a badge and limped away with a handle in his hand.
“… The department didn’t know it yet, but Mahoney would never return to active duty, instead opting for a well-funded fishing retirement, thanks to the contents of the briefcase Guillermo left in a hotel room…”
A dozen police cars screeched up to a downtown Miami construction site. A sixty-story crane slowly lowered a girder.
“… To this day, the double murder of Guillermo and Madre remains unsolved…”
As the girder came down, a growing crowd of onlookers watched from the street, including a homecoming queen from Indiana who ran crying up the sidewalk, followed by Johnny Vegas, pointing up in the air behind him. “But, baby, we don’t even know those people.”
The scene switched to a pair of incredibly sexy but angry women in the backseat of a ’73 Challenger.
“… City and Country became less annoying, learned to appreciate Florida’s history and enthusiastically accompanied Serge across the state on his never-ending fact-finding mission…”
The TV zoomed in on the vintage sign of their current motel.
THE END.
“You made that last part up,” said City.
“Audiences have to like the characters,” said Serge.
“What about dinner?”
“You promised!”
“And I keep my word,” said Serge. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
He spread his arms and smiled almost as wide. “Church!”
“You lied again!” said City. “I knew we couldn’t trust you!”
“This is bullshit,” said Country. “You’re crazy if you think I’m eating free pancakes.”
“Have faith.” Serge grabbed his keys.
A quick drive up the coast to Tampa, and the foursome was soon seated in a magnificent dining room.
“Now this is a restaurant,“ said City.”I’ve never been in Shula’s Steak House before.”
“You really had us going with that church business,” said Country, reading the menu on the side of a football. “I can’t believe you actually came through.”
“But this is church,” said Serge.
A waiter wheeled over a cart with exquisitely marbled slabs of meat for them to select.
Serge made an S with his fingers and whispered, “Shula.”
“What?” said the waiter.
Serge winked.
An hour later, dinner came to a spectacular conclusion. Country set a napkin in her plate. “I’m stuffed.”
“Me, too,” said City.
“But there’s more!” said Serge. “I got you a present!”
“You did?”
He placed a gift-wrapped box on the table.
Country looked up at him. “This is so… unlike you.”
“That’s the problem,” said Serge. “You judge by my work mode.”
“What can it be?” asked City.
“Let me get the bow off.”
Country opened the box. “Portable DVD player?”
Serge grinned. “Already has a copy of my documentary inside so you can watch it over and over!”
“Not exactly diamonds,” said Country. “But it’s sweet.” She leaned across the table and gave him a peck, then placed the player back in the box.
“Aren’t you going to watch it?” said Serge.
“We just did.”
“Not the bonus material.”
“Maybe some other time.”
“For me?” said Serge. “I did keep my promise on the dinner.”
“I guess we could watch it a little,” said City, smiling coyly. “Give us time to make room for dessert.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Serge. He took the player back out of the box, clicked through the menu and turned the screen around to face them.
“What’s this?” asked City.
“The ‘making of’ documentary,” said Serge. “I gave Coleman a second camera to capture my groundbreaking directorial technique.”
“It’s just a sidewalk and some sneakers. Does it change?”
“No. Coleman left the camera running from his shoulder.”
“I think I’m ready for dessert,” said Country.
“Me and Coleman are going to the bathroom,” said Serge. “I’ll have the waiter send over a menu.”
The women sat alone at the table, sipping what was left of their wine.
On the DVD player, Coleman’s feet began weaving-“Whoops, having a little trouble here”-then the view quickly accelerated toward the sidewalk, until lens cracks spread across the tiny screen and went black. The player returned to the previous menu.
Country leaned toward the screen. “What’s this other bonus thing here?”
“What?”
“It says ‘Alternate Ending.’”
“Play it.”
She pressed a button.
“Look,” said City. “It’s the inside of Shula’s Steak House…”
“… Now it’s the outside,” said Country.
The waiter came over. “Hope you’ll come back and see us again.”
“Again? We were going to have dessert.”
“But…,” the waiter said haltingly. “The gentleman just paid.”
“He did what?”
They looked back at the small screen. A muscle car drove away from the restaurant.
“Don’t tell me-”
The women ran through the dining room and out onto the sidewalk, just in time to see Serge and Coleman speeding toward a bridge over Tampa Bay in the ’73 Challenger.
About the Author
TIM DORSEY was a reporter and editor for the Tampa Tribune from 1987 to 1999 and is the author of ten previous novels: FloridaRoadkill, Hammerhead Ranch Motel, Orange Crush, Triggerfish Twist, The Stingray Shuffle, Cadillac Beach, Torpedo Juice, The Big Bamboo, Hurricane Punch, and Atomic Lobster. He lives in Tampa, Florida.
