Insane City (30 page)

“And you may have noticed that I didn’t say a word to you or your friends until the brownies arrived.

And if they hadn’t arrived, I never would have talked to you. I would have ended up talking to Mike Clark

about the relative merits of our helicopters. Do you know how many evenings I’ve spent in fabulous

places having boring conversations with boring people about helicopters?”

“A lot?”

“A
lot
. But that would have been the topic. That would have been my evening. Instead, thanks to the

brownies, I got on . . . I’ve forgotten—is it the
choongs
or the
choongles
?”

“The
choongs
.”

“I got on the choongs and I’ve had a very enjoyable time chatting and laughing and noticing things I

never would have noticed before and making truly absurd yet strangely pleasurable financial decisions. I

believe Greta enjoyed herself, too.”

“I believe she did.”

“But here’s the thing. On the one hand, this has been a remarkably pleasant evening. But on the other

hand, it has been troubling.”

“Why troubling?”

“Because I’m wondering why I have so few evenings this enjoyable. I’m wondering if I didn’t take a

wrong turn long ago when I walked self-righteously past the pot smokers’ dormitory door. Maybe instead

of walking past, I should have opened the door and gone inside and gotten high and listened to Van

Morrison over and over. I’m wondering if I haven’t missed out on a whole lot of life because I’ve always

been so busy being Wendell Fucking Corliss.”

“So you’re saying the door is, like, a metaphor.”

“Exactly. A metaphor for an opportunity missed. I think I should’ve opened the door.”

Marty shook his head. “Nope.”

“Nope what?”

“Nope, you’re wrong.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I was on the other side of that door.”

“
You
went to Harvard? No offense.”

“None taken. I went to the University of Delaware. But,
metaphorically
, I was on the other side of

that door. I spent the vast majority of my college days high, listening to Phish.”

“You listened to
fish
?”

“It’s a band. They were my Van Morrison. I listened to them all the time and I went to see them

whenever I could. What I didn’t do very often was study or attend class because I found that those

activities interfered with getting high. After college I continued to get high—a
lot
. I did manage to get into

a shitty law school, where, thanks to my ongoing policy of getting high a lot, I did shittily. There’s no way

I will ever pass the bar exam unless they change it to include a lot more questions about World of

Warcraft.”

“World of what?”

“Warcraft. It’s a video game you play against other people on the Internet. That’s basically what I’m

doing with my life. I’m a grown man and I have no job and I live at home with my parents. I have very

little money and nowhere to go, so I sit in my parents’ family room and play World of Warcraft online

against thirteen-year-old boys and other unemployed loser stoners like myself. And I get excited,

sometimes
very
excited, when I am able to outwit some thirteen-year-old boy.
That’s
what happens to you

when you spend your college days on the other side of the door getting high and listening to Van Morrison

or, in my case, Phish.”

“So you’re saying pot is bad?”

“Fuck no. Pot is
great
. It’s the only fun thing I do. I’m just saying I wish that back when you were

walking by the door, I heard your footsteps and put down the bong and opened the door and followed you

to whatever class you took where you learned to make ginormous piles of money so that now I’d be rich,

except maybe not as rich as you because I would have continued to get high but in
moderation
. So that

today I’d be combining the benefits of being able to afford a big house and a jet and a trophy wife, no

offense . . .”

“None taken.”

“. . . with the benefits of being able, if I was at some fabulous location and some boring wealthy

asshole started to talk to me about his helicopter, to tell him to shut the fuck up and let me enjoy the

fabulous location, and maybe fire up a doobie. Do you follow me?”

“Incredibly, I think I do.”

They both stared at the sky for a minute. Then Wendell said, “Is this profound?”

“Is what profound?”

“What we’re discovering here about ourselves. That I would be happier if I had been less

obsessively rational and disciplined and smoked pot more. And you would be happier if you had smoked

pot less and been more disciplined in pursuing a career. That each of us would be happier if he were

more like the other. Is that profound?”

Marty thought about that. “No,” he said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because we’re high. When you’re high, you’re always thinking you’ve discovered some mind-

blowing insight. Then the next day you realize that what you discovered boils down to something pretty

obvious, like that the universe is really fucking big. Or something that doesn’t really matter, like that you

have way more bacteria cells inside you than actual human cells.”

“Not really.”

“Oh yeah, really. It’s a Science Fact. Your body contains like ten times as many bacteria as human

cells.”

“That can’t be true.”

“It is totally true. Google it, if you don’t believe me.”

“But if that’s true, what you’re saying is, we’re not really human. I mean, we
are
, but only a tenth of

us is. We’re really just hosts for all these other living things. That’s incredible.
We’re not really human.

We’re essentially
hybrids
.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

“That we’re essentially hybrids?”

“No, that you think shit like this is profound. Trust me, tomorrow you’ll be, like, ‘Yeah, OK, so

there’s a lot of bacteria inside us. Ho-hum.’ Then you’ll forget about the bacteria and go ahead and order

breakfast just like you always do.”

“Really?”

“Really. Nothing will come of it. I’ve had many, many amazing pot insights, including about the

bacteria, and every single one of them turned out, upon further review, to be stupid. That’s the thing about

pot: It’s fun, but nothing really important ever comes out of it. That’s how come you had all those millions

of Grateful Deadheads smoking all that pot and listening to all those endless songs for all those decades

and the only tangible result of all that, in the end, was a lot of ugly T-shirts.”

“So this isn’t profound, this conversation.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

“It’s just us talking.”

“Nothing wrong with talking.”

“I wasn’t a prick, right? When I negotiated with Stan and Mr. Woo?”

“Not at all. Can I be honest?”

“Please.”

“You were more of a pussy.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Right now, Stan and Mr. Woo are both sitting around counting their money and going,

‘
That
was Wendell Fucking Corliss? What a pussy.’”

Wendell snickered. It was his first snicker in perhaps forty-five years. “I guess you’re right,” he

said. “Those were the worst negotiations I’ve ever been involved in. I violated all of my principles. But I

have to say, I’ve enjoyed it. The whole night. I really enjoyed it.”

“Me too.”

Several more minutes passed in silence. Then Wendell said, “So the brownies are all gone?”

“I believe they are.”

“Do you think it would be difficult to get more?”

“Are you kidding? This is Miami. You can get anything you want. For the right money you could

have the mayor come out and fuck a manatee right here on the beach.”

“As appealing as that sounds, I’m really just interested in the brownies.”

“Believe me, that is not a problem.”

Wendell stared at the sky. Out over the Atlantic, the horizon was just starting to change from deep

black to light gray, the first hint of the new day coming.

“One more question,” he said.

“What?”

“How hard do you think it would be to get hold of Van Morrison?”

39

Seth turned in to the driveway of the Ritz just as a black Lincoln Navigator was pulling out. The

atmosphere inside the Escalade was still tense, but since the convenience store Trevor had been well

behaved in the backseat, sitting quietly directly behind Cyndi, mainly staring out the window.

He still held the red ring box in his right hand. Seth and Cyndi had not come up with a plan for

getting him to part with it. They had decided to stop the car in a deserted part of the hotel parking lot and

try to figure out their next move.

As Seth steered into the lot, he saw a woman standing next to a palm tree up ahead. Drawing closer,

he recognized Meghan. She looked agitated.

“That’s Tina’s sister,” he said.

“What’s she doing out here?”

“I dunno.” He pulled up next to Meghan and lowered his window. “Meghan, you OK?”

“Seth!” she said. She glanced past him, registering the presence of Cyndi. “There’s a big problem.”

“What?”

“The people in your room. The Haitians.”

“What about them?”

“My father’s bodyguards, Brewer and Castronovo. They took them.”

“What? What do you mean,
took
them?”

“They went to your room and made them leave, the mom and the two kids. They were here just now

in the parking lot. They left maybe two minutes ago.”

“Were they in a black Navigator?”

“Yes.”

“I saw them leave. Where are they taking them?”

“Delray something? Castronovo started to say the name but Brewer stopped him.”

“Delray Beach,” said Cyndi.

“Why would they take them there?” said Seth.

“I don’t know. I tried to stop them, but Brewer and Castronovo don’t listen to me. They do what my

father says.”

“But why did your father tell them to do this? How’d he even know they were in my room?”

Meghan started to say something, stopped, shook her head. “No idea,” she said.

Seth stared at his hands, gripping the wheel.
“Damn,”
he said. “That poor woman has to be

terrified.”

Meghan nodded. “They looked really scared.”

“Maybe we should call the police,” said Cyndi.

“No,” said Seth. “That’s exactly what Laurette
doesn’t
want. That was the point of this whole thing,

her staying in my room.
Damn.
” He looked at Cyndi. “How would they go to Delray Beach?”

“Ninety-five, probably. It’s, like, an hour, hour and a half.”

“I still don’t get why Delray Beach. What would they do with them up there?”

“Maybe they just want them far away from here,” said Meghan. “So they won’t mess up the

wedding.”

Seth looked at the sky, which was getting lighter. He put his forehead on the steering wheel.

“Today,” he said. “I’m getting married
today
. Look at me. Look at this situation. How did everything get

so fucked up?”

Cyndi said, “Don’t worry. It’s OK.”

Seth, his head still on the wheel, looked sideways at Cyndi. “How is it OK?”

“It just is. You get out of the car, walk into the hotel, get some sleep, wake up and have your

wedding. It’ll be a wonderful day.”

“What about Laurette and her kids?”

“You did everything you could. She wouldn’t even be alive without you. This is not your fault. She

knows that. Everybody knows that. You’re a good person and you did the best you could. But now it’s

your wedding day and you need to just think about that.”

Seth sat up. Suddenly he felt desperately tired. He looked toward the hotel, where he had a nice big

room with a nice big now-empty bed. He put his hand on the door handle.

She wouldn’t even be alive without you.

He took his hand off the door handle.

“We could follow them,” he said.

“What?” said Cyndi.

“Wait a minute,” said Meghan. “No.”

Seth looked at his watch. “There’s time. The wedding’s not until this afternoon. If we leave now and

drive fast, we can catch up on I-95. We can follow them to Delray Beach.”

“And do what?” said Meghan. “They’re violent men, Seth. They have guns.”

“I’m not going to confront them. Just follow them and make sure they don’t do anything bad to

Laurette and the kids.”

“And if they do?”

“I don’t know,” said Seth. “Call the police, I guess.”

“But she doesn’t want the police to know about her,” said Cyndi.