Tim Dorsey Collection #1 (98 page)

I
van pointed across the spectator deck at the Pompano Beach harness track. “They’re heading back to the main building.”

“They’re not the only ones,” said Dmitri, looking over at the cops closing in on Serge and Lenny.

“We have to head them off,” said Ivan. “Walk quickly but don’t run. We still have the advantage. None of them has seen us.”

Serge and Lenny began moving faster as they approached the glass exit doors.

“Walk quickly but don’t run,” said Serge. “They don’t know we’ve seen them.”

Lenny checked his watch again. “The extraction team hasn’t had enough time. We’re not going to make it.”

Serge glanced furtively over his left shoulder. The cops had picked up the pace, too, walking as fast as possible, still trying to look nonchalant, approaching that critical moment when everyone chucks the charade and starts running and pulling guns.

From Serge’s right side, five men with bandaged feet hobbled as fast as they could.

“Now!” yelled Ivan. They broke into a hobbling sprint.

“Now!” yelled Serge. The pair made a run for it.

“Now!” yelled the police sergeant. The cops pulled guns and charged.

Serge and Lenny burst through the exit doors and ran out to the empty curb. “They’re not here yet!” yelled Lenny. Suddenly a black, windowless van skidded up in a fire zone. The sliding side door flew open; Serge and Lenny dove in. The van took off.

Five Russians ran out on the sidewalk, looking around, soon joined by panting police officers.

Ivan scanned the parking lot. No people, no movement…wait, over there. A black van slowly pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared around a corner toward the interstate.

“To the Mercedes!”

Lenny climbed forward
into the van’s passenger seat. The driver was a large older woman with a poufy gray hairdo and a goiter. Lenny leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks for picking us up, Mom.”

“You know I’m always happy to give you a ride home.”

“Mom?” said Serge. A Chihuahua bounced up from somewhere and landed standing in Serge’s lap, facing him. Serge jerked his head back. “What the—?”

The dog barked.

“That means Pepe likes you,” said Lenny.

“Who’s your friend?” asked the driver.

“That’s Serge,” said Lenny. “He’s…my new employer.”

Serge and the dog were having a staring contest.

“That’s nice.” The driver looked up in the rearview at Serge. “Thanks for giving Lenny a job. He’s a good boy. So what do you do? Work at the harness track?”

Lenny spoke preemptively. “No, we were just out for some fun today.”

The van accelerated down the middle lane of I-95.

“Lenny, you haven’t called for weeks, you haven’t shown up,” said his mom. “You know how worried I get.”

“Any mail?” asked Lenny.

“A little. I put it in your room.”

Serge looked up from the dog. “You live with your mother? You never mentioned anything.”

“I’ll explain later.”

“What’s to explain?” said Serge. “Either you live with your mom or you don’t.”

“Lenny, you’re not ashamed of me, are you?” asked the driver.

Lenny turned around. “Yeah, Serge, I, uh…I live with my mom. But only until I get a little older, you know, until I’m ready.”

“You’re forty-two,” said Serge.

Mom looked in the rearview again. “So what is it you do, Serge?”

“I run my own new-economy entrepreneurship. Involves a lot of driving.”

“Like traveling salesmen?” said Mom. She put on a blinker for an exit ramp. “Lenny, that explains why you were gone so long. You should have told me.”

Lenny leaned over and kissed her cheek again. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

The van pulled up the driveway of a single-story concrete ranch house next to the interstate ramp. White, baby-blue trim. The lawn was overgrown, a big teardrop oil stain
in the driveway. Three people and a dog headed up the walkway. Lenny’s mom unlocked the front door and they went inside. Serge looked around the living room filled with religious paintings, crucifixes, ceramic Madonnas, votive candles and a Ouija board.

“Serge, don’t waste your money on a hotel tonight,” said Mom. “You can stay in Lenny’s room.”

“Why, thank you, Mrs. Lippowicz,” said Serge. “Let’s see your room, Lenny.”

“Well, it’s not really my
room
room. I just use it for storage. I rarely stay here.”

“What are you talking about?” said his mother. “You stay here all the time.”

They headed down the hall. Serge stopped in the doorway. “Bunk beds?”

“Mind if I have the top?”

Serge set his briefcase on the dresser and walked over to the closet. “Let’s get started.”

“Get started what?”

“Checking out your stuff.”

“I still have most of it.”

Serge opened the closet door. “Wow, you’re not kidding.”

He started taking down boxes. Lenny lit a joint and went over to the window and exhaled outside, where a Mercedes had been parked a half block up the street for the last ten minutes.

Vladimir leaned over the backseat and pointed at the van in the driveway. “What are we waiting for?”

“I told you,” said Ivan. “We have to be patient. We can’t just rush in there like we usually do.”

“Why not? It’s just some old woman’s house.”

“That’s what a safe house is supposed to look like,” said Ivan. “The doors are probably steel-lined and booby-
trapped. All kinds of sophisticated surveillance electronics.”

“I wonder what’s going on in there?” asked Vladimir.

“Probably some big strategy meeting,” said Ivan.

“My turn,” said Lenny, sitting cross-legged on the floor and drawing a card. “‘Remove wrenched ankle.’”

Bzzzzz.

“I’m tired of playing Operation,” said Serge.

“How about Hot Wheels?”

Lenny got out a shoebox of little cars and began laying tracks. Serge got out the Legos.

“What are you doing?” asked Lenny.

“Making the Brick Wall of Death,” said Serge. “Where’s your lighter fluid?”

“I don’t have any lighter fluid.”

“How can we play Hot Wheels without lighter fluid?”

Lenny’s mom sat in the living room reading the
Enquirer
. Lenny kept walking by at intervals.

Lenny held up a roll of aluminum foil. “Mom, can we use this?”

She looked up and nodded. Lenny headed back to the bedroom.

A minute later, Lenny held up a large cardboard box. “Can we use this?”

She nodded.

A minute later Lenny sprinted by in the background, then ran back to the bedroom with a fire extinguisher. Lenny’s mom put down her paper and went into the kitchen. She slipped on Jeff Gordon pot holders and opened the oven door. She set a ceramic serving dish on the table.

“Dinner’s ready!”

No answer.

She headed down the hall. “I said, dinner’s ready!”

Still no reply.

She stepped into the bedroom doorway. Nobody in the room. Just a big cardboard box in the middle of the floor. The box was covered with aluminum foil.

“I said,
dinner’s ready!
”

A voice from the box: “Mom! Shhhhh! We have to maintain radio blackout!”

“You can play later,” said Mrs. Lippowicz. “Food’s getting cold.”

The foil-lined top of the cardboard Gemini capsule flipped open, and Serge and Lenny stood up. They followed Mrs. Lippowicz into the kitchen.

“It’s hot, so don’t touch the dish.” She stuck two big serving spoons in the casserole.

Serge got up and held her chair.

“Why, thank you, Serge.”

Lenny began chowing. Serge tucked a napkin into his collar and cleared his throat. Lenny looked up. “Prayer,” Serge whispered.

“Sorry.” Lenny put down his fork, folded his hands and bowed his head.

“May I, Mrs. Lippowicz?” asked Serge.

“Of course. Thank you, Serge.” She turned to Lenny. “Your friend has such nice manners.”

Serge bowed his own head and closed his eyes. “God, please protect us from your followers. Amen.”

They began serving.

“Good prayer,” said Lenny.

Serge piled his plate. “It’s from a bumper sticker.” He took a bite. “This is delicious, Mrs. Lippowicz. You’re an incredible cook.”

“Thank you. It’s tuna noodle casserole with browned Tater Tots on top.”

“The Tater Tots make it,” said Serge.

Mrs. Lippowicz passed Lenny the salt and pepper. “Why can’t you be more like your nice friend Serge?”

Midnight, Lenny’s bedroom.

Serge’s eyes opened in the bottom bunk. Something had awoken him. He looked around, then noticed the bed was vibrating. His eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. The vibrations increased.

Serge looked up at the bunk above him. The shaking got worse. “What on earth—?”

He tried to sit up, but the bed pitched and knocked him back down.

“Lenny, what the hell are you doing up there?”

No answer. The bed started rocking violently, the bottoms of its four wooden legs rattling and tapping on the floor. Serge grabbed the sides of his mattress and hung on as the bunk began to slowly slide and rotate across the terrazzo bedroom floor like a puck on an air hockey table.

“Lenny! Take it easy! It’s not going anywhere!”

Serge stuck his head out the side of the bed and looked up. The bed bucked again and tumbled him onto the ground.

The rocking stopped.

“Lenny? You okay?”

“I’m pretty thirsty now.”

“No kidding. You were going at it like Chuck Yeager trying to pull an X-15 out of a terminal spin.”

Lenny swung his legs over the side of the bunk and jumped down. “I’m completely awake now.” He went over and opened a dresser drawer and took out a baggie. “And I’m out of weed. We have to go get some.”

“I’m not going to a drug hole, especially not at this hour.”

“How about a restaurant or a lounge? I’m pretty good at connecting on the fly.”

“My choice?”

“Sure.”

“Then I have a historic place in mind.”

Lenny checked the Magilla Gorilla clock on his dresser. Almost one. “Is this place still open?”

“Not even hopping yet.”

Two dark figures
came out of the ranch house and walked down the driveway toward the van.

Ivan reached over to the Mercedes’s driver seat and shook Vladimir’s shoulder. “Wake up!”

“Wha—what is it?”

“They’re on the move!”

The Benz fell in line six cars back as the van merged southbound on I-95. They passed the executive airport, then Oakland Park and Sunrise Boulevard, the van accelerating the whole time, changing lanes.

“Keep up with them!” yelled Ivan.

“I’m trying!” said Vladimir.

The van cut left across three columns of traffic and squeezed between a Dodge pickup and the median retaining wall.

“Lenny, we’re not in a lane anymore,” said Serge. “You can’t drive with your head below the dash.”

“Just a sec. My beer rolled under the seat.”

Ivan pointed. “They’re getting away!”

“Hold on,” said Vladimir. He floored it and passed a BP tanker on the right shoulder. The van suddenly accelerated again. It seemed to fake right, then shot to the left and into a tight space that briefly opened between a Lexus and a Probe GT. Then another jump left, swerving a couple times within the lane, braking fast and sliding right again, almost going up on two wheels.

“You’re losing them!” said Ivan.

“They’re just too good.”

The van fishtailed as it came out of a banking maneuver. A fierce spray of suds shot around the inside of the vehicle, covering the windshield.

“Lenny, I told you not to open the can. It was bulging.”

“I didn’t think it had been shaken up that much.” Shooting streams of beer hit both of them in the face.

“Get it out of here!”

Lenny cut off a honking Bronco and rolled down the window.

“They’re going for the exit,” said Vladimir. “Stay close.”

“They just threw something out the window…. It just exploded…” Vladimir swerved around it.

“Foaming diversionary device,” said Ivan, nodding with respect. “Israelis.”

The Mercedes swung back in time to take the same exit and made a skidding left turn through the yellow light at the bottom of the ramp. They stayed with the van when it turned on Federal Highway and again when it grabbed the St. Brooks Memorial Causeway. Then, suddenly, nothing.

“Where’d they go?” asked Vladimir.

“Shit,” said Ivan. “He’s probably heading for a meet in one of the beach motels. That’s standard.”

Vladimir raced up the bridge over the Stranahan River, then slowed as they coasted down the far side, everyone looking around. Rippled reflections of white condo lights in the Intracoastal Waterway. Red and green running lights from sailboats.

They came off the bridge. Vladimir pointed. “There it is! There it is!”

They pulled up the hotel driveway, got out and headed across the valet parking lot. Ivan walked up to the van and looked through the windshield at the valet ticket hanging from the rearview. “It’s for one of the restaurants, not the
hotel, so that narrows it. Igor, Dmitri—you wait here with the van, in case they come back. The rest of you, follow me!”

The inside of the elevator was brass. Ivan and the others couldn’t place the Muzak as they rode up to the top of the hotel. The doors opened into the big revolving rooftop bar with a raised, obstructing bandstand in the middle. Ivan directed them to split into two groups and go in opposite directions to sweep the place. They met back up on the far side, empty-handed.

“This is the only restaurant left open. They must have stopped in a rest room or something,” said Ivan, taking a chair at one of the few empty cocktail tables. “We’ll wait.” He turned and looked out the window, down at his men waiting by the black van.

Serge and Lenny
watched the numbers climb inside their elevator car.

“I thought it was going to be a new place,” said Lenny. “We come here all the time.”