Nuclear Jellyfish by Tim Dorsey

Author:Tim Dorsey
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Javelin continued south along the coast. Serge took A1A out of Fort Pierce, and roadsides quickly thinned. Gas stations, mom-and-pop diners, retro sign of a smiling alligator bowling. The Javelin swung inland and picked up U.S. 1 below Port Salerno.

Serge's window was down, an ocean breeze mussing his hair. "What a magnificent day to be alive in this state! God has once again fulfilled my definition of happiness: Florida, a full tank of gas and no appointments."

Coleman held up a beer and a joint. "My definition, too."

"Crank the radio! Scan mode!"

"Aye-aye!"

.. Life is a highway! I'm going to ride it... Fifty-two, forty-one, seven, thirteen . . ."

"Oh my God!" Serge dove for the dash and hit a button, knocking the radio out of scan.

"What is it?" asked Coleman.

"A numbers station! I finally found one!"

". . . Ninety-nine, eighty-six . . ."

"Serge, that babe really sounds hot!"

"Told you." Serge wrote as fast as he could in a notebook.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to crack the code."

The numbers broadcast soon ended and Serge stowed his notebook. They entered the Hobe Sound area. Blowing rocks and turtle egg-laying country. Sparse development ceased altogether, Serge copping a natural buzz on white sand dunes running down both sides of the highway.

An intersection approached in the distance.

Serge looked at Coleman. "Meet Mahoney or not?"

"You're actually thinking of going through with that?"

Serge shrugged. "He's pretty insistent with all those e-mails."

"But you said you didn't believe that someone was out to whack you."

"I don't. But Mahoney's up to something. I'm dying to find out." In the backseat, Story looked up from a French lit textbook. "Who's Mahoney?" "My nemesis."

She rolled her eyes again and looked back down. Madame Bovary, c'est moi.

"But Serge," said Coleman. "What if it's a trick?"

"That's the thing about Mahoney. He's one of the few people left like me who still lives by a code. If he says it isn't a trick, you can bet the farm on it." Serge handed something across the seat to Coleman.

"What do I need your gun for?"

"In case it's a trick. You got my back."

"But Serge, I'm royally baked. Remember last time you gave me the gun?"

"Yeah, it accidentally went off eight times." "Then I dropped it and another bullet went through the end of my shoe. Lost a toenail."

"Grew back, didn't it?"

"I liked the first one better."

"I'll unload it, all right? Just the threat should be enough . . . Here comes the intersection. A1A or U.S. 1. Which direction?" "Sounds like an appointment."

"Shit, you're right." Serge got over in the far lane and began hanging a left. Midintersection, he suddenly cut the wheel, weaving expertly through oncoming, honking traffic.

Coleman puffed his joint and looked back at the spun-out cars. "What changed your mind?"

"Mahoney picked the perfect place. Been forever since I visited Harry and the Natives."

"Who?"

"Let the magic begin."

Minutes later, the Javelin parked in front of a rustic greasy spoon splashed in lively Jamaican colors. A Crown Vic was already there.

Serge looked at the rearview. "Story, for your own good I suggest you stay in the car.

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