Clownfish Blues

Chapter 25

One Hour Later

Coleman chugged. Serge scribbled on a clipboard. A boom box blared.

“. . . Get down tonight! Get down tonight! . . .”

Serge hopped up on a bed and fastened something to the drop ceiling with string and thumbtacks. “The Party Store has everything!” He jumped down as a small disco ball began to twirl, sending hundreds of flecks of light across the walls. Other parts of the room were decorated with balloons and crepe-paper streamers and a piñata. A box of cupcakes sat on the nightstand.

“. . . Do a little dance . . .”

Coleman gyrated off balance in a Chubby Checker twist, swinging a bottle of whiskey by the neck. Serge repeatedly sprang up and down around the room in a hyper-spastic version of the pogo.

The captive sat in motionless terror. Wide eyes swung back and forth—Coleman wearing only his undershorts and a panda head, boogying past the TV set; Serge with a beauty-contestant sash from the Party Store across his chest, jitterbugging the other way, waving a gleaming hatchet.

“This is some party!” said Coleman.

“Reminds me of my sixth birthday,” said Serge, attacking the piñata with the small ax. “Die, motherfucker!”

Candy scattered. Serge and Coleman dove on the floor and began wrestling. “I saw the Pez dispenser first!” “It’s mine!” “Give it to me!” “Ow, my hair!” “Ow, you’re bending my finger back!” “I’ll hit you with my whiskey bottle!” “I have a hatchet! . . .”

They released each other and sat on the carpet, gathering Milk Duds and Hershey’s Kisses. “That was fun,” said Coleman. “Can we do it again?”

“We still need to pace ourselves,” said Serge. “This is how Elvis went.”

The candy-collecting jamboree continued. A Baby Ruth stuck out of the panda’s mouth. “What a party!”

“It’s how we roll.”

“Mmm! Mmm! Mmm! . . .”

Coleman pointed. “Our guest doesn’t seem to be having fun. In fact, he looks scared shitless.”

“Probably worried about us because he’s not used to seeing people rock out with Roman warrior stamina.”

Serge walked over to the captive’s chair with the hatchet.

“MMM! MMM! MMM!”

“Oh, that. Sorry.” Serge tossed the ax aside. “Where are my manners! You’re the guest of honor, but we’ve been having all the fun.” He tore the duct tape off the man’s face, mashing a cupcake in his mouth and sticking something on his head like a hat. “That’s your celebration tiara.” Then he replaced the tape.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Someone’s at the door!” Coleman jumped back. “Who can it be?”

“Relax.” Serge unlocked the dead bolt. “We ordered a pizza. It’s automatic with a hostage, remember?”

The door opened and a man with a name tag stepped inside.

“Watch your step,” said Serge. “There’s candy everywhere.”

The delivery guy was about to place the pizza on the bed when he suddenly stopped. He looked Coleman over, then Serge, the disco ball, the hatchet, and finally a bound-and-gagged man with frosting up his nose and an orange traffic cone on his head like a high-visibility dunce cap.

Serge took the pizza and handed over some cash. “There’s a little extra for you in there.” Then he pointed at the candy-strewn floor. “The piñata was bigger than I thought. Need anything?”

“I’m good.”

“Mmm! Mmm! Mmm! . . .”

The delivery guy pointed at the chair. “What’s the deal with him?”

“Just getting his freak on,” said Serge, adjusting his beauty-contestant sash. “Why? Does something seem weird in here?”

“No, I deliver to Miami motel rooms all the time. Have a good one.”

“Thanks for the prompt response.”

The delivery guy was about to leave when he stopped again and looked back in the room. “Wait a second. Didn’t I deliver a pizza to you a few years ago on Collins Avenue?”

“I doubt it.”

“Yeah, you told me it was the Goldfinger Suite or something.”

“You must be thinking of another room where everything was completely okay.”

The pizza man shrugged. “It’s Miami.”

“Thanks for your service.”

The door closed.

Serge stared back at the hostage chair and rubbed his palms together. “Alone at last. And have I got the perfect lesson to help with your people skills. It just came to me . . . Which is why we didn’t only go to the Party Store. We also stopped at the Home Depot! You’re probably wondering why? Because Lowe’s has a color scheme to attract chicks, and that’s a slippery slope. Wait here . . .”

Serge made a few quick trips to the car, returning with a custom-cut piece of plywood and a bunch of cement blocks. “. . . We also went to Sam’s Club . . .” More excursions outside, each time Serge laboring with an outrageously heavy sack, until ten were stacked against the wall. “I know I’m not supposed to like Sam’s Club, but the quantity prices are insane!”

“Another science experiment?” asked Coleman. “What is it?”

“Actually our guest gave me the idea.” Serge ripped the tape off again and got face-to-face with the captive. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you. Actually I do, but that’s not in the cards. Sorry, dealer’s choice. The best you can hope for now is the bonus round.”

“W-w-what’s the bonus round?” asked the hostage.

“I’m so glad you asked!” Serge patted him on the shoulder. “If you thought you were in a quandary before, it’s going to get exciting in a big hurry. And the bonus round is this: I used a spray-mist bottle on your cell phone instead of, say, dropping it in the toilet. That way there’s still the possibility it can come back to life. Or maybe not. Who knows or even cares? You obviously didn’t when you splashed me.” He playfully pinched the man’s cheek. “That’s the whole joy of the bonus round! It so unpredictable! . . . If that thing eventually comes back on, you can call 911 before it’s too late. And the bonus round takes points off for lateness.” Serge shivered at the thought. “So here’s the most important part that you must remember above all else. If you turn your phone back on too soon, before it’s sufficiently dry, it’ll fry the circuits. You taught me that concept as well, so additional kudos if I don’t see you again. And if the phone fries, it’s game over. Game over is really bad . . . Well, that’s about it. Welcome to my latest science project!” The tape went back over the mouth for the last time.

A finger pressed a button on the boom box. Sly and the Family Stone came on.

“. . . Dance to the music! . . .”

Serge and Coleman locked arms for a do-si-do square dance, twirling in a circle.

Serge singing: “Welcome to the science world . . .”

Coleman: “Let’s give it up for science world . . .”

“Edison, Newton, the periodic chart . . .”

“Did you know you can light a fart? . . .”

The pair continued crooning as they spun the chair around and tilted it backward until the man’s feet left the floor. Then they began dragging it backward toward the bathroom.

“Mmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmm! . . .”

“Will he survive the bonus round? . . .”

“No one freaking knows . . .”

The bathroom door slammed shut.