Nuclear Jellyfish

PORT ORANGE

A Kenworth semi took the Atlantic detour from 1-95 to avoid state weighing stations. It crossed the bridge over Rose Bay. The driver had been the consummate gentleman, as had all the other truckers, who recognized one of their own social class in need and helped pass a hitchhiker named Story up the coast like a relay baton.

Brake hydraulics wheezed as the rig pulled up to the Fairview Motel. “This is as far as I’m going.” “But it’s only two in the afternoon.” “I’ve been running thirty of the last thirty-four hours.” “Your log books?” “Fiction.” “Amphetamines ?”

He just smiled. “I need to take the edge off if I’m ever going to get to sleep. There’s this spot up the road if you want to join me. Coldest beer you’d ever want.”

Story knew men well enough to know it wasn’t a come-on. The driver had been talking nonstop about his wife and kids since Titusville, showing wallet pictures.

“Sure,” said Story.

The two walked through a blazing sun up the side of U.S. 1. They stood on the sidewalk along the east side of the street, locally known as Ridgewood Avenue, waited for a dump truck to pass, then scampered across the highway toward the inviting doorway of The Last Resort. Story wiped sweat off her face with her tank top.

She was almost to the entrance when two men ran out, paired physically like Abbot and Costello-“Woooo!” “We’re rockin’ now!”-and sped off in a Javelin.

Story looked back. “What’s with them?”

“It’s The Last Resort,” said the driver.

They went inside to the coldest beer anyone could want.

The Javelin sped up a dirt road in Port Orange. Ahead: old cracker house with sagging porch. A woman heard the over-revving engine and came to the screen door. Serge jumped out, bounding up the steps. “Mrs. Milford?”

“Stop right there! Who are you?”

“Your husband-“

“No!” She slammed the wooden door behind the screen and ran to call the cops. Serge knocked it in with his shoulder. He ripped the wire from the wall before she could dial.

“I’m begging you!” She crumpled into a ball below the cuckoo clock and shielded her face.

“It’s okay,” said Serge. “We’re here to help you.”

She looked up. “You aren’t his friends?”

“Hell no. Now listen carefully: You’re in great danger from your husband.”

“But I just got a restraining order last week. He’s not allowed near me.”

“Afraid ‘allowed’ isn’t part of it.”

“You’re not saying …” She began sobbing uncontrollably. “My partner and I need this place for a stakeout. Have relatives nearby?”

She gulped back tears. “Sister. Let me get some things.”

“No time.” Serge grabbed her arm. “Get moving. And whatever you or your sister do, don’t talk to anyone for four hours, especially the police.”

“But I thought you were the police.”

“Elite undercover unit.” He led her down the porch and into the driveway. “But if you call regular cops, they could show up in marked cars and blow the whole takedown before we have enough evidence.

And next time he might approach a real hit man instead of us.”

“Oh my God!”

“Don’t lose it now.” Serge opened the driver’s door of her Camaro. She got in and looked back out the window. “How will I know when it’s safe?”

“It already is.”

ANOTHER EXTENDED COMFORT EXPRESS SUITES USA

Steve sat alone in the motel’s glassed-in business center, leaning back in an ergonomic chair and tapping a keyboard.

The door opened. Steve quickly hit a key, switching the computer screen from porn to spreadsheet. He swiveled to see who it was.

“Uh-oh.”

A bodyguard pulled up another leather seat.

Steve scooted his chair backward on casters. “We have to stop being seen together.”

“Just take a minute. Who’s your next courier?”

“There aren’t any more.”

“Recruit one.”

“No, I mean, literally, I’ve gone through every last coin dealer,” said Steve. “When you took down Paul last night, that was it.”

“So recruit one of the stamp guys.”

Steve shook his head. “There’s a war on.”

“Then come up with someone else.”

“Aren’t you listening? There isn’t anybody.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to tell that to the Eel. Probably throw you a retirement party.”

“No! Wait, I’ll come up with something.”

“Great.” The bodyguard stood. “You can go back to your porn.”

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