Nuclear Jellyfish

THE CROSSROADS

Just south of where two rural routes met, a building that looked more like an abandoned farmhouse sat framed by oak and moss. Serge burst through double saloon doors. A man at the end of the bar jumped up and swallowed a deep breath. Serge nodded. The man exhaled.

They both walked outside. Serge turned at the bottom of the steps and held out an expectant hand.

“What?” said the man.

“Where’s the back end?”

“Vince said I don’t have to pay the rest until I get proof. You were supposed to take a picture.”

“What picture?” Serge’s hand stayed out. “Vince didn’t say anything.”

“Can I wait for the morning paper?”

“You’re really starting to piss me off!”

“Sorry, it’s just that Vince promised-“

“Fuck Vince! And fuck you! I smell where this is going. I’m heading out of town, and on the way I’m dropping a little something in the mailbox to the police.”

“No! Jesus! Don’t!”

Serge swished the toe of a sneaker in the dirt. He looked up. “Sorry, got a little heated. If I was in your position, I’d demand proof, too. When you’re right, you’re right.” He opened the door of the Javelin. “Get in the car.”

“What for?”

“We’re driving to Proof City.”

“I’ll take your word.” He reached for his wallet with a trembling hand.

Serge grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into the backseat. “Wouldn’t hear of it.”

They sped inland.

The man recognized the way. “We’re not going back to the house, are we ?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no!” said Serge. “This other place is around the corner.”

Cows watched through barbed wire. The Javelin continued across the hot, Florida pastureland and turned up an unmarked dirt road.

“We are going to my house!”

“Okay, I lied,” said Serge. “Because I can’t wait for the money. I doubled down on football last Sunday and have to meet these bookies by midnight or I’ll end up in more pieces than your wife.”

“I told you, I’ll pay without proof!”

“But not seeing the pieces wouldn’t be fair to you. Except I hope you don’t mind: Not all the pieces are still there. You never told me you have the new Brahman gas grill! Your tastebuds don’t know they’re alive until they’ve met a Brahman! … I got a great idea! We’ll celebrate over dinner!”

The husband turned green and lunged for a door handle. Serge hit the brakes, cracking him across the face with his pistol. Then he jammed the barrel in a bloody ear. “You are going in the house.”

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