Authors: Tim Dorsey
NEW HAMPSHIRE
S
now fluttered.
Big, thick flakes clumped before they hit ground. Accumulation reached three inches on the steps of the Dimond Library. Inside, toasty and empty.
Only four students. Three on the main floor and another in archives.
Andy McKenna sat at a microfilm machine, researching an article for the student paper on plans to attach a full-scale plastic replica of the Old Man of the Mountain at the top of Franconia Notch.
His iPod earphones: “
More than a feeling . . .
”
He didn’t hear the door open behind him.
Several pairs of feet moved quietly across the carpet. Andy’s eyes stayed on the screen as he advanced the reel.
Feet moved closer. Fifteen yards, ten, five . . . the back of Andy’s head growing larger . . . four, three . . .
At the last second, Andy caught a reflection in the microfilm’s screen, but it was too late.
A thick forearm wrapped around his neck. Andy grabbed it with his hands, thrashing left and right, earbuds flying, feet kicking the ground.
No use.
A voice from over his shoulder: “Just accept it and this will go a lot easier.”
“Let go of me!”
The arm released.
Laughter. The three amigos: Joey, Doogie and Spooge.
Andy jumped up and grabbed his chest. “That wasn’t funny. You nearly scared me to death!”
More laughing.
“What’s this about?” asked Andy.
“A kidnapping. It’s futile to resist.”
“Leave me alone.” He sat again. “Got work to do.”
A hand reached down to the wall and unplugged the microfilm viewer. Andy’s head fell back with a deep sigh.
“Come on,” said Joey. “We have to get going before the snow’s too deep.”
“Going? I’m not going anywhere.”
Joey was the one with big forearms, thanks to the rowing team. “Guys?”
They snatched Andy under his arms.
“Okay, okay!” He jerked free. “Where are we going? If, that is, I agree.”
“Agreeing’s not part of it,” said Spooge. “Florida,” said Doogie. “Florida? I can’t go to Florida!”
“You don’t have a choice . . .”
“. . . Andy, it’s spring break!”
“. . . It’ll be wicked excellent!”
“Send me a postcard.” Andy reached for the electrical plug. He was blocked. Another sigh. “Besides, you have to go.”
“Why?”
“We used your credit card to reserve the room. You have to show picture ID at check-in.”
“Dang it!”
“Relax, we’ll pay it all back. You were the only one with a card, at least not over the limit.”
“This already sounds like a disaster.”
“We’re looking out for you. All this work isn’t healthy.”
“I can’t just
leave.
I’ve got too much to do.”
“That’s why this is a kidnapping. We knew you’d never come on your own.”
“But I’ll have to pack. It’ll make you late.”
A smiling face. Joey raised a gym bag and backpack. “All taken care of.”
“You broke into my room?”
“You’ll thank us someday.”
“But I don’t have my cell phone.”
“It’s spring break.”
“What about my fish?”
“We’ll call Jason from the road.”
“My dad will be worried.”
“We’ll call him, too.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Andy, be spontaneous for once.”
Outside, three sedans parked in a fire zone. Agents bounded up library steps.
“This is crazy,” said Andy. “I should have my head examined.”
“Now you’re talking!”
An elevator opened on the ground floor. Agents rushed inside. The doors closed as the next elevator opened and four students got out.
“This is going to be wicked excellent!”
PANAMA CITY BEACH
Coleman was down for the count, leaving Serge on solo night patrol. He reached a bend in the sidewalk and focused his camcorder on three cheerful youths waving homemade posters.
“Oooooooh,” Serge said with delight, lowering his camera. “Free pancakes!”
He walked over.
“Howdy! I’m Serge!”
“Hi, Serge. Want a free pancake breakfast?”
“But it’s night.”
“That’s when all the kids eat breakfast. Soaks up alcohol.”
“What’s the catch?”
“There is no catch.”
“There’s
always
a catch.”
“Why don’t you come inside with us?”
Serge followed and was soon seated in a church activities room. On the table in front of him: the largest pile of pancakes the volunteer group had ever seen anyone assemble.
Three sparkling kids pulled out chairs and joined him. They didn’t have pancakes.
Serge, chewing: “Great breakfast.
Deeeeeeeeelicious!
”
“It’s Serge, right?”
He nodded and stuck a fork in his mouth.
“Serge, have you ever heard of the one true living God?”
“Of course,” said Serge. “He’s like a household name.”
“Are you saved?”
“That’s a long story.”
They handed him inspirational pamphlets.
Serge smiled. “Knew there was a catch.”
“No catch. It’s the path to redemption.”
“Fair enough,” said Serge, setting his fork on the plate. He leaned back and folded his arms. “You gave me a great meal, I can at least listen. But if this turns into a time-share thing, I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“It’s not.”
“Then give me your best shot.”
The trio took turns effervescently sharing the marvelous change in their lives. A pastor circulated through the room, hands clasped behind his back. He smiled at the youths around Serge’s table doing the Lord’s work. The kids finished their pitch.
“Impressive,” said Serge. “Sounds like you got quite a program there. Unfortunately, no sale. I already have my own program.”
“You belong to a religion?”
Serge returned to his food. “Absolutely.”
“Which denomination?”
“My own.”
“What do you mean your own?”
“So far I’m the only member. But it cuts printing costs for the monthly bulletin.”
“Your religion can’t have just one member.”
“Why not?”
“It’s . . . you just can’t.”
“Every religion started with only one person.” Pouring syrup. “Even yours.”
“No, it didn’t—”
One of the others nudged his friend and whispered, “Actually, it did.” He turned to Serge. “So what
is
your religion?”
“Well,” said Serge, digging in his fork again, “it’s an awful lot like yours, except with massive confusion.”
“Confusion?”
“I question everything. And I’m still totally baffled. Which only makes my faith stronger—God’s so incredible, he’s beyond comprehension!”
“You’re devoutly baffled?”
“All questions, all the time! And as the lack of answers mounts, the infiniteness of the Almighty swells in my soul. People who claim to know his every last thought in order to bully others are just shortchanging his omnipotence. Like politicians who say, ‘Pay no attention to our performance on the economy. Look! Over there! Gay people are trying to get married! ’”
“But homosexuality is a sin against God. Says so in the Bible.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” said Serge. “But it just didn’t jibe. So I took another look at Genesis . . .”
“You know Genesis?”
“And Nehemiah, Ezra, Proverbs, Lamentations—one of my favorites, hilarious subtext, but I can’t read it on airplanes, where people get upset with laughing fits. The whole book’s a classic.”
“You read the whole Bible?”
“Couple times. And you know how in Genesis, Lot’s the only good guy in the twin cities, Sodom and Gomorrah. These two male angels come to stay with him. Apparently they’re lookers. Think Matt Damon and Ben Affleck in
Dogma.
And these people from his street bang on Lot’s door, wanting him to let the houseguests out so they can have gay sex. Now Lot’s always been an accommodating neighbor, but this ain’t no potluck dinner. They argue back and forth, going nowhere. So, finally, in an attempt to show that sex with girls is much more fun and convert them to heterosexuality, Lot offers to turn over his two underage, virgin daughters for gang rape.”
“It doesn’t say that!”
“Let me see your Bible.” Serge executed a perfect sword drill, finding chapter nineteen in seconds. He turned the book around, slid it back across the table and tapped verse eight.
Three youths crowded over the page. “It
does
say that. But how can it be?”
“Because God blessed us with curiosity. Read it with an open mind and you realize it’s actually a brilliant satire on homophobia. Think as an individual: The Lord doesn’t want a train pulled on little kids. It’s like reading Swift’s
Modest Proposal
and thinking he really wants to eat babies. What the Bible’s trying to say is we’re all his children. But if you take Lot’s story literally, well, nice family values, eh? But that’s just my interpretation, which I’m now questioning. I could be way off.”
The youths got up and went over to their pastor.
“I think we’ve been wrong about gay people . . .”
“. . . They’re fellow children of God.”
At the next table, a homeless midget in a crash helmet spread whipped butter.
The youths returned.
Serge smiled. “Looked like your preacher was telling you to stay on message.”
“Do you realize the only path to righteous glory—”
Serge took another bite. “Let’s talk about evolution . . .”
NEW HAMPSHIRE
A
Hertz Town Car crossed the Durham city line. Snow melted to ice. The car parked at a dorm.
Four Latin men ran up steps. Guillermo led the way down a hall. He stopped in front of a door and checked the number against his scrap of paper. Then he motioned for Raul, the lock-pick specialist.
He eased the door open, and they went inside.
Empty.
The gang fanned out, carefully combing the room for any clue to track Andy. Day planner, travel receipts, phone numbers, anything.
Failure.
Finesse gave way to destructive ransacking. When they were done, the room was neater.
“Guillermo,” said Miguel, “I don’t understand it. We usually at least find something. It’s like he has no routine at all.”
“It’s college.”
They left the room and closed the door. Halfway down the hall, Guillermo called a huddle.
“Any ideas?”
“Stake out the dorm from across the street?” said Miguel.
“Campuses have too much security,” said Guillermo.
“Then what are we going to do?”
“Let me think . . .”
Pedro nodded up the hall. “Who’s that?”
They looked back, where someone was entering the room they’d just left.
“It can’t be this easy,” said Miguel.
Guillermo led the way back. “We’ll soon find out.”
Flakes of fish food were tapped into an aquarium and spread out across the water’s surface. Guppies darted. A door opened.
Jason turned around. “Who are you?”
Guillermo walked toward him. “Andy McKenna?”
Jason shook his head.
The rest of the men came inside and closed the door behind them. The butt of a Mac-10 submachine gun protruded from one of their jackets.
Jason’s breathing became rapid. His eyes swung back and forth.
Guillermo smiled and stepped forward. “Is this your room?”
“No,” said Jason, backing up. “Just feeding fish.”
“Can I see some ID?”
“What for?”
“ID, please.”
The calmness of Guillermo’s tone was unnerving. Jason pulled a driver’s license from his wallet and presented it with an unsteady hand.
Guillermo read it and stuck it in his own wallet. “Know where we might find Andy?”
“What’s going on?”
“We’re close family friends. His mother’s sick.”
“His mother’s dead,” said Jason.
“Then it’s worse than we thought.”
They stared a moment, Guillermo’s smile broadening. Jason felt faint and almost knocked over the aquarium.
“Someone get him a chair.”
Raul brought one over and Jason fell into it.
Guillermo pulled up his own and sat in front of him. “Where did he go?”
“S-s-spring break. Panama City Beach. Bunch of guys.”
“You’re doing great,” said Guillermo, patting an arm that flinched at the touch. “When did they leave?”
“I don’t know. I mean, they called me from the road. I think it was a last-minute thing.”
“Where are they staying?”
Jason’s mouth opened, but no sound.
“I know they told you the hotel.”
Jason nodded.
“It’s very important we reach him. What hotel?”
Jason still had trouble getting his mouth to work.
Guillermo leaned. “Whisper it.”
Jason did.
Guillermo stood. “Now, that wasn’t so hard.” He noticed a clip on Jason’s belt. “Give me your phone.”
“Why?”
“Give me your phone.”
Jason handed it over, still shaking. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Do to you?” said Guillermo, flipping open the cell. “We don’t have to do anything to you.”
Jason’s expression said he didn’t understand.
Guillermo wrote something on a paper scrap. “You’re a college student?”
Jason nodded.
“Well then, you must be pretty smart.” Guillermo gave the phone back. “So you probably figured out that when we want to find someone, we don’t stop, no matter how long or far.” He patted his wallet, which now contained Jason’s license. “And if you make us want to find you again, it’ll go differently.”
Jason’s chest heaved.
“It’s smart to forget we were ever here.”
The men left.
Jason slowly rose on unsteady legs, then jackknifed over and threw up in the aquarium.
Guppy heaven.
PANAMA CITY BEACH
Three youths crowded around Serge in a church activities hall. A fourth came over. “I got your coffee.”
“Thanks.” Serge blew on it and took a sip. “The thing about evolution is needless bickering among groups who should be enjoying life together. I’ve noticed some people making a creationist end run with the Trojan horse called intelligent design. Except they accidentally stumbled onto something without realizing it. What you need to be marketing is self-organization.”
“What’s that?”
“Evolution only makes my faith stronger. Except the problem with evolution—and this is where I totally understand your objection—is emphasis on the godless randomness of natural selectivity. Like those Galapagos turtles with the longest necks were the only ones who could reach higher leaves and survive when low-hanging food was gone, so now they all have long necks. That’s true, but there’s more. Much more.”
The youths leaned with rapt attention.
“Many evolutionary scientists subscribe to an additional component of their theory. Anyone?”
“Self-organization?”
“Shazam! Anti-religious types would have you believe that the universe follows the ol’ axiom ‘Given an infinite amount of monkeys, typewriters and time, one of them will eventually write
Hamlet.
’ “ Serge swept an arm in the air.”Look around you. That can’t be right. It’s more like one of the monkeys is Shakespeare in a chimp suit. All life aggressively yearns to organize itself and become more complex, springing forth from every corner of the planet. You think we started with a bunch of prehistoric ooze, and some of it just happened to turn into Bella Abzug?”
They shook their heads.
“There were some dead ends along the way, hence natural selectivity. But for my money, the rest is God in a Darwin costume. So if you can wrap your brain around self-organization, then evolution
is
intelligent design. The Lord is even greater! . . . But I’m not sure.”
They got up for another pastoral visit.
“I think we’ve been wrong about evolution.”
“What on earth’s going on over there?”
“He has a lot of good points. I’ve never felt my faith so strong.”
“You’re supposed to convert him, not the other way around.”
They returned.
Serge smiled again. “Warned you about going off the reservation?”
“Eternal life is only possible through belief—”
“Glad you brought that up,” said Serge. “Let’s talk about eternal life . . .”
The pancake feast hit its peak hour as students felt that empty beer rumble in their tummies. The pastor stood at the entrance, welcoming waves of newcomers.
“Now everyone close your eyes,” said Serge. “This is what I want you to imagine . . .”
More and more students came pouring in. The pastor was smiling and shaking hands when suddenly, hysterical shrieking erupted from the far side of the hall. Everyone turned.
Serge frantically raced around the table, grabbing shoulders of uncontrollably sobbing youths. “Guys! It’s all okay! Forget everything I said!”
The pastor ran over. “What did you do to them?”
One of the tearful kids looked up. “He said many people believe in God only because of the selfish reward of eternal life . . .”
Another blew his nose. “So in order for our faith to be pure, we have to
stop
believing in God.”
“What!”
“Only temporarily—just long enough to imagine eternal darkness . . .”
“. . . Then, once we could handle that, we were free to return and believe selflessly.”
“. . . My belief’s never been stronger.”
Serge grinned awkwardly. “Harmless experiment. I hear they do it all the time in college philosophy classes.”
The pastor shot him a steely glare.
“Give me one more chance,” said Serge. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”