Insane City (42 page)

“You up for a getaway cruise? We got some orangutan shooters looking to board us.”

Bobby raised the glass to his mouth, downed the contents in one swallow, smacked his lips, then

declared, “Nothing I hate more than an orangutan shooter.” He reached down, hit the ignition. The
Barco

Loco
diesel rumbled to life. “Pull in the gangplank and cast her off!”

“Aye, aye!” shouted Duane, scrambling aboard with Blossom.

Exactly twenty-three seconds later, the
Barco Loco
was pulling away from the dock. Exactly eight

seconds after that, Castronovo and Brewer reached the water’s edge. Duane, standing on the deck next to

a propane cannon, smiled across the widening gap between dock and boat at the two fury-reddened faces.

He waved and said, “Ahoy, cocksuckers!”

“Now what?” said Castronovo.

“After I kill the monkey,” said Brewer, “I’m going to kill that guy
and
his snake.”

63

Blaze Gear couldn’t get the
Titanic
out of her mind. Specifically, she was thinking about the

part in the movie
after
the ship hits the iceberg, but
before
the passengers realize they are in deadly peril.

For a while, everything seems perfectly normal: the lights stay on, the band keeps playing, the waiters

keep serving drinks . . .

And yet they are doomed. They just don’t know it yet.

This was what Blaze Gear was thinking about as she frowned at her iPad. On the surface, things

seemed to be going fine. All the really important timeline items—the bride’s hair, the bride’s makeup, the

bride’s manicure/pedicure touch-up—were proceeding on schedule and without incident. The governor

had arrived. The floral installations had been installed, the gazebo decorated, the chairs arranged

precisely on the lawn. The tables were set for the dinner, each fork, knife and spoon, each glass and plate,

each place card perfectly aligned.

But beneath the veneer of perfection and order, some things were amiss. The groom, for example,

was missing. Tina had been unable to reach him; Tracee and Traci had both been dispatched to find him

and both had failed. The groomsmen were insisting that Seth had simply gone for a walk, and Blaze,

whose most important job was to keep the bride calm, had assured Tina that this was so. Blaze hoped it

was so. Like it or not, a truly successful heterosexual wedding required a groom.

Also missing was the maid of honor. This was not potentially as big an issue as the lack of a groom,

but it was troubling. Also troubling was the fact that the father of the bride apparently had greeted the

governor of the state of Florida wearing a flamingo costume. Blaze could not think of a good explanation

for this. It did not seem at all like the Mike Clark she knew. Maybe it was a rich-person joke, or some

kind of Episcopalian thing.

She hoped the flamingo suit would soon disappear. She also hoped, fervently, that the groom and

maid of honor would soon reappear.

Meanwhile she would do everything in her power to keep things sailing smoothly forward. But even

as she ticked off, right on schedule, the next item on her iPad timeline—the bride’s mother’s hair—she

could not escape the stomach-clenching feeling that somewhere, beyond her sight or control, the Clark–

Weinstein wedding was taking on water.

64

Fifty feet from where the
Barco Loco
had just left the dock a larger boat, the
Bay Wanderer
,

was preparing to cast off. The
Bay Wanderer
was a sightseeing boat that took passengers on a ninety-

minute tour around Biscayne Bay, during which, it was promised, they would see the lavish waterfront

homes, or former homes, of rich and famous people, including Al Capone, Gloria Estefan and Vanilla Ice.

Yolanda Berkowitz stood at the entrance to the
Bay Wanderer
, collecting tickets from boarding

passengers, telling them they could either go forward to the downstairs lounge or upstairs to the open-air

deck. Yolanda would also serve as the tour guide for the cruise, pointing out the sights over the PA

system, making the same jokes she’d made a thousand times (“Coming up,” she’d say as the boat

approached a ridiculously huge mansion, “is my boyfriend’s house”). Yolanda was in a good mood. The

weather was nice and the boat was almost sold out, which meant the crew would probably split a decent

haul from the tip jar.

The
Bay Wanderer
captain, Joe Sarmiento, blasted the horn twice:
Time to go.
The dock men were

untying the lines, and Yolanda was closing the gate, when Castronovo and Brewer trotted up. She didn’t

like the looks of them, especially Brewer, who still had blood oozing from his nose wounds.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “you’ll have to catch the next boat.”

“We’re with the police,” said Castronovo, yanking the gate open and stepping aboard, followed by

Brewer, who shut the gate behind him.

“What do you mean
with
the police?” said Yolanda.

“This is an emergency,” said Castronovo. “You need to cooperate, you understand?” He held open

his coat, showing her his gun. “I said, you understand?”

Yolanda nodded.

The dock men had finished casting off. The
Bay Wanderer
started moving.

“Take us to whoever’s driving this thing,” said Brewer.

65

The
Barco Loco
had left the marina and was going under the overpass to the Port of Miami.

Cyndi and Meghan, down on the main deck in front of the bridge, had found a roll of paper towels and

some duct tape, which they were using to jury-rig a diaper for the baby and a bandage for Trevor’s leg.

They’d also found a bag of potato chips for Stephane, who had never eaten potato chips in his life and

thought they were the most wonderful food ever.

On the bridge, Seth stood with Bobby Stern and Duane, both of whom held a glass of tequila. Seth

was looking back toward the Bayside Marketplace plaza, now a confused, swarming mass of people,

some of them police officers. He didn’t see either Castronovo or Brewer. He hoped they’d given up.

“So,” said Bobby as they cleared the overpass, “what exactly is the plan?”

Duane looked at Seth. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting married?”

Seth touched his pocket, felt the ring box. “I am,” he said. “Today. Very soon, actually.”

“Congratulations,” said Bobby. He nodded toward the deck. “I assume one of these lovely ladies is

the bride?”

Seth shook his head. “Nope,” he said.

“Really,” said Bobby.

“It’s complicated,” said Seth.

Bobby nodded. “So I probably shouldn’t even ask about the orangutan.”

“I appreciate it,” said Seth. “Listen, I know this is a huge favor to ask, but do you think you could

sail us to the Ritz-Carlton?”

“On Key Biscayne?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t put you ashore,” Bobby said. “That’s a beach, shallow water. But I can get you close and

you could take the dinghy in.”

“Seriously?” said Seth. “That would be great.”

“My pleasure,” said Bobby. “Any man fleeing from the police with three women, two children and

an orangutan is a friend of mine.”

Seth looked at his watch. “How long do you think it’ll take us to get there?”

Bobby frowned. “This ain’t exactly a speedy craft. Let’s see . . . up Government Cut, out around

Fisher, Virginia Key . . . Say twenty minutes, give or take.”

“OK, great,” said Seth. “I’m going to go make a call.” He headed forward, toward the steps down to

the main deck.

Bobby and Duane watched him go. Bobby raised his glass. “To the groom,” he said.

“To the groom,” said Duane.

They drank to that.

“Better him than us,” said Bobby.

They also drank to that.

66

Marty, summoned by a call from Kevin and Big Steve, entered the Groom Posse suite in a

mellow mood. He had just left the Corliss suite, where Wendell, sitting next to a half-depleted platter of

brownies, was introducing Florida Gov. Derek Tritt to the many subtle complexities of World of

Warcraft.

The mood was a good deal more tense in the Groom Posse suite. Kevin was pacing; Big Steve was

sitting on the sofa, hunched forward, staring at the TV screen, which showed a furrow-browed Lisbeth

Renaldo next to a headline that said GANG GOES APE AT BAYSIDE.

“What’s up?” said Marty.

“Quiet,” said Big Steve, pointing at the screen.

“. . . chase ended in this multiple-car wreck on Biscayne Boulevard outside of Bayside

Marketplace,” Renaldo was saying. The screen showed a street strewn with dented and smashed cars at

various angles, dazed drivers wandering among them. “Police say that sixteen cars were involved, but it

appears that nobody was seriously hurt. In the confusion, the suspects abandoned their vehicles and fled

on foot into the crowded shopping complex—with the orangutan.”

“Orangutan?” said Marty.

“Shh,” said Big Steve.

“Police are questioning witnesses,” said Renaldo, “but Action 5 News has learned that there are

reports the gang may have fled by boat. We have also just received this video, taken by a tourist at

Bayside, showing members of the so-called Ape Gang making their way through the crowd.”

On the screen now was a shaky video, evidently taken from somewhere inside a crowd of gawkers.

At first it was mainly the backs of heads. A voice could be heard shouting, “Excuse me! Let us through,

please!”

And then there was Seth. He was on-screen for two seconds, his arm around Laurette. This was

followed by a flash of Meghan’s face, then Trevor’s.

Renaldo said, “Police are asking anyone who has—”