He did.
She turned to Ricky. “Shoot him.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Shoot him.”
“Is it loaded?”
“Shoot him.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“A test.”
Ricky aimed the gun with a trembling arm. Juanita checked the pressure gauge, needle spiking.
He dropped his arm. “I can’t do it.”
Juanita ripped the Velcro off. “Guillermo, come here.” She refastened the inflatable sleeve around his left arm, then turned her back to them, removing and replacing the clip. “Ricky might have just saved your life.”
Guillermo was confused.
She handed him the pistol. “Shoot him.”
“A test?”
She nodded.
Ricky got it now and smiled. No way the gun was loaded.
Guillermo took aim. The gauge’s needle hung steady at the low end. “One question, Madre.”
“What is it?”
“Did he pass the test?”
“He didn’t do what I asked.”
The smile disappeared. Ricky looked down incredulously at the broadening stain in the middle of his chest.
A crash to the floor.
Juanita checked the gauge again. No movement. “Interesting. You can take that off now.”
Guillermo ripped it from his arm.
She stuck the gun back in her purse. “How do you feel?”
“Hungry.”
“Good boy. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
THE PRESENT
Luxury suite number 1563.
Near panic.
Students pounding beers as usual. Except this time it was self-medicating.
“You don’t know who this Serge character is?” said Spooge.
“Thought he was with you.”
“He’s not with us. I thought he was with you.”
“Holy God. Maybe everything he’s said is bullshit. Maybe
“But he left Panama City with us before that mess in our old room.”
“That just means he’s working with someone else. Remember, he’s the one who started all this talk about assassination.”
“Spooge is right. We never saw anyone in our room at the Dunes. He could have closed those curtains himself.”
“We’ve got to get out of here!”
They all jumped up at once, stuffing what was left of their luggage. Melvin walked out of the bathroom. “What’s going on?”
“We just realized nobody knows who Serge is.”
“I know Serge.”
They stopped and stared at Melvin.
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“So you trust him?”
“It’s really my father who knows Serge.”
“But your dad will vouch for him, right?”
“My dad’s scared shitless of him.”
“Screw this. We’re out of here!”
“Why?” asked Melvin.
Joey said, “We think he might be the killer.”
“Serge?” said Melvin. “No way.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Serge may be a lot of things, but I guarantee he’s not the killer,” said Melvin. “Bet my life on it.”
The students half relaxed.
“Still feel better if we moved. I’m getting nervous staying in one spot so long.”
“I’m with Joey,” said Spooge. “Even if Serge is legit, those bodies in Panama City were for real.”
The other students picked up bags and headed for the door.
It flew open.
“Hey, everyone! I’m home!”
Serge strolled in with Coleman, City and Country. He headed for the coffee machine. “What’s with all the packed bags? You going somewhere?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Spooge. “I mean, we know you said to stay put, but we hadn’t heard anything from you in so long…”
“… That’s right,” continued Doogie. “Figured we’d use the time to pack and be ready when you said to split.”
“Excellent thinking,” said Serge. “In fact, we do need to roll.”
“When?”
“Immediately. I’ve made contact with the assassins and baited them, so they could be kicking in the door any second and spraying the place with bullets. We leave right after my coffee’s ready.”
They began to unravel again.
“Look on the bright side.” Serge poured water in the back of the machine. “We’re going to a most righteous place. It’ll be a blast!”
“Where?”
“Come on, use your brains. You can figure this out. Guillermo probably has.”
“Who’s Guillermo?”
“That will only upset you. Maybe you’ll meet him, maybe you won’t. But if you do, what good is it to die a thousand deaths in the meantime?”
“I feel faint.” Cody grabbed a chair.
“Remember I told you it’s all about history?” Serge switched the machine on. “We started in Panama City. Now we’re in Daytona. What’s the next logical progression? Anyone?”
They stared.
“The birthplace of spring break in America!” said Serge. “Guaranteed to be a killer!”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
TAMPA BAY
The single-floor Rod and Reel Motel hangs on as one of the great old Florida holdouts,
