celebrated in North America took place in the Sunshine State? It’s true: In 1539, the discoverer Hernando de Soto held festivities in Tallahassee, and since it’s Florida, the spot is now marked by a kiosk.” Serge looked up at the stars. “What must it have been like in such a pioneering time to experience Christmas in the yet-unexploited peninsula. Better still, what if de Soto had Christmas lights? These are the questions that need to be asked. What kind of decoration would such a courageous explorer create to commemorate the first Christmas in the New World? Let us pretend.” Serge turned to his pal. “Go for it!”
Coleman held his own electrical cords. “Three, two, one!” He plugged them in. “Cool!”
The others stared curiously at the strands of Christmas lights forming an outline on the wall of a giant dick and balls.
“De Soto had unusual tastes,” said Serge.
Across the street, Martha Davenport watched through the window with binoculars. The last set of lights caught her attention. “What the-?”
Serge stood up. “But we’re not finished! My finest hour awaits!” He walked to the porch and returned with bigger wires and a control box like he was going to run a toy train set.
“What’s that stuff?” asked Coleman.
“I got the idea from when I used to have a toy train set.” Serge patted the control box. “I customized this from parts I bought at Radio Hut. The two big dials are variable voltage controls. I twist them back and forth to brighten and dim the lights.”
“What for?”
“The crowning jewel of my kick-out-the-jams Christmas display! It’s like building models as a kid. And what was the best part of building models?”
“That’s easy,” said Coleman. “Blowing them up with M-80s.”
“Except I’m not going to blow something up. Actually sort of, but not really, but, well, you’ll see.”
Coleman reached in his pocket. “I definitely need to blow some gage for this.”
“Mellow,” said Serge. “We’re on a neighborhood street. It’s bad enough Country finished that last roach out here. We don’t need to do anything strange to attract attention.”
“I got the answer.” Coleman snapped his fingers. “I’ll use a one-hitter that looks like a cigarette.”
“Regular brain trust out here.”
Coleman packed the end of a thin metal tube painted white. “But those wires don’t look like the others.”
“Because they’re not.” Serge held one up for illustration. “My crown jewel needed more amperage, so I ran these special high-capacity extension cords from one of those weird outlets behind the oven in our kitchen. Then I spliced the control box to manipulate the effect. You know those crazy Christmas displays on YouTube where the lights dance to music?”
Coleman passed the hitter to Country. “There’s going to be music?”
“No, but some serious audio. I was going to do this project anyway, but then a special feature fell into my lap…”
From the darkness: “You’re a dead man! I am so going to kill you!”
Coleman turned to Serge. “I don’t think Mr. Snake is enjoying this as much as we are.”
“Because he doesn’t have a personal involvement in the project like us. But that’s about to change in a big way.”
Serge reached for the left dial and ever so slowly turned it clockwise. Lights grew brighter.
The foursome raised their eyes. Snake sat in a chair at the very top of the roof, wrapped countless times with rope and Christmas lights… Getting brighter…
Coleman leaned over. “What’s the second dial?”
“Volume control.”
Coleman strained for a look at the roof. “I don’t see any speakers.”
“Snake is our speaker.”
“But how…?”
“You know all those piercings he has?”
“Like a pincushion.”
“The other dial controls a second set of lights, except I removed the lights and wired their sockets to his piercings.”
Coleman took a hit. “Righteous.”
“Observe.” Serge looked up and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Are you going to stay away from Nicole?”
“Fuck you! I’ll do whatever I want!”
A quick twist of the dial.
“Ahhhhhh!.. Dammit!”
“And I also want you to stay away from Jim and his whole family.”
“Eat shit!.. Ahhhhh!.. Stop doing that!”
Serge winked at Coleman. “I think you get the picture.”
“But, Serge,” said Coleman, glancing up the street at people on porches. “Aren’t you worried about the neighbors calling the police?”
“I have a strong feeling they’re with me on this one. Everyone loves Christmas displays.”
“So you’re going to keep asking him questions like that until he agrees?”
Serge shook his head. “I’m not really interested in anything he has to say. Certain personality types tend to pull you into negativity. It’s best not to dwell on them… Especially when we’re out here to enjoy a special holiday moment.”
“Rock on, dude!”
“The key is to twist the dials simultaneously, so the lights are in sync with the audio. I’ll start with an easy one. Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.”
Dials twisted four times.
“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!.. Ahhhhhhhh!”
“Sounds just like it,” said Coleman.
And so Serge ran through a full program of songs.
“What was that last one?” asked Coleman.
“ ‘Flight of the Bumblebee.’ ” Serge pulled the control box close. “And now the grand finale. I’m just going to use the left dial, ever so slowly increasing the current to the lights. And because those lights aren’t designed to stand the kind of power for an oven, they’ll begin to explode individually, like popcorn in a microwave. The bulbs’ filaments will burn out pretty quick, but also pretty hot.”
“Will it electrocute him?”
“No, but he won’t like it.”
The dial began turning.
At first a few isolated pops spaced out seconds apart. Then, in rapid succession: pop, pop, pop, pop, pop…
It continued in a sadistic drumroll until the last light finally exploded.
From the roof: “Okay, okay, you win! I’ll never go near Nicole or her family again!”
Neighbors on porches up and down Triggerfish Lane uniformly broke into applause.
Serge glanced at Coleman. “Like I said, total respect.”
Chapter Fifteen
An older-style Cadillac sat at the end of the Davenports’ driveway.
Serge stared through binoculars.
“What’s going on?” asked Coleman.
