“Single-handedly stormed a machine-gun nest.”
“He lied to get his medals,” said Glide. “The nest was empty.”
“But he won the Purple Heart.”
“He shot himself in a cowardly attempt to be sent home.”
“Both his legs were amputated.”
“That means he was a really big coward,” said Glide. “Made sure he’d go home. I want this viral on the Internet by Friday!”
A hand timidly rose. “How does that make our guy a patriot?”
“How’d he dodge the draft?” asked Malcolm.
“His dad got him in the National Guard.”
“The same Guard that’s now pulling five tours in Afghanistan?” said Glide. “Press release: Our candidate is proud of his war record performing highly dangerous service, and is deeply offended by anti-Americans who call our brave members of the Guard draft dodgers. If elected he’ll courageously introduce legislation to extend their tours.”
“But he served in Memphis.”
“Memphis scares the shit out of me… Get to work!”
And now, two years later, the victory was political legend, forever cementing Glide’s reputation. He dialed the phone.
“Rip? Malcolm here… Yeah, the thermometer looked great on TV… Listen, I need another favor…”
Somewhere in Cyberspace
Dear Serge, Most thanks again for your assistance. I just sent the banking account information. Did you receive? Please advise immediately when you have secured funds and make deposit. God’s blessings upon you Bobonofassi Gabonilar Dear Bobo, Great news, pen pal! I almost have the money. Even better: I’ve been in touch with Sarah Palin, and I think she can help us with the transfers and the rest of your problems. If you’re watching TV and see her kick someone in the crotch, that’s the signal she’s on board… More good news! I didn’t mention this before because of the stress you were under: I’m actually a spy! I’ve only been at it a couple days, but my first mission was a complete success except the hostages did some damage in my trunk. And Miami couldn’t be a better place to launch my new career. City of international intrigue, full of spooks since Castro. Did you know that at least three James Bond movies shot footage here? Do you get cable? But I know your next question: “How is being a spy good news for us?” Because I lied. I actually have the money, but a transfer is too risky right now. You’ll be exposed. And here’s where my excellent espionage training comes in: I tracked your IP address and found you’re already in Miami. (Computer guy who works at the university owed me big.) Tell me where you are and I’ll deliver the cash personally. Maybe we can meet downtown. Isn’t downtown a trip? A skyline of gleaming bank towers and stylish office buildings that sprouted in the eighties building boom with laundered money from Noriega’s Panama. And below on street level, sandwiched between skyscrapers, are all these funky little retail shops. There are only three kinds of stores: luggage, watches, and perfume. That’s it. Just dozens of narrow joints selling American Tourister, Rolex, and Chanel. Someone told me the stores cater to people who fly up from the Caribbean for a ferocious amount of shopping. I’ve never visited where they live myself, but apparently the island life requires vast amounts of suitcases, being on time, and smelling better… Tell me where you want to meet, and I’ll come armed to the teeth for your safety. Waiting by the computer, Serge Dear Serge, Much gratitude for your kind concern, but I am not in Miami. The bank transfer procedure is secure and utmost safe. Please use the account number I sent, and contact immediately upon deposit. Blessings, Bobonofassi Gabonilar Dear Bobo, Jesus, you’re in more danger than I thought! I’m coming to your rescue! Sorry, but I also lied earlier when I said I only recently tracked you to Miami. I knew it from the beginning. It’s just that a lot of these e-mails are scams from Nigeria. Obviously you made it out of East Bum-fuck and reached Florida, but had to conceal your location because of any relatives who might have escaped the rebels and are still in hiding back home. I’m guessing you’re an exchange student because my computer friend narrowed the IP search to Coral Gables and the University of Miami. And the routing number on the account you gave me is also here-this big downtown bank just up the street. Change of plans: Too dangerous now to meet in public. E-mail me your location and I’ll come there. Or maybe I’ll just figure out your address first and surprise you. Meanwhile, stay put! (Maybe watch Burn Notice — seen it yet? Michael’s mother is Sharon Gless from Cagney amp; Lacey. Who would have thought?) Your guardian angel, Serge Dear Serge, I honestly am not in Miami. Please use the original money transfer plan. Bobonofassi Dear Bobo, You’re scaring me! I had no idea you were in such peril! I wasn’t going to say anything, but Miami is also a huge rebels-in-exile city, so you’re not even safe here. Clearly you’re paranoid and don’t know who to trust anymore. And since we’ve never met, a little lingering skittishness is more than reasonable. What if I’m with the cops? I might confiscate the money or worse. So to put your mind at ease, I’m attaching a bunch of newspaper articles about these unsolved cases where my name unfortunately came up (am I embarrassed!). Meanwhile, my IP guy is getting close to your exact location, but it might be too late. For the love of God, tell me where you’re living! (Can’t wait to see your house. Did you watch that thing on the local news where this guy in Florida furnished his place entirely with chairs and tables and beds made from FedEx boxes? The anchor people laughed about it, but the FedEx people were pissed. Then, at this other house, paramedics responded to a NASCAR fan who built a roll cage around his toilet, with a steering wheel and a flat-screen TV on the wall so he could pretend racing, and he got too excited squeezing one off and had a stroke. Paramedic slang is a “commode code,” but they left that out of the news. Anyway, the cage release got jammed and the ambulance guys had to use the jaws of life on his toilet. I’m starting to like NASCAR.) Ready to extract, Serge Dear Serge, I truly appreciate all your efforts, but we have found someone else to assist us, and the money has already been transferred. We need no further contact. Bobonofassi Bobo! Help is on the way! My computer friend just finished tracking. You’re going under the name Rollo Tomagallu and using broadband connections at the school library and your off-campus house near LaJune Road. Since I now know your home address, it’s too risky to continue this correspondence. Under no circumstances are you to e-mail me anymore. The next time we make contact, it’ll be when I bring the money in person. Luckily I’m a professional (and now a spy!). The safest course of action, to avoid a counterstrike from rebel agents, is for me to sneak into your place under cover of darkness. So if some stranger wakes you in your bed at four A.M., don’t freak out. It’s just me. I’m guessing your room is the one on the southwest corner of the house. The light was still on last night when I was sitting outside in my car looking through the windows, and you were on the computer wearing a Nigerian soccer jersey. If I’m wrong, put some kind of school decal on the right window so I don’t give one of your roommates a heart attack. Sleepless in Miami, Serge Dear Serge, I am so sorry. This was all a scam. There are no rebels. I was just trying to make some money. Please leave me alone! Dear Bobo (or Rollo), No can do. You’re obviously cracking under the pressure and your judgment is shot-like telling me lies about this being a scam and violating my instructions not to e-mail anymore. So from now on, I’ll be making the decisions for both of us. Have to move fast now. My advice to you: Just relax and go to sleep. It’s almost over, Serge
Downtown Miami
“But, Serge,” said Coleman. “I thought Sarah Palin was your new pen pal.”
“She is.” Serge led the way down the sidewalk along Biscayne Boulevard. “But she’s also swamped with the rallies and hasn’t been able to write back yet. In the meantime, I’m just a man. I have my corresponding needs.”
“So writing to your other friend was like a pen-pal booty call?”
“Something like that.” Serge opened his wallet and counted through cash.
“Holy cow!” said Coleman, peeking over his pal’s shoulder. “Your pen pal just gave you a thousand dollars for nothing?”
“Not for nothing. To leave him alone.” Serge finished thumbing through the fresh currency in his wallet. “Some people are too jumpy these days. That’s why you have to cover their mouths after breaking into their bedrooms.”
“So you knew it was a rip-off all along?”
Serge turned the corner onto Flagler Street. “Of course.”
“Then why’d you answer his e-mail?”
“Needed start-up money for spying expenses,” said Serge. “I’m not sure, but in all the spy movies, I’ve never seen them get a paycheck. It might take a while.”
