Insane City

by Dave Barry

  “Quiet,” said Rose, pointing to the TV. “I want to hear.”

  “Police say the driver, an eighty-seven-year-old Margate resident, was attempting to park his car in the community center parking lot when he apparently confused the accelerator with the brake,” said Lisbeth. “His car went through a fence, then across a lawn and a pool deck before plummeting into the pool. Fortunately, a community center employee with lifeguard training saw the mishap. He dove in and was able to rescue the driver, who was taken to the hospital but apparently did not suffer any serious injuries and has been released. Ironically, police said the man had gone to the community center to attend court-ordered driving school for numerous previous driving infractions, including parking on a bicycle rack.” Lisbeth shook her head to emphasize the irony of this. “Stay tuned, because when we come back we’ll have a story about the chaos yesterday at the Miccosukee casino, where a twenty-three-foot python wrapped itself around a slot machine.”

  The screen began showing a commercial for a law firm, informing viewers who had pain or injuries that they were entitled to compensation.

  “What an idiot,” said Rose. “He drives his car into a pool! How do these people get driver’s licenses?”

  What crossed Sid’s mind then was the fact that six months earlier Rose had, while driving in a funeral procession, rammed the hearse so hard that its rear door opened and the casket fell out onto the Garden State Parkway. But Sid, not being an idiot, refrained from mentioning this. Also he had something more important on his mind.

  “I think I saw Seth,” he said again.

  “Saw him where? Did he come to the room? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “No. I think I saw him on the TV.”

  “Seth was on the TV? When?”

  “Just now.”

  “That wasn’t Seth. That was a car in a swimming pool.”

  “No, before that. There was another story about a whaddycallit. Like a baboon.”

  “A baboon.”

  “Some kind of big ape. These people were driving around with this ape in their car robbing people and the police are trying to catch them. A man and a girl.”

  “So what does this have to do with Seth?”

  “They showed the man on TV. I’m pretty sure it was Seth. He was with the girl. They got into the car and the baboon got in with them.”

  “You saw Seth on the TV with a girl and a baboon.”

  “No, I remember now. It was an orangutan.”

  “And the police are chasing Seth and this girl and this orangutan.”

  “According to the TV. For robbing people.”

  Rose studied Sid for a moment, then said, “You found another brownie, didn’t you?”

  41

  LaDawne and Wesley stood on the side of Crandon Boulevard, the main road connecting Key Biscayne with the mainland, trying to decide what to do.

  They had been walking briskly from the Ritz-Carlton, anxious to put some distance between themselves and Castronovo and Brewer. LaDawne was still seething about being evicted from Seth’s room, and worrying about what would happen to Laurette. Roughly every forty-five seconds she declared she was going to call the police, but each time Wesley quashed the idea. For a variety of reasons, Wesley did not want to interact with the police.

  LaDawne had just re-declared her intention to call the police, and Wesley was just about to re-quash it, when they saw their Escalade go rocketing past in the direction of the hotel. After some debate, they turned around and started back toward the hotel, hoping to reclaim their car. They had almost reached the beginning of the hotel driveway when they saw the Escalade again, exiting the driveway at high speed and turning in their direction. Wesley had waved and shouted, “Hey!” but the Escalade shot past without slowing.

  “Where the hell they going with my car?” said Wesley.

  “Did you see in the backseat?” said LaDawne. “With the window down?”

  “No,” said Wesley, who’d been focusing on the driver’s side. “Who was it?”

  “Not who. What. There’s a monkey in that car.”

  “You serious?”

  “As a heart attack. It was looking out the back window. Like it was sightseeing. A monkey.”

  Wesley looked down the road. The Escalade was out of sight now. He turned to LaDawne, shook his massive head.

  “White people,” he said.

  42

  The baby was crying. The men did not like the noise, and they did not like the smell in the car. They were turning around in the front seat, giving Laurette stern looks, saying things to her. But she did not understand their words. She understood only that they were angry at her and the crying baby.

  Laurette was doing her best to comfort the baby. But the baby was hungry, and Laurette, in her exhausted and weakened state, was having trouble breastfeeding her. Also, she had just filled her Huggie with poop, which was making her uncomfortable and the atmosphere inside the Navigator pungent. Laurette wished the men had let her take the formula with her and some more diapers. But they had pushed her and her children out of the room without giving them time to take anything.

  Next to her, Stephane was whispering, Mama, where are they taking us?

  I don’t know.

  Are they going to hurt us?

  Don’t worry.

  Are they going to make us go back in the boat?

  Stephane’s eyes were filling with tears. He did not want to go back in the boat.

  No, we won’t go back in the boat.

  How do you know?

  Just don’t worry.

  But how do you know?

  One of the men turned around, glaring. He said something in a harsh, deep voice. Laurette and Stephane stopped talking. The baby was still crying. Laurette looked out the window. They were driving on a wide, smooth road, much grander than any road in Haiti. It rose into the air and flew over the city, which Laurette thought must be Miami. On both sides were glass buildings that rose even higher than the road, much higher than any buildings in Port-au-Prince. In the distance to the right, she saw a line of fantastically huge cruise ships, gleaming white in the morning sun. On the left, the rows of buildings stretched into the distance farther than Laurette could see.

  Somewhere in this city was her sister, Marie. She could be very close. Maybe in one of these buildings. If only the men would just stop the car, let her and her children out, maybe she could look for Marie. But the men were not stopping. The car was soaring over the city on the flying road. She hugged the baby, hugged Stephane, protecting her children as best she could without knowing what she was protecting them from.

  Where were the men taking them?

  43

  Tina, in pajamas and a bathrobe, sat on a sofa in her suite, across the room from a big flat-screen TV, which was on with the sound turned down. Her mother sat in an adjacent armchair. Marcia was having coffee; Tina was sipping a glass of imported water. All the bridal magazines said it was important to stay hydrated. They routinely printed horror stories of brides keeling over on the Big Day, including one woman who passed out facedown in her own cake.

  Nothing like that was going to happen to Tina.

  Standing in front of Tina and Marcia, not quite at attention but almost, was Blaze Gear, flanked by Traci and Tracee, the three of them clad in black. They were not having anything to drink; they had breakfasted at dawn and were now in all-out Wedding Day Plan Execution Mode. Blaze, reading from an iPad with an app that displayed a wedding day timeline, was going over the schedule for the Big Day. They had been at it for fifteen minutes and had just reached the bride’s manicure.

  The manicure had been a contentious issue during the wedding planning. Tina had originally wanted to get her nails done the day of the wedding so they would be perfect. But her mother felt—and Blaze Gear agreed, and so did Tina’s New York–based manicurist, Rochelle—that waiting for the wedding day posed too great a risk in case something went wrong, or the schedule got too tight.

  After mu
ch argument, the trio had convinced Tina that she should get her manicure done three days before the wedding, but have Rochelle flown down to Miami (first class) so that she could do a wedding day touch-up immediately before Tina saw her hairstylist, Miguel, who also had been flown in from New York. The timing of Miguel’s session with Tina was critical; it had to be scheduled so that there was absolutely no possibility that Miguel would come into contact with Tina’s makeup specialist, Konstantin, who, it goes without saying, had also been flown in first class from New York.

  Miguel and Konstantin loathed each other. Several years ago they had worked in the same salon/spa, where they had found themselves competing for the affections of an aromatherapist named Douglas. The competition became so intense that it ultimately erupted in violence; in a confrontation still talked about in New York salon circles, harsh chemicals had been deliberately, if inaccurately, thrown. So it was essential that Miguel and Konstantin be kept separated today, lest they upset each other and be rendered incapable of doing their most perfect work for the bride.

  All of this was noted on Blaze Gear’s app.

  With the manicure plan reviewed and reapproved, the group moved on to the issue of the hair and makeup schedules for the bridesmaids and maid of honor, Meghan. It was during this discussion that Marcia Clark asked where Meghan was. Tina said she assumed her sister was in her bedroom, sleeping off her usual pot-induced stupor. Marcia decided to check. She went to the bedroom door, knocked, got no answer. She opened the door and looked in.

  “She’s not there,” she said.

  “Really,” said Tina.

  “Maybe she went for an early breakfast,” suggested Tracee.

  Tina snorted. “I don’t think Meghan has ever eaten breakfast, let alone an early breakfast.”

  “So where could she be?” said Marcia.

  “She’s due for hair at ten forty-five,” said Blaze.

  “I’ll call her.” Tina picked up her cell, pressed the speed dial number for Meghan. From the bedroom came the voice of Bob Marley singing “Jammin’,” this being Meghan’s ringtone. “Her phone’s here,” she said.

  “Where could she be?” said Marcia.

  “Tracee,” said Blaze, pointing to indicate that she meant Tracee and not Traci, “go find Meghan.”

  As Tracee left, Blaze resumed her review of the timeline, with the next major element being the putting on of the $137,000 environmentally sustainable fiber wedding dress, which would be accomplished with the assistance of the dressmaker herself, who had of course been flown in from London along with her assistant, both first class. It was at this point in the timeline that the transformation of Tina from civilian to bride would be complete and she would be ready to make her appearance, in all her radiance, at the photo session, where a photographer, who had been flown in first class from Milan with his four—yes, four—assistants, would take formal portraits of Tina with various combinations and permutations of wedding participants—her bridesmaids, her maid of honor, her flower girls, her ring bearer, her parents, her siblings, Banzan Dazu and various others. Including, of course, the groom.

  Seth’s name did not come up until fairly late in the timeline and then he was discussed only briefly. His job was laughably simple, especially compared with the daunting list of interconnected, time-critical obligations facing the bride. All the groom had to do, noted Blaze Gear, was put on his tuxedo and show up with the ring. “Basically,” she said, “the bride is coordinating the Normandy invasion and the groom is remembering to zip up his fly.”

  The women in the suite were amused by this remark and allowed themselves a chuckle. But it was only the briefest of chuckles, for time was of the essence. This was D-Day and there was much to be done if they were going to successfully storm the beachhead of holy matrimony. They could not be frittering away their limited wedding timeline review time thinking about the groom.

  It was just after the chuckle subsided that Traci happened to glance over at the TV screen. It was displaying the Action 5 News logo and a headline that said ROBBERS GO APE! As Traci watched, the logo disappeared and was replaced by a low-resolution video showing some kind of gorilla standing over three men on the ground. The gorilla was jumping around and looking menacing; the men were backing away from it. In the background were two dark figures, a man and a woman. The video stopped and zoomed in on them until their faces, dim and grainy, filled the screen, over which were superimposed the words ROBBERY SUSPECTS.

  Traci stared at the screen, frowning.

  “Traci!” said Blaze Gear. “Are you with us, or are you watching television?”

  “Sorry,” said Traci. “I just thought . . .”

  “You just thought what?”

  “Nothing,” said Traci, looking away from the screen. “I’m sorry.”

  With a Don’t let it happen again glare at Traci, Blaze turned back to Tina and Marcia and resumed the review of the next critical element in the timeline, which was delivery of the bridal bouquet by the floral installation artist, Raul, who had been flown in first class from Los Angeles, along with two assistants.

  44

  “It’s definitely a black Navigator, right?” said Seth.

  “Right,” said Meghan.

  Seth peered ahead through the windshield. “Still nothing,” he said.

  They were northbound on I-95, passing through downtown Miami. Seth and Cyndi were still in the front seats, Trevor and a wary Meghan were in the middle seats. Trevor was still clutching the red velvet ring box in his right hand. Other than emitting a loud, stenchadelic orangutan fart that forced them to open all the windows and the sunroof, Trevor had been reasonably well behaved, mostly looking out the windows. In the past few minutes, however, he had reached out his left hand and touched Meghan’s hair several times. He did this gently, but Meghan was not thrilled by the attention.

  “I’m wondering if maybe we can distract this thing,” she said. “Is there any food in this car?”

  “There’s some Cheez-Its,” said Cyndi. She opened the glove compartment and handed the box back to Meghan.

  “Nobody tell PETA about this,” said Meghan. She opened the box and handed a Cheez-It to Trevor. He reached out, took the bright orange square between a long, slender finger and thumb, held it to his nostrils, took a sniff, then put it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. He held out his hand for another one.

  “He likes them,” said Meghan, giving Trevor a second Cheez-It. “Thank God. So you guys were going to explain to me how this happened, you ending up with an orangutan who has the ring.”

  “Right,” said Seth. “OK, short version: I left my suitcase on South Beach with the ring in it. Cyndi’s friend Duane, the snake guy, picked it up for me, but he couldn’t bring it to the Ritz because he had to go work at this place called Primate Encounter, so he left the suitcase there. So Cyndi and I went down there to get it, but somehow the orangutan got the suitcase into his cage and he tore it open and got hold of the ring.”

  “So Cyndi just happened to be around and she went down there with you,” said Meghan, handing Trevor a third Cheez-It.

  “That’s right,” said Cyndi, not liking Meghan’s tone. “I went there to help Seth get his suitcase back. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “You suppose not?” said Cyndi, still not liking the tone.

  “Well, it’s the night before his wedding day and he goes off with a woman wearing, no offense, a really skimpy dress.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” said Seth. “There is absolutely . . .”

  “Yes, wait a minute,” said Cyndi. “I’m wearing this skimpy dress because I haven’t been home since I went to the Clevelander two nights ago because I’ve been helping out with this poor woman and her kids and—”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything,” said Meghan, handing Trevor another Cheez-It. “I’m just—”

  “. . . and trying to help this nice man, who loves your sister very much, try to ge
t his wedding ring back so he can marry your sister, who, I repeat, he loves very much, and I don’t appreciate you suggesting that there’s anything else going on.”

  “Meghan,” said Seth, “there is absolutely nothing going on.”

  “He has been a perfect gentleman,” said Cyndi.

  Meghan handed Trevor another Cheez-It. “OK, I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that she’s my big sister, and last night she saw you two leaving the hotel together and it got her really upset.”

  “She saw us?” said Seth. “Oh man.”

  “I told her I was sure it was nothing,” said Meghan, handing Trevor another Cheez-It.

  “But you didn’t mean it,” said Cyndi.

  “No, I trust Seth.”

  “But not me.”

  “Look, I didn’t know you, OK? I was just looking out for my sister. I apologize. I’m sure you’re a perfectly good person.”

  “In a skimpy dress.”

  “Well look at it.”

  “OK, OK,” said Seth. “Let’s not beat this to death. Meghan, is Tina still upset?”

  “About you and Cyndi, I don’t think so. But she was pretty pissed about the Haitian people still being in your room, and some large black woman.”

  Seth frowned. “Did she happen to mention that to your father?”

  Meghan didn’t answer that. She gave Trevor another Cheez-It.

  Seth was about to say something, but just then Cyndi touched his arm and pointed at the road ahead.

  “Is that a black Navigator?” she said.

  45

  Edward and Margery Costigan, whom everybody called Ed and Marg, always timed their annual spring drive from the Florida Keys back to Traverse City, Michigan, so that they passed through Miami on a Sunday morning. They figured this was when all the drug addicts, robbers, murderers and cannibals would be sleeping, giving them their best chance of making it through this legendarily violent urban hellhole alive.