A ’72 Chevelle raced east on Interstate 4.
Past the exit for the annual strawberry festival in Plant City. A dinosaur statue advertised a roadside attraction of more dinosaur statues. An RV dealership tried to lure customers from the highway with a row of silver Airstream trailers buried halfway in the ground straight up.
Serge took an off-ramp for Lakeland. He held a driver’s license under the map light and navigated through the streets for an address.
“Good, it’s rural.” Serge cruised slowly through a sparse neighborhood with drainage ditches near the road and no sidewalk. He slowed and double-checked the street number again. “This is the place.”
The Chevelle backed into the driveway. The trunk opened. Serge grabbed wrists.
Coleman grabbed ankles. “How many times have we done this?”
“I’ve lost count.”
“He’s heavier than most.”
Twenty minutes later. Thick ropes tied cowboy boots to the legs of a wooden chair, sitting alone in the middle of a dark living room. More ropes around his chest and hands.
Serge was faced the other way, on his knees, assembling another unique… well, what the hell was it?
“Serge.” Coleman tossed back some pills. “What the hell is it?”
“You’ll see.” More twisting, pressing, clamping. Reaching for additional parts.
“Where’d you get all that stuff?”
“Toy Town. It was supposed to be a few of my Secret Santa presents for you, but something came up.”
“Don’t those toys go separately?”
“That’s what most people think.” Further assembly. “The power structure starts boxing in your mind when you’re small. People think these are just toys, but they’re also agents of mind control. Luckily I broke the chains early.” Serge snapped a final piece in place and stood proudly. “Judge for yourself. The fruits of a free individual.”
“I don’t get it. Looks like those modern art things at the museums you always drag me to. I don’t get those either.”
“The free-thinkers will get it.”
Muted screaming from across the room. Serge turned and faced the hostage. “Maybe he’s a free-thinker. Let’s find out!”
Serge skipped across the room and pulled the duct tape off his mouth.
“Ow!”
Serge gestured at his creation. “Tell me what you think. Your honest opinion, don’t hold back. And don’t be embarrassed if you don’t get it. They probably got to you early with the toys.”
“I swear, I wasn’t going to do anything to Jim.” Tears streaming down cheeks. “I only wanted some answers.”
“Then what was the gun for?”
“That was just to scare him. Please don’t hurt me!”
“Why would you say something like that?”
“Because… that thing.”
Serge glanced across the room. “Looks harmless enough to me.”
“Listen, if you let me go, I swear you’ll never see me again.” Chest heaving. “I’ll forget Jim ever existed.”
“Really?” Serge nodded to himself. “That sounds awfully generous of you.”
“Oh, thank you. You won’t be sorry.”
“And you probably even believe that yourself.” Serge tore off a new stretch of duct tape and strapped it around his mouth. “The problem is that you’re an unknown variable.”
“Serge?” Coleman took a big sucking hit on a joint. “What’s an unknown… that other word you used?”
“Some people you can reason with. Others you have to threaten, but even most of those respond logically to the threats. They behave in a predictable pattern.” Serge walked back across the room and joined Coleman. “But this loser doesn’t know what he’s going to do next, so how can we? As long as he’s out there, a decent family isn’t safe.”
“And now I get to see what your device does?”
“Not yet.” Serge looked down at his curled green toes. “I paid a lot for these elf suits. I’d like to get some use out of them.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Since we have an audience, how about a song-and-dance routine?”
Coleman took another big hit and set it down in an ashtray. “Lead on.”
“And I’ll need that joint.”
“But you don’t get high,” said Coleman.
“There are other uses.” And Serge put it to use.
“Oh, yeah,” said Coleman. “Cool.”
“Ready?”
Serge and Coleman stood side by side in front of the hostage, wiggling against the ropes and squealing under the tape.
“What do I do?” asked Coleman.
“Just put your hands on your hips and kick those bell-fringed shoes out in a merry jig. We’ll make up the song as we go along.”
The pair began kicking and jingling.
Serge: “A one, and a two and… Ohhhhhh, what the heck can that contraption be?”
Coleman: “What the fuck’s going to happen to me?”
Serge: “These crazy elves are all over the map.”
Coleman: “But don’t have a cow, and don’t you crap.”
Serge: “Because Santa Claus is cominnnnnnnng… to town!”
The 911 calls came in all at once. At least a dozen neighbors.
And even more sheriff’s cruisers, parked helter-skelter across the front yard of a rural home in Lakeland.
People stood on front lawns in nightgowns and pajamas. A news truck arrived.
Detectives climbed out of a white Crown Vic and approached the crime tape.
A deputy stood beside the door. “Hope you haven’t eaten anything big lately.”
“What have we got in there?” asked the lead detective.
“Medical examiner’s already inside.”
The detectives ducked under the yellow ribbon.
“Jesus!..”
A large knot of forensic people worked in a careful choreography to keep out of one another’s way as they worked around the body. Camera flashes, tweezers, evidence bags.
The detectives turned in the other direction. A long scorch mark up the wall and a larger one across the floor toward the victim’s chair.
The medical examiner came over. “Caught a break. The explosion woke up the whole street, so we got the scene fresh.”
“What are all those things sticking out of him?” asked the head detective. “And the wall behind?”
“Shrapnel. Still taking inventory. And we’re sure to find more inside when we do the autopsy, but so far…” He referred to his clipboard. “We count twenty-seven LEGO blocks; nineteen Tinkertoys, both the sticks and the wheel things; thirty-one Erector Set beams; and a Lincoln Log through his left lung.”
“Holy mother,” said the detective. “He must have used plastique or ammonium nitrate.”
The examiner shook his head. “Just standard black powder.” He held up an evidence bag containing the nub of a joint. “This was the fuse.”
“Wait a second,” said the detective. “I’ve seen black powder before, and there’s no way it could generate this force…” He stopped and realized something new. “How come the debris is only concentrated in that one area toward the chair?”
“The same reason it was so powerful.” The medical examiner sketched on his clipboard. “I used to be in the army. This is what we’d call a shaped, directional charge. It’s the difference between a bomb and a cannon. A small amount of black powder goes a lot further when the release is concentrated in a tight vector.”
“But how did they do it?”
He sketched some more. “The key was the LEGOs. He interlocked multiple walls on the desired sides for maximum delivery. Our guy clearly had demolition training.”
“Just great,” said the detective. “Any witnesses?”
“One of the neighbors across the street said he saw two guys getting into a car shortly before hearing the blast.”
“Were they from around here?”
“The neighbor seriously doubts it because of the way they were dressed,” said the examiner. “When he first told us, we gave him the Breathalyzer, but he passed.”
“So how were they dressed?”
“You’re not going to believe this.”