SS 18: Shark Skin Suite: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

darkness. Silent except for their footsteps.
    Brook looked up at wild palms bending in the cool night breeze. “Where the heck are we going?”
    “No Name.”
    “It doesn’t have a name?”
    “No, that’s the name.”
    Brook chuckled. “Who’s on first?”
    “It’s a pub.”
    She stopped on the center line. “We’re going to a bar? Don’t you think that’s a little risky?”
    “Relax, it’s the No Name. You’ll see . . .” Serge walked around the side of the building and grabbed the handle on a screen door. “This place is totally cool. They’d never rat me out, and everyone’s sly enough not to attract any undue attention toward me.”
    They stepped inside.
    “Serge!”
    “You’re all over TV!”
    “Did you really do all that shit?”
    Serge pulled out a stool for Brook. “Can you guys dial it down a tad? I think Interpol heard you.”
    Brook rotated in place where she sat. “Wow, the bar is completely wallpapered with signed dollar bills. Ceiling, too . . .”
    “Mine’s up over that little pass-through window to the kitchen where they send out the world’s greatest pizzas,” said Serge, looking out the screen door as a pink taxi went by.
    The cab turned at the corner and parked in front of cabin number five. The dashboard air freshener was a tiny voodoo mask. The driver was from Senegal. “Okay, big fella, enough beauty rest.”
    “Wha—?” Coleman sat up in the backseat with caramel peanuts in his ears.
    The driver steadied Coleman until they reached the picnic table in front of the cottage. Coleman climbed on top and went back to sleep. The cab pulled away.
    Back at the No Name, Serge huddled with Brook. “The next step is to anticipate the cops’ questions. So we need to rehearse your answers, which means remembering all the public places where there might have been surveillance cameras or witnesses.”
    “Let’s see,” said Brook. “We took the tram out to Pigeon Key, toured Fort Martello, went for a biplane ride over the Marquesas atoll, slow-danced in the Green Parrot, had ice cream at the southernmost point, you gave me a piggyback ride on Smathers Beach . . . what’s the matter?”
    Serge’s forehead was on the bar. The same reel of images flickered inside his own skull: one long gooey montage from a chick flick starring Reese Witherspoon, who turns down the Stanford grad for true love with the hometown boy who grinds keys in the hardware store.
    She leaned over and rubbed his neck. “Are you okay?”
    Serge raised his head. “We have a problem.”
    “What is it?”
    “The kidnapping jazz isn’t going to fly.”
    Brook’s face brightened with a big smile. “Then I get to stay with you?”
    “No.” Serge fiddled with the label on his water bottle. “There’s only one alternative left.”
    “What is it?”
    “I have to turn myself in.”
    “That’s crazy,” said Brook. “Why would you do that?”
    Serge wouldn’t look at her. “I’ve had a good run. No regrets. The sole way to get the heat off you is to give them what they really want.”
    “I won’t let you do it.”
    “You won’t be able to stop me,” said Serge. “I’ll tell them I lied and manipulated you. They won’t go for it—not totally. So in exchange for details about certain cold cases, I’ll demand immunity for you.”
    “Stop talking like that!”
    “You’re the most decent thing I’ve got going.” Serge took a long sip and stared up at a collage of police patches from across North America. “It’s more than worth it. You’ve got so much to look forward to, and my luck is long past the expiration date.”
    “There has to be another way.”
    He shook his head. “A moment comes in every life with a choice that defines who you are, and this is mine.”
    “But you’ll go to prison for life, maybe even death row.”
    “I’ve always wanted to be an escape artist.”
    “Shut up! . . .”
    . . . The moon rose behind cabin number five. Coleman pushed himself up on the