Coconut Cowboy Read Online Free

hear them because his stereo was too loud.
    Serge followed the pair of vehicles as they turned into a neighborhood. “That mom’s making the classic mistake. She should look for a police station or remain in some other public place with a lot of ­people. But in her panic for the offspring, she’s reflexively seeking the safety of her home. Even if she has time to unlock the door and get everyone inside—­which she won’t—­she’s leading this cretin right to their address.”
    â€œShe just passed that fire station,” said Coleman.
    â€œWhich reminds me of Vietnam.”
    â€œGo for it.”
    â€œRemember my hometown fire station with the civil defense siren? I vividly recall them blasting the thing at the official end of the Vietnam War. Where can youth get that today? And now, whenever I hear a siren of any kind, I think about cartoons.”
    â€œBecause of Vietnam?”
    â€œNo, the firehouse siren would wail on Saturdays right after I finished watching the Warner Brothers classics. Kids today need more Foghorn Leghorn.”
    â€œI’m a chicken hawk.” Coleman giggled.
    â€œI say that boy needs a talkin’ to,” said Serge.
    â€œRemember Pepe Le Pew?” asked Coleman.
    â€œA sexual harassment lawsuit in every episode,” said Serge. “And Daffy Duck.”
    â€œ ‘It’s fiddler crab season,’ ” said Coleman. “Bang!”
    â€œBut my favorite was the Road Runner,” said Serge. “I was enthralled by the coyote’s irrepressible interest in experiments, which inspired me to conceive my own projects. It also taught me to separate reality from fiction because, no matter how great an idea it may seem at the time, nothing good ever came from igniting model rocket engines on my roller skates.”
    â€œI liked how the coyote could get whatever he wanted from the Acme company,” said Coleman.
    â€œThat was the best part,” said Serge. “Anvils, foot springs, hot-­air balloons, giant magnets . . .”
    The Mercury Comet turned onto a sleepy street where an SUV had just raced up a driveway, followed closely by a pickup truck.
    â€œ . . . Please don’t hurt my children! . . .”
    The duo parked at the bottom of the driveway and began walking toward the source of the shouting on the front doorstep.
    â€œ . . . Bat wings, TNT detonator plungers, iron birdseed, tornado pills, earthquake pills. And all his shit would arrive right away,” said Serge. “Nobody besides me has made the connection, but that’s where Amazon got their business model: wide selection, prompt delivery.”
    The woman’s trembling hands fumbled with her keys as she rushed to get the door open. The pickup driver snatched them away and seized her by the arm. Three little tykes hid behind her legs.
    â€œ . . . You miserable cunt . . .”
    â€œNow, now,” said Serge. “Let us all come together at the banquet table of humanity.”
    The pickup driver spun around. “Who the hell—­ . . . Oh, you again!”
    â€œThat’s right. I’m the producer of a famous regional reality show,” said Serge. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
    â€œWhat’s it called?”
    â€œFlorida’s Got Dicks, Season Twelve.”
    â€œWhat’s that got to do with me?”
    â€œYou’ve heard the saying ‘Too bad stupidity isn’t painful’?” Serge grinned. “I bring tidings of great joy.”
    Zzzzzzap!
    The man fell hard to the ground, twitching and moaning from a Taser.
    â€œMa’am, everything’s okay now.” Serge retrieved the woman’s house keys from the assailant and handed them back. “Please be safe and lock your doors.”
    â€œAre you a police officer?”
    â€œNo, but I am with the state.”
    â€œI can’t thank you enough.” She