Electric Barracuda Read Online Free Page B

willing to lay down his life for American justice! . . .”
    Agent White lowered his head again and took another deep breath. Then he nonchalantly walked across the parking lot toward the last motel room.
    Coleman ran to the window. “What the hell is all that noise?”
    Serge continued typing. “See anything?”
    “Looks like they’re filming The Doberman ,” said Coleman, firing up a joint. “That show rocks, especially the Litter!”
    “What are they doing?”
    “I don’t know, but there’s like a million people right outside . . .”
    Right Outside . . .
    Agent White stepped over a broken piece of motorcycle and knocked on the last motel room.
    The door opened. “Yes? . . .”
    The SWAT team pounced.
    Coleman slid the curtains wider. “Serge! Come quick! Across the street! They’re arresting our wino friend, Snapper-Head Willie!”
    Serge joined Coleman at the window. “I don’t see him.”
    “That big pile of SWAT guys,” said Coleman. “I’d hate to be on the bottom.”
    “I’m shocked,” said Serge. “A pile that big means Snapper-Head was into some serious shit. If I’d have known, I never would have let him stay in our other motel room. But I figured since we weren’t using it, why not give back to the community?”
    “Why do we have another motel room?” asked Coleman.
    “Just posted the reason on my new website,” said Serge. “Fugitive Rule Number One: Always have an ‘Out.’ ”
    “What’s an ‘Out’?”
    “What our government never has: exit strategy.” Serge watched the SWAT team begin to unpile. “A fugitive should never go anywhere unless he knows a back way out. And it doesn’t have to be literal, like a door. It can be a diversionary tactic, psychological ruse, political unrest, crowd-mystifying card tricks or big-tent sale extravaganza.”
    “What’s our ‘Out’ this time?”
    “I registered a decoy room across the street in my own name. Then I got this other room over here with false ID, so I’d have full view for advance warning in case heat’s on the way.”
    “You mean the people over there are actually after us?”
    “Not a chance,” said Serge. “I just got the decoy motel for authenticity in my website report. Otherwise this is all a bunch of fucking around. And I’m sure we’re not the real target because I’ve taken every precaution, covering my tracks by zigzagging across Florida on a variety of roads and mental states.”
    “Then what’s going on out there?”
    “A character flaw in Snapper-Head. Probably chopped someone up and distributed the pieces in trash cans around the Norway pavilion at Epcot.”
    They watched the SWAT team lift handcuffed Willie to his feet.
    Coleman shook with the heebie-jeebies. “It’s scary to think we were talking to someone so unstable.”
    “That’s the thing about Florida,” said Serge, standing in front of his whimpering hostage. “You never know when the guy next to you is a ticking bomb.”
    A gent White stuck a tiny key in the handcuffs and popped them open. “Sorry about that.”
    Snapper-Head rubbed his wrists. “Jesus, was it absolutely necessary for all of you to pile on top of me like that?”
    Lowe held up the spiral-bound manual.
    Behind them at a strip mall, Mahoney dialed an ever-dwindling number of pay phones.
    White opened his wallet and handed Willie a ten-spot. “Get something to eat.”
    “Beverage?”
    White gave him a lawsuit-conscious glance and pulled out another five.
    Mahoney returned. “Just mumbled on the blower. Our mark had a decoy room.”
    “Gee, you think?” said White.
    Mahoney opened a matchbook from a billiard hall that ran a crooked sports parlor. “Scored fresh digits on the flop twenty.”
    “What?”
    “Got the location and number of Serge’s real motel room.”
    “You sure about that?”
    “Bet your pecker.”
    “Nicely put.” White turned to the SWAT team, milling and eating fast food in the parking lot. “Okay, everyone, listen up. We