The Big Bamboo by Tim Dorsey Page B

buddy. “Did you get that? This is the new style. They give you less and charge more.”
    The saleswoman began removing the watches.
    “No,” said the one in the golf cap. “Leave those out. I kind of like ’em.”
    “I want numbers,” said the straw hat.
    The woman reached back inside the case again with an unflappable smile. “I think you might prefer these. Sleek, very thin. Hardly know you have it on.” She laid two more watches next to the first pair. Gold with black cowhide bands.
    “Roman numerals? Do I look Roman?” He turned to his friend. “You know any buses that arrive at
X
?”
    “Leave those out,” said the golf cap. “They’re growing on me.”
    “I have some with American numbers,” said the saleswoman. Two more watches on the counter.
    “I don’t know.” He turned to his friend. “What do you think?”
    “I think I like that one down there.” He pointed toward the far end of the case.
    “Sir, that’s an excellent choice. But I have to warn you it’s a little up there.”
    “Let me see it.”
    She retrieved the watch and set it beside the others—except she placed this one on a velvet pad. “One of our finest. Swiss, self-winding. Twenty-four carat.”
    “Are those real diamonds marking the hours?”
    She nodded.
    “Doesn’t have a price tag.”
    “Thirty-eight hundred,” said the woman.
    The man in the golf cap whistled at the figure. “That’s a lot!”
    The saleswoman reached for the timepiece. “If it’s too much—”
    “I didn’t say that. Leave it. What about that other one there that was next to it in the case?”
    “Same manufacturer, slightly different style. The first is for day. The other’s night.”
    “People do that?”
    “They do that.”
    “Can I see them side by side?”
    She fetched the other watch.
    The golf cap picked it up and turned to his friend. “What do you think?”
    “I don’t know. Now I’m confused.”
    An electric scooter zipped by in the background.
    “I’ll take this one,” said the golf cap. “Do you have gift wrap?”
    “I thought it was for you,” said the woman.
    “I might forget by the time I get home. It’ll be a nice surprise.”
    A tremendous crash.
    Everyone in the vicinity jumped and spun around. An electric scooter was imbedded sideways in what used to be a tower of glass shelves displaying last-second Father’s Day gifts. It was one of those long crashes where loosened shelving continued to fall and shatter. An old man lay on the ground, covered with broken glass. Panicked employees ran over. One got the first-aid kit. They carefully picked the biggest, sharpest pieces off the man’s chest and helped him up into a sitting position.
    “Sir! Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”
    “That goddam thing tried to kill me!”
    “But you’re okay, right? Do you want an ambulance?”
    “Don’t touch me!” He stood and brushed glass dust from his pink trousers. “I’m hungry.”
    The staff held its breath as the man hobbled off. Their eyes followed him all the way across the store until he was safely out the door to the parking lot, providing a modicum of liability defense.
    The floor manager’s heart was pounding. He looked at the other salespeople and wiped his forehead. “I think we just dodged a lawsuit.” The employees headed back to their respective departments. A tall brunette returned to her sales counter.
    The watches and men were gone.
     
MEANWHILE , BACK IN TAMPA
     
    A ’71 Buick sat outside an antique mall in Palma Ceia. A sign announced an autographing event: TODAY ONLY!
    Serge and Coleman stood in the back of a long line. It was moving, but not fast enough.
    “What’s taking so long?” said Serge, standing on tiptoes and stretching his neck. “I’ll bet someone’s gabbing up there.”
    “Serge, I think I need to sit down.”
    “You’re hammered, aren’t you?”
    Coleman giggled. “You are correct, trivia breath!”
    “I hate it when you get like this. Just don’t touch