insurance anyway. I couldn't remember a movie where Vin Diesel refused to partake in a high-speed chase until he'd checked his insurance documents. I couldn't recall Indiana Jones arguing over the finer points of his third party fire and theft policy.
'Good man,' he said. 'This'll be class, Dan. This'll be class.'
'If you're happy, Davie, then I'm happy too. You're right, you know. We're on vacation. We should enjoy ourselves.'
'That's the spirit, mate.'
'And to that end . . .' I produced a clutch of pamphlets I'd picked up in the lobby on the way into breakfast. They covered pretty much all of the local theme parks — Sea World, Disney, Epcot, Universal Studios. I spread them out at random before Davie, or at least as close to random as I could make it look. Actually I put the Universal Islands of Adventure leaflet in the most prominent position, because I was completely determined to have a go on the 3-D Spiderman thrill ride. It was the kind of subtle attempt at mind-control I was famous for.
Davie nodded down at the leaflets for several moments, then pushed them together into a neat pile and tore them in half.
'We're not doing the theme parks, Dan. It's not that kind of a holiday.'
He reached into his own back pocket and produced a different leaflet. It showed the other Ramada Inns dotted around Florida, but he'd clearly only picked it up because on the reverse of it there was a fairly detailed road map of the state. He jabbed a finger at it. 'Here,' he said. 'This is where we're going.'
He was pointing at the Gulf Coast, at the beaches south and west of Tampa.
'But why? What's down there? What's so great about . . .'
I trailed off. He looked kind of hurt. And a little bit angry. 'Because it's my honeymoon, and that's where we planned to go, all right? Is that too much to ask?'
I sat back. 'No,' I said.
'Okay. I'm gonna pack my stuff. See you back down here in ten minutes, and we'll get on the road, yeah?'
'Yeah,' I said.
He got up and started to walk across the restaurant. Then he stopped and came back. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, 'Sorry. I didn't mean to . . . you know.'
'Don't worry about it.'
'It just gets to me, you know?'
I nodded. I could understand. It was getting to me as well, as was the realisation that I had agreed to spend twenty-one days driving around Florida with a complete looper.
8
We took the 14 from Orlando to Tampa, then cut off onto the 275 for St Petersburg. I drove, Davie read the map. There wasn't a lot to it. Big road. Big traffic. Big easy. We didn't say much. Davie cracked a few funnies and I grunted. We listened to the radio. We heard 'London Calling' on an adult-orientated rock station, and looked at each other grimly. We liked that The Clash were recognised now, but lamented it as well. The sun was cutting our eyes out through our shades and the air conditioning on our Dodge rust-bucket was about as strong as a dead man's last gasp. We were sweating through our shoes. All around luxury cars were laughing at us as they cruised past. I'm not a car-boy, never have been, but even I felt embarrassed.
About halfway there, an hour and a half on the road, I insisted on stopping for doughnuts and Diet Pepsi. I insisted by pulling off the road and driving to a 7-Eleven while Davie flapped about in the passenger seat like he'd been hijacked. But he didn't reject the custard doughnut I bought him. He glanced at his watch as he ate it and I said, 'What's the big fucking hurry, Davie?'
'No particular hurry.'
'Then stop looking at your watch.'
'We have to check in. It's on the itinerary.'
I nodded and swallowed some doughnut. 'Anything else on that itinerary I should know about?'
Davie shrugged. 'Not really, no.'
'You know, you've been whining on about me relaxing and enjoying the holiday, you should take a leaf out of your own fucking book.'
I finished the doughnut and threw the napkin out of the window. I started the engine. As we pulled back out onto the interstate
'Good man,' he said. 'This'll be class, Dan. This'll be class.'
'If you're happy, Davie, then I'm happy too. You're right, you know. We're on vacation. We should enjoy ourselves.'
'That's the spirit, mate.'
'And to that end . . .' I produced a clutch of pamphlets I'd picked up in the lobby on the way into breakfast. They covered pretty much all of the local theme parks — Sea World, Disney, Epcot, Universal Studios. I spread them out at random before Davie, or at least as close to random as I could make it look. Actually I put the Universal Islands of Adventure leaflet in the most prominent position, because I was completely determined to have a go on the 3-D Spiderman thrill ride. It was the kind of subtle attempt at mind-control I was famous for.
Davie nodded down at the leaflets for several moments, then pushed them together into a neat pile and tore them in half.
'We're not doing the theme parks, Dan. It's not that kind of a holiday.'
He reached into his own back pocket and produced a different leaflet. It showed the other Ramada Inns dotted around Florida, but he'd clearly only picked it up because on the reverse of it there was a fairly detailed road map of the state. He jabbed a finger at it. 'Here,' he said. 'This is where we're going.'
He was pointing at the Gulf Coast, at the beaches south and west of Tampa.
'But why? What's down there? What's so great about . . .'
I trailed off. He looked kind of hurt. And a little bit angry. 'Because it's my honeymoon, and that's where we planned to go, all right? Is that too much to ask?'
I sat back. 'No,' I said.
'Okay. I'm gonna pack my stuff. See you back down here in ten minutes, and we'll get on the road, yeah?'
'Yeah,' I said.
He got up and started to walk across the restaurant. Then he stopped and came back. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, 'Sorry. I didn't mean to . . . you know.'
'Don't worry about it.'
'It just gets to me, you know?'
I nodded. I could understand. It was getting to me as well, as was the realisation that I had agreed to spend twenty-one days driving around Florida with a complete looper.
8
We took the 14 from Orlando to Tampa, then cut off onto the 275 for St Petersburg. I drove, Davie read the map. There wasn't a lot to it. Big road. Big traffic. Big easy. We didn't say much. Davie cracked a few funnies and I grunted. We listened to the radio. We heard 'London Calling' on an adult-orientated rock station, and looked at each other grimly. We liked that The Clash were recognised now, but lamented it as well. The sun was cutting our eyes out through our shades and the air conditioning on our Dodge rust-bucket was about as strong as a dead man's last gasp. We were sweating through our shoes. All around luxury cars were laughing at us as they cruised past. I'm not a car-boy, never have been, but even I felt embarrassed.
About halfway there, an hour and a half on the road, I insisted on stopping for doughnuts and Diet Pepsi. I insisted by pulling off the road and driving to a 7-Eleven while Davie flapped about in the passenger seat like he'd been hijacked. But he didn't reject the custard doughnut I bought him. He glanced at his watch as he ate it and I said, 'What's the big fucking hurry, Davie?'
'No particular hurry.'
'Then stop looking at your watch.'
'We have to check in. It's on the itinerary.'
I nodded and swallowed some doughnut. 'Anything else on that itinerary I should know about?'
Davie shrugged. 'Not really, no.'
'You know, you've been whining on about me relaxing and enjoying the holiday, you should take a leaf out of your own fucking book.'
I finished the doughnut and threw the napkin out of the window. I started the engine. As we pulled back out onto the interstate
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