Chub never thought of himself as having a political agenda until he met Bode Gazzer, who helped organize Chub’s multitude of hatreds into a single venomous philosophy. Chub believed Bode Gazzer was the smartest person he’d ever met, and was flattered when his new pal suggested they form a militia.
“You mean like what blowed up that courthouse in Nebraska?”
“Oklahoma,” Bode Gazzer said sharply, “and that was the government did it, to frame those two white boys. No, I’m talking ’bout a militia. Armed, disciplined and well-regulated. Like it says in the Second Amendment.”
Chub scratched a chigger bite on his neck. “Reg’lated by who, if I might ast?”
“By you, me, Smith and Wesson.”
“And that’s allowed?”
“Says right in the motherfuckin’ Constitution.”
“OK then,” said Chub.
Bode Gazzer had gone on to explain how the United States of America was about to be taken over by a New World Tribunal, armed by foreign-speaking NATO troops who were massing across the Mexican border and also at secret locations in the Bahamas.
Chub glanced warily toward the horizon. “The Bahamas?” He and Bode were in Bode’s cousin’s nineteen-foot outboard, robbing traps off Rodriguez Key.
Bode Gazzer said: “There’s seven hundred islands in the Bahamas, my friend, and most are uninhabited.”
Chub got the message. “Jesus Willy Christ,” he said, and began pulling the lobster pots with heightened urgency.
To run a proper militia would be expensive, and neither Chub nor Bode Gazzer had any money; Bode’s net worth was tied up in the new Dodge truck, Chub’s in his illegal printshop and arsenal. So they began playing the state lottery, which Bode asserted was the only decent generous thing the government of Florida had ever done for its people.
Every Saturday night, wherever they happened to be, the two men would pull into the nearest convenience store, park brazenly in the blue handicapped zone, march inside and purchase five Lotto tickets. They played no special numbers; often they were drinking, so it was easier to use the Quick Pick, letting the computer do the brainwork.
On the night of November 25, Bode Gazzer and Chub bought their five lottery tickets and three six-packs of beer at the Florida City 7-Eleven. They were nowhere near a television an hour later, when the winning numbers were announced.
Instead they were parked along a dirt road on a tree farm, a few miles from the Turkey Point nuclear reactor. Bode Gazzer was sitting on the hood of the Dodge pickup, aiming one of Chub’s Ruger assault rifles at a U.S. government mailbox they’d stolen from a street corner in Homestead. An act of revolutionary protest, Bode had said, like the Boston Tea Party.
The mailbox was centered in the headlight beams of the truck. Bode and Chub took turns with the Ruger until they were out of ammo and Budweisers. Then they sorted through the mail, hoping for loose cash or personal checks, but all they found was junk. Afterwards they fell asleep in the flatbed. Shortly after dawn they were rousted by two large Hispanics, undoubtedly the foremen of the tree farm, who swiped the Ruger and chased them off the property.
It was some time later, after returning to Chub’s trailer, that they learned of their extraordinary good fortune. Bode Gazzer was on the toilet, Chub was stretched on the convertible sofa in front of the TV. A pretty blond newscaster gave out the previous night’s winning Lotto numbers, which Chub scribbled on the back of his latest eviction notice.
Moments later, when Bode heard the shouting, he came lurching from the bathroom with his jeans and boxer shorts bunched at his knees. Chub was waving the ticket, hopping and whooping like he was on fire.
Bodean Gazzer said: “You’re shittin’ me.”
“We won it, man! We won!”
Bode lunged for the ticket, but Chub held it out of reach.
“Give it here!” Bode demanded, swiping at air, his genitals flopping ludicrously.
Chub laughed. “Pull up your pants, for Christ’s sake.” He handed the ticket to Bode, who recited the numbers out loud.
“You’re sure?” he kept asking.
“I wrote ’em down, Bode. Yeah, I’m sure.”
“My God. My God. Twenty-eight million dollars.”