Word: capered
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Nick was my old midnight caper friend, with whom I used to spend the lonely hours between midnight and eight in the morning during summers in Daytona Beach, playing golf in the moonless nights by flashlight, seeing how many times we could go around a traffic circle without getting dizzy, riding on the top of the hood of my car down the beach with no driver (steering with our feet through the open sunroof, and a book on the accelerator pedal) or driving through the Tomoka swamp roads to watch the phosphorescence on the drooping Spanish moss. I was very...
Nick was a veteran of the drug years. His jobs included: lifeguard in nearby Ormond until thrown off the corps for dereliction of his tower (he took long lunches); mate on a charter fishing boat; bagman for a big lettuce caper; treasure hunter for a load of cocaine left in the ground by dealers near an old launching pad near Cape Canaveral (foiled by a flash flood); and stunt car driver for a shoestring film that ran out of money. His heritage was Greek, and he knew all about fencing things in underground Daytona, and who burned down what restaurant...
...Mafioso massacre? A bank heist? A CIA caper? In fact, the I hired agents are armed with a cream pie. Their mission: to smash the pie into the face of a local office employee who is celebrating his 26th birthday. The two agents, hired by the celebrator's merry-minded boss for $35 (pie included), are operatives of Pie Face International, one of a growing number of organizations across the country dedicated to the silliest U.S. fad since streaking: smashing pies into the faces of selected victims-for a price...
...best." She adds: "I guess it's inevitable that I will get into movies." Perhaps a western, in which "everyone will be women-even the Indians." Margaux's elder sister Joan, 24, is more traditional. Co-author of the 1974 thriller Rosebud, a trendy caper of international kidnaping that has already been made into a movie, she is now working on a gourmet picnic cookbook. But Margaux's fame may soon surpass Joan's. "I'm into singing now," says Margaux. What kind? A nightclub repertory of "rich, happy blues...
This is a James Bond caper and, as in the previous eight, there are plenty of fancy gadgets. Two are worthy of special note. One is a car that converts into an airplane (a bit of a bore; flying autos have already shown up in Popular Mechanics). The other, also a car, is less flashy. It merely moves in the air between the banks of a river and spins three times like a huge eggbeater before coming to rest, upright, on the far side. Now that is not as elaborate as the ability to take wing, but there is something...