by Carl Hiaasen
Dad stared down at his shoes.
My mother asked, “So what made you come back, Pop?”
“This is first-rate coffee. Can I pour myself another cup?”
While Grandpa Bobby was in the kitchen, Abbey nudged my father and whispered: “They really called you Paine-in-the-Butt? You are so busted.”
“Keep it up,” Dad said with a tight smile. “I’ll deal with you and your brother later.”
Grandpa Bobby returned with a full mug and a jelly donut. He took two bites of the donut and said, “Here’s what happened: I’m sittin’ in a bar in this little harbor town, waitin’ to meet up with some dock rat who claims he saw the Amanda Rose over in the Grenadines. Anyways, they love their satellite TV down there, and it so happens that this particular cantina picks up one of the Miami stations loud and clear.”
“Channel 10?” I asked.
“That’s right, Noah. So there I am, drinkin’ a beer, mindin’ my own business, when all of a sudden I look up and who do I see on the tube? Mr. Paine Lee Underwood, my own son, your own daddy!”
Grandpa Bobby paused and shook his woolly head. “He’s wearin’ the latest in jailhouse fashions, a nifty puke-orange jumpsuit, if I recall. And he’s runnin’ off at the mouth about why he sunk some jerk’s boat, all because the man was dumpin’ toilet poo into the water. My jaw dropped so far it damn near broke my kneecaps. There was my boy in jail!”
Dad looked up. “Tell ’em what you did next, Pop.”
“You mean hitchin’ a ride to Key West on that billionaire’s yacht?”
“He didn’t hitch,” my father said to me and Abbey. “He stowed away.” Grandpa Bobby had already given Dad the full story, while they were out on the towboat searching for our dinghy.
“Where’d you hide?” Abbey asked.
My grandfather beamed. “The wine locker, darlin’.”
“Perfect,” Mom said with a sigh.
“I didn’t touch a drop, Donna, I swear,” Grandpa Bobby insisted. “Anyways, I knew the Customs boys would sweep the yacht clean, once we docked in Key West. So as soon as we cleared the harbor, I went overboard. Swam to the Mallory docks and thumbed a ride north with a red-headed insurance adjuster who tried her best to save my heathen soul. She dropped me at Tavernier, where I made camp under the Snake Creek bridge. Found a bunch of old newspapers there. Caught up on what was happening with Paine’s court case.”
“Why’d you start tailing me and Abbey?” I asked.
“Just a hunch,” my grandfather said. “In one of those papers was a story where they quoted you, Noah, talkin’ about your father. You ‘member that?”
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea.” I shot a sour look at Dad.
“Well, you came off like a bright, sensible young fella. Still, I couldn’t help thinkin’ that if you were just a little too much like your daddy or granddaddy, you wouldn’t sit still and let this Muleman creep get away with trashin’ our family name, not to mention the Atlantic Ocean.” Grandpa Bobby winked, then inhaled the rest of his donut. “So I decided to keep an eye on you and Miss Abbey, just in case you tried somethin’ crazy.”
“Thank goodness you did,” Mom said.
My grandfather told us he’d been laying low during the day, fishing with a handline under the bridge. After sunset he’d hide out at the marina, waiting for us to make a move.
“Hiding where?” I asked.
“Last night it was the tuna tower of a big Bertram,” he said.
Abbey was delighted. “I hid there, too! I even got video!”
“It’s a long ways up,” Grandpa Bobby said, “but a short trip down. That bald ape never knew what hit him.”
“His name’s Luno,” I said.
“I don’t care if his name is Mildred, I won’t be sendin’ him a get-well card.” Grandpa Bobby paused to finish his coffee.
Dad picked up the story. “Mom and I got home from the movies around twelve-thirty. When we saw your beds were empty, we knew right away where you’d gone. She wanted to call the sheriff, but I said no way, I’ve had enough of their hospitality. So we hopped in the pickup, peeled out of the driveway, and there he was, larger than life—”
“In the middle of the road,” Mom said. “No shirt, no shoes, dripping with sweat.”
“Flailing his arms and running straight at us,” Dad said, “my old man!”
“What’d you do?” I asked.
“I turned very calmly to your mother and said, ‘Either that’s a ghost, or the government’s given us some bad information.’”
Grandpa Bobby said he’d planned to keep his visit a secret—until he saw me and Abbey escape in the blue dinghy. “The engine on that thing sounded like a bucket of nails in a blender. I knew you kids wouldn’t get very far,” he said, “so I ran and fetched your folks.”
“Wait a minute—you would’ve gone all the way back to South America without even saying hello?” Abbey was steaming. “Without even letting us know you were alive? That’s horrible.”
My grandfather sat forward and took one of her hands. “Now listen here, tiger. All those years, there wasn’t a day went by that I didn’t want to pick up a phone and call your daddy. I missed him more than I can ever put into words.
“But it would’ve been wrong to drag him into the middle of my situation, which was deadly serious. So my plan was to sneak into the Keys on the sly and see what I might do behind the scenes. I brought along some cash for bail, lawyers, bribes, whatever. There was plenty more in a lockbox up in Hallandale, though I hear your Aunt Sandy and Uncle Del already helped themselves.”
Dad said, “We don’t need any money.”
Grandpa Bobby raised one silvery eyebrow. “Really? Since when did you win the lottery?”
“We’ll be fine,” Mom said warmly. “But thank you, Pop.”
He smiled. “I understand.”
“Well, I don’t,” my sister grumbled. She snatched her hand away from my grandfather. “Know what I think? I think you’re a big—”
“Abbey, knock it off,” I said. “He saved our lives.”
“Not quite,” said Grandpa Bobby. “Some private plane spotted your dinghy and called in the location. Your daddy had his VHF radio dialed to the Coast Guard’s channel—turns out we were only about three miles away, so we beat the Coasties no sweat. Your daddy’s the one who knew where to search. I went along for the ride is all.”
“No, I’m not talking about the rescue,” I said, “I’m talking about what happened on the docks—about Luno and the gun.”
My mother went stiff. “What gun?”
“The guy was going to waste us!” Abbey burst out. “I mean, we were history. Then Noah dived on top of me, and then he”—she nodded toward Grandpa Bobby—“he jumped the goon and took the pistol away.”
Immediately I was sorry that I’d brought it up. My mom’s face had gone white.
“He tried to kill you?” She looked at Grandpa Bobby. “Is that true? He tried to kill the children?”
“Donna, it was a flare gun. He probably wanted to scare the you-know-what out of ’em,” my grandfather said.
“Just a flare gun?” Abbey sounded disappointed.
“It’s still bad,” Dad said angrily. “He could’ve set the dinghy on fire. Or your clothes.”
Grandpa Bobby told all of us to calm down. “The main thing is, nobody got hurt except for Baldy. Now, I believe it’s Noah’s turn to tell us his story. You ready, champ?”
“I guess.”
My sister pretended to hold her nose. “Don’t leave out the part about the seagull,” she said.
I didn’t leave out anything, even the stuff that made me look the opposite of brilliant. Nobody interrupted with questions. They just sat there and listened.
When I was finished, Dad clicked his teeth and said, “You crashed into a manatee?”
Then Mom said, “Who’s this Shelly person?”
Then Abbey said, “The Mermaids’ bathroom? You perv!”
Then Grandpa Bobby
stood up and took the chain from around his neck. He placed it in my hand and said, “You earned it, Noah.”
The gold coin on the end of that chain was heavier than any coin I’d ever held. I couldn’t believe he was giving it to me.
“Once belonged to the queen of Spain,” he said, “about four hundred years ago.”
“Where’d you get it?” Dad asked.
“Won it in a dice game. Or maybe it was poker.” Grandpa Bobby shrugged as if he honestly couldn’t remember. “Come on, troops, let’s go for a ride.”
“Where to?” I asked.
“Thunder Beach,” he said. “Where else?”
EIGHTEEN
The food coloring didn’t show up as brightly in the sea as it did in the store bottles, but you could definitely see it. As Abbey and I had hoped, the current and the wind were in our favor, transporting the dye down the shoreline in a shiny stream from Dusty Muleman’s basin.
Dad and Grandpa Bobby stood together on Thunder Beach, admiring the telltale trail of fuchsia.
“I’m impressed,” my father said. “This was your idea, Noah?”
“Abbey’s, too,” I said.
“All I did was pick out the color,” she said.
“That’s not true. We were fifty-fifty partners the whole way.”
My grandfather slapped a hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Paine, you and Donna really lucked out with these youngsters. They’re true champs, both of ’em.”
“Most of the time,” Dad said, shooting us a sideways glance.
“You gotta admit,” said Grandpa Bobby, “this is a whole lot neater than sinkin’ the man’s boat.”
“Yeah, Pop, thanks for bringing that up.”
Mom kept staring at the purplish slick in the shallows. Even though she was wearing sunglasses, we could tell she was upset. At first I thought she was mad at Abbey and me, but it turned out that she wasn’t. She was mad at Dusty Muleman.
“Unbelievable!” she exploded finally. “How can a person do something like that! A father, for heaven’s sake! All the kids on the island go swimming here—and he’s poisoning the place with all this … this…”
“Ca-ca?” said Abbey.
“Whatever,” my mother fumed. “The man ought to be in jail. He’s a menace to the public health.”
Dad has a long list of people that he says should be locked up for one thing or another, but this was the first time I’d ever heard Mom say that about anybody.
My grandfather also was angered by what he saw, although he tried not to show it. “Jail’s too good for the lowlife who did this,” he said evenly, “but it’s a start.”
Abbey and I looked uneasily at each other. We’d seen Grandpa Bobby in action before.
“Paine, you ‘member that big muttonfish I caught here?” he asked my father. “The fifteen-pounder?”
“You bet I remember. Only it was fourteen pounds,” Dad said. “Fourteen even.”
“Sure? Anyways, it was a helluva catch,” said Grandpa Bobby. “That was back before they dropped fish traps all over the reefs. Back before certain creeps started dumping their crapola in the sea.”
There was a rumbly edge to his voice, like he was struggling to keep his temper under control.
Mom said, “Don’t worry, Pop. Someday Dusty Muleman will get exactly what he deserves. People like him always do.”
This was her famous what-goes-around-comes-around theory. My grandfather obviously didn’t buy it, although he was too polite to say so. He picked up a branch of driftwood and swept it back and forth through the stained water.
“Somebody probably oughta notify the Coast Guard, while the tide’s right,” he said.
I didn’t mention the phone call I’d made earlier at the house. As if on cue, a sound like a rolling drumbeat rose from the north.
Abbey said, “Listen, guys! You hear that?”
Thwock-a-thwock-a-thwock …
We all turned and looked up.
“Over there!” said Dad. He has eyes like an osprey; the rest of us couldn’t see a thing.
After a while my grandfather spotted it, too, and pointed where to look. At first it was just a small fuzzy dot in the wide open blueness of the sky. But as the dot grew larger, it turned blaze-orange and took on the shape of a helicopter.
The drumbeat of the rotors became a loud, high-pitched whine as the chopper circled lower. On its belly we could plainly read the words COAST GUARD. A side door rolled open, and a man in a dark jumpsuit leaned out. He was wearing a white crash helmet and aiming a camera down at the water.
Taking video of our amazing fuchsia river.
We waved at the Coast Guard man, but he was too busy to wave back. The helicopter gradually began to move, following the colorful current of evidence all the way up the beach, all the way to the marina where the Coral Queen was moored. There the chopper hovered for a long, long time.
Dusty Muleman was officially busted.
Abbey whooped and Grandpa Bobby clapped and I pumped a fist in the air. We headed home feeling hopeful and happy—though Dad and Mom weren’t quite happy enough to forget about me and Abbey sneaking out the night before.
“By the way, you’re both grounded,” Mom informed us in the car.
I signaled for Abbey to stay cool, but she ignored me.
“Grounded for how long?” she asked indignantly.
“Indefinitely,” Dad said.
Which was better than setting an exact number of days or weeks. From experience I knew that an “indefinite” grounding could be negotiated favorably—if only Abbey would quit whining.
“It’s not fair,” my sister said. “In fact, it really bites.”
“Watch your mouth, young lady,” Mom warned.
“But we just saved Thunder Beach! Don’t we get bonus points for that?”
Grandpa Bobby said, “Abbey, darlin’, it won’t be so bad. Anyways, it’s probably a smart idea for you and your brother to lay low for a while.”
And he was the family expert on laying low.
I waited until we got back to the house before asking my parents to delay the starting date of our grounding. “Just until tomorrow,” I said. “Please?”
My father eyed me suspiciously. “Why? You’ve got big plans for this afternoon?”
“I need to go thank Shelly.”
“Me too,” said Abbey, scooting to my side.
Dad left the decision to Mom, who drilled us with one of her I’m-not-kidding stares. “You’ve got exactly one hour,” she said. “Not a minute more.”
We dashed for our bikes, Abbey calling over her shoulder, “Grandpa Bobby, you’d better be here when we get back!”
My mother and father honestly care about each other, but they argue about plenty of stuff. Sometimes it seems silly to me and Abbey, but other times it’s really heavy. For instance, Mom was ninety-nine percent serious about divorcing Dad if he didn’t come home from jail and get his act together. I totally understood why she felt like that, and at the same time I could see the point he was trying to make by sinking the Coral Queen.
But even when my parents are fighting, they don’t actually fight. It’s only sharp words back and forth; no fists or blunt objects.
Unfortunately, some people really get carried away—as my sister and I were reminded when we showed up at Shelly’s trailer.
She was sitting on the steps, gazing off into the distance. She wore black jeans, a gray Gap T-shirt, and a blue trucker’s cap turned backward.
In one hand was a sweaty bottle of beer, and in the other hand was a rake. Some of the tines were snapped off, and others were bent at sharp angles. It wasn’t the sort of damage caused by normal, everyday gardening.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Love is a strange deal, I swear,” she said. “You wanna come in? It’s a awful mess, I’ll be honest.”
“We’ll help you clean up,” Abbey offered.
“What kind of mess?” I asked.
“Like nothin’ you ever saw before,
” Shelly said. “Think you can handle it?”
After seeing the condition of the rake, I wasn’t so sure. To stall I asked her what had happened on the Coral Queen after I’d jumped overboard.
She laughed. “Nobody heard a thing because the band was so loud. Everybody just kept drinkin’ and gamblin’. The customers who saw you run past, they figured you belonged to one of the crew.”
“What about that nasty old lady who tried to break into the bathroom?”
“Oh, her? Free stack of chips and she was back at the blackjack table, happy as a clam,” Shelly reported. “Speaking of bathrooms, I had to make, like, seven trips before I got rid of all that purple goo. Every time I’d get settled nice and cozy, somebody’d start bangin’ on the door, sayin’ they couldn’t wait. My wrist hurts from flushin’ so much.”
“But our plan worked!” Abbey piped eagerly. “Did you hear the helicopter fly over? That was the Coast Guard—we saw ’em taking video of the stain in the water.”
“No kidding?” Shelly looked pleased. She stood up, spinning the rake like a cheerleader’s baton.
“Did Dusty say anything after the casino closed?” I asked.
“Naw, he was a total basket case,” Shelly said. “There was some big fight on the docks, and Luno got his butt seriously whipped, is what I heard. One of the bouncers drove him to the hospital and then the cops showed up, asking what happened but by then Dusty’d already split. The crew didn’t know any different, so they waited until all the people were gone and pumped the holding tank straight into the basin, same as usual.”
I told Shelly she’d done a great job. “Thanks for emptying that liquor crate so I had a place to hide, and for sneaking me into the ladies’ head, and most of all for risking your neck to help us out….”
“Yeah, you did awesome,” said Abbey. “But what about Dusty’s secret spy at the Coast Guard station? How’d you fix it so he wasn’t around this morning when Noah called in about the Coral Queen?”
Shelly propped the rake on one shoulder, like a rifle. “Come on in,” she said to us. “But, like I said, it’s not a pretty picture.”
