by Carl Hiaasen
She wasn’t kidding. Inside the trailer it looked like a small bomb had exploded—broken lamps, overturned furniture, dents and holes in the fake-wood paneling.
Two rumpled men lay facedown—one on the gross shag carpet, one on the gross moldy sofa. We couldn’t see their faces, so it was hard to tell if they were dead or alive. The one on the floor was sopping wet and striped green with slime from the aquarium, which lay on its side, empty and cracked.
Shelly used the rake handle to poke at the unconscious man on the sofa. “You asked about Mr. Billy Babcock? Well, here he is.”
Billy Babcock made a low snuffling sound, but he didn’t move.
“What’d you do to him?” Abbey asked.
“Nothin’ he didn’t want done,” Shelly replied with a snort. “He spent about two hours yakkin’ at my bar last night. I figured the only way to guarantee that he wouldn’t be at work this morning was to bring him home with me and—”
“We get the idea,” I cut in, not wanting Abbey to hear the R-rated details.
“That’s cool, Noah, watchin’ out for your little sister,” Shelly said, “but don’t worry—I was a perfect lady. I invited Billy over for one of my high-octane cocktails, maybe two. All we did was hold hands on the couch until he got tired of tellin’ me how gorgeous and wonderful I was. Then he keeled over and went nighty-night.”
“So who’s the other guy?” I pointed at the soggy heap on the floor.
“You don’t recognize him?” Shelly chuckled again. Using the business end of the rake, she snagged the man’s ooze-covered shirt and rolled him onto his back. When I saw that pasty sunken face, I was completely blown away.
“Well? Who is it?” my sister asked impatiently.
“That’s Lice Peeking,” I said.
“In person!” Shelly unhooked the rake from his shirt. “I told you, love’s a strange deal.”
“Is he alive?” Abbey asked.
“More or less,” Shelly replied. “You guys want a Coke?”
We sat at the dinette and listened to her story. It was a good one.
After my father had gone to jail and started spouting off about the Coral Queen, Dusty Muleman had gotten nervous. He’d made a list of everyone besides Dad who knew the truth about the pollution scam, and he had sent Luno to warn each person to keep quiet—or else. The goon hadn’t murdered Lice Peeking, as Shelly had thought, but he had scared the bodily fluids out of him.
When Luno had shown up at the trailer, Lice naturally assumed that Dusty had found out about his secret deal with Dad—the bonefish skiff in exchange for Lice’s testimony. So as soon as Luno left, Lice swiped Shelly’s Jeep and drove full speed for the mainland. True to form, he forgot to fill the gas tank. When it was empty, he simply parked the truck and took off on foot.
“But what about the bloodstains on the seats?” I asked.
Shelly shook her head sheepishly. “Ketchup,” she said. “The slob was pigging out on Big Macs and fries for forty miles.”
Abbey said, “Why’d he come back? Did he run out of money or something?”
“You’re a very sharp young lady. Yeah, he ran out of money,” Shelly said, “but that’s not why he came back to the Keys. See, he missed me. Deep down in his heart, he truly did.”
I cringed when my sister asked, “How can you possibly believe that?”
“Because the man knew for a fact what would happen if I ever laid eyes on him again. He knew I’d whup him like the sorry, no-good jackass he is—yet he came back anyway! If that ain’t true love, it’s close enough for me,” said Shelly.
The timing of Lice Peeking’s return couldn’t have been worse. It was past three in the morning when he’d flung open the trailer door, only to find his cherished Shelly reading an astrology magazine on the couch—with a snoozing Billy Babcock stretched out beside her. In a jealous fit Lice Peeking had jumped on Billy, kicking and punching and scratching.
That was when Shelly had run to the toolshed.
Being whacked with a rake seemed to work miracles on Lice Peeking’s attitude—he’d dropped to one knee, told Shelly he adored her, and blubbered he was sorry for all the rotten deeds he’d ever done.
“Even promised to pay back the $186 he took, plus the towing charges for the Jeep,” Shelly said. “I’ll never see a nickel, for sure, but still it was a nice sentiment. I told Lice to quit beggin’ and get off the floor, and that’s when the fool grabbed the aquarium stand to pull himself up. Whole tank tipped over on top of him, all fifty gallons, and off to dreamland he went.”
It wouldn’t have been a huge shock to learn that Shelly had purposely dumped the grungy aquarium on Lice Peeking, but I took her word that it was an accident. Anything was possible.
“What about the fish?” Abbey asked worriedly.
“There was only one left, the loneliest, most pitiful guppy you ever saw. I put him in the bathtub,” Shelly said.
“And him?” I nodded toward Billy Babcock.
“Slept through all the fun, believe it or not.” Shelly nudged him again with the rake handle. “Once he wakes up, I’ll clue him in on what happened. Otherwise he’ll be curious about all those fresh bruises and fingernail marks.”
I went over to take a close look at Lice Peeking. The toppling aquarium had left a plum-sized knot on his forehead. His T-shirt showed several rows of small bloody holes where Shelly’s rake had dug in, but he seemed to be feeling no pain. He snored peacefully, blowing snot bubbles from his nose.
Abbey said to Shelly, “What a loser! I can’t believe you’re taking him back.”
“It’s none of your business, princess, but let’s say it was. Let’s say you were my mother and you were upset about me hangin’ out with this lame excuse for a boyfriend. I’d tell you that I’m a big girl with my eyes wide open. Made a few dumb mistakes of my own, but I was always grateful for a second chance. And trust me,” Shelly said, “that’s all Lice Peeking is gettin’—one more chance. Look here, he even went and bought me some new earrings.”
Shelly pulled back her thick hair to reveal five small, shiny hoops in her left ear. Abbey admitted they looked cool.
“Yeah, they do.” Shelly turned to me. “Noah, what does your daddy think is gonna happen to Dusty Muleman?”
“He says the Coast Guard will probably shut down the Coral Queen right away. He says they won’t throw Dusty in jail, but they could make him pay out a fortune in fines.”
“But if the boat’s out of business, then you’re out of a job,” Abbey said to Shelly. “What are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry about me, princess. Being a bartender in the Keys is like being a roofer in hurricane season. You’re never out of work for long.”
The trailer was such a disaster that sweeping and mopping seemed like a waste of energy; it should have been towed straight to the county dump. But it was Shelly’s only home, so I said, “We’re going to help you fix up this place.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” She steered us toward the door. “I got all the help I need, these two turkeys ever wake up.”
She gave each of us a quick hug, then closed the door.
Abbey checked her watch and announced that we had exactly eleven minutes to get home or else we’d be grounded until the next century. We took off down the old road as fast as we could.
Ahead I spotted two familiar figures, one running and the other pedaling a beach cruiser beside him. Abbey noticed them, too.
“Noah, don’t stop,” she said through clenched teeth. “No matter what.”
And I wouldn’t have stopped, either, if only Jasper Jr. hadn’t called me an exceptionally insulting name as we flew past. Next thing I knew, I felt myself hit the brakes. It was pure reflex. After all that had happened, I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to brighten Jasper Jr.’s day.
“Are you completely whacked?” Abbey whispered.
“Keep going,” I told her firmly. “I’m not kidding.”
She knew it, too. She kept riding.
“Where you guys going?” I asked pleasantly. “To the marina maybe? To have a chat with the Coast Guard?”
Jasper Jr. hopped off the bike and let it fall. I could see that he was boiling mad. He stalked up to me and grabbed my handlebars and wrenched them back and forth, trying to knock me off.
Somehow I kept my balance, and I also kept the smile on my face. It was driving him nuts.
“Okay, dorkbrain, let’s do it!” Jasper Jr. snarled. “You and me! Right now!”
“Jasper, don’t start nothin’,” Bull said, bending over to catch his breath.
Very calmly I climbed off my bicycle and put down the kickstand. Then I stepped up to Jasper Jr. and got right in his face. When he reached up to shove me, I knocked his arms away. He seemed totally amazed.
I couldn’t stop smiling. Being afraid of those two bone-heads seemed so ridiculous, I’d rather have taken another punch in the eye than run away.
“Come on, dude,” Bull said to Jasper Jr. “Let’s go.”
“Oh no you don’t. Not yet,” I said. “He still owes me an apology. In fact, he owes me two, after what he just called me.”
“You’re so dead!” Jasper Jr. snapped. “So dead!”
The way he was moving his ratlike mouth, I knew he was working up another loogie to spit on me. I reached under my shirt and pulled out the chain that was hanging from my neck.
The ancient gold coin dangled back and forth, glinting in the sunlight. From the bug-eyed way that Jasper Jr. and Bull were staring, I knew they recognized the coin as the one that Grandpa Bobby was wearing that day in the woods.
Bull took a shaky half step backward. Jasper Jr. stood there gnawing on his lower lip, which I took as a sign of possible brain activity. Neither of them wanted to tangle with that crazy old pirate again.
“I’m still waiting for my apologies,” I said.
Bull poked Jasper Jr. “Get it over with, dude.” Then Bull picked up the beach cruiser, hopped on, and pedaled away.
Jasper Jr. shifted uneasily as he watched his friend ride off. Now it was just me and him. I’d like to think he would’ve been nervous even if I hadn’t shown him the coin, but probably not.
He turned his knobby walnut head and hawked on the pavement. “I’m sorry, Underwood,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“One down,” I said, “and one more to go.”
It was obviously painful, but Jasper Jr. forced himself to say it again. “I’m sorry, okay? So-r-y.”
“Close enough.” I stepped back and waved him down the road.
Jasper Jr. gave me one of his trademark sneers and took off running.
“Have a nice day,” I called, though I knew it probably wouldn’t turn out that way for the Muleman family.
NINETEEN
Naturally the story was huge in the Island Examiner. The headline blared:
CASINO BOAT BUSTED IN POLLUTION PROBE
Miles Umlatt wrote the article, which explained that the flushed waste was traced easily to the Coral Queen because the crud contained “a highly visible, inky-colored substance.” The front page of the newspaper featured an aerial photograph of our incriminating fuchsia stain. Not to brag, but it was impressive.
As my father had predicted, the Coast Guard shut down the gambling boat right away. Dusty Muleman was not available for comment.
Miles Umlatt and a couple of other reporters called our house and left messages. They all wanted to interview Dad, now that his accusations against Dusty had been proven true.
The old Paine Underwood would have eagerly picked up the phone and ranted, but the new Paine Underwood took Donna Underwood’s advice and let it ring off the hook.
My father didn’t need to say anything to the newspaper because everyone in town knew the truth by now. They knew he was right about Dusty after all.
The following morning Grandpa Bobby borrowed Dad’s pickup and drove to Miami Beach to surprise Uncle Del and Aunt Sandy. He said they were really happy to see him alive, but after a while they started acting kind of nervous and weird. They were probably freaking out, trying to think of a way to explain how they’d spent all that money my grandfather had left in the bank box.
A day later he returned to the Keys and stayed with us for a week—one of the neatest times of my life. Even Abbey got jazzed. Every night we’d stay up late, listening to his Caribbean adventures. In the daytime we went snorkeling or crabbing or wakeboarding behind the skiff. One afternoon we took a metal detector to the sandbar where all the drunk tourists from Miami hang out, and we found thirteen dollars in change, four rings, two bracelets, a brand-new Swiss army knife, and somebody’s gold molar.
Suddenly, over breakfast one morning, Grandpa Bobby announced he was leaving.
“Where?” I asked.
Dad answered for him. “Back to South America.”
Grandpa Bobby nodded. “You’re not gonna come huntin’ for me, are you, Paine? I want a promise.”
“You’ve got it,” my father said, not happily.
Grandpa Bobby hitched a silvery eyebrow at my mother. “Donna, I’m countin’ on you to keep this hotheaded husband of yours from runnin’ off the rails.”
Mom told Grandpa Bobby not to worry. “We’ll miss you, Pop,” she said.
“But why are you leaving?” Abbey blurted. “Why won’t you stay here with us?”
“It’s tempting, tiger, it truly is,” my grandfather said, “but don’t forget, the U.S. government thinks I’m dead. When the time’s right, I’ll be proud to march into the American embassy and stamp my fingerprint on a piece of paper and clear up all the confusion. But for now it’s useful that certain folks don’t know I’m alive. I’ve got some important business to clear up, before I can come home for good.”
My sister bolted from the table, but she didn’t get far. Grandpa Bobby snagged her as she dashed by and pulled her into his arms. He used his faded bandanna to dry her cheeks.
“What if something bad happens?” Abbey cried. “I don’t want you to die for real.”
“But I can’t live for real until I finish this thing,” he said. “Please try to understand.”
He fished something out of his pocket. “These are for you, Abbey. It’s only fair, since your brother got the queen’s coin.”
Abbey’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Whoa,” she said under her breath.
We all leaned in for a close look at the two green earrings. The stones were small but the color was brilliant, like reef water.
“Emeralds,” Grandpa Bobby said.
Mom was dazzled, too. “I won’t ask where you got them,” she said.
“Oh, probably another ‘poker game,’” Dad remarked.
“Don’t worry, I earned ’em fair and square,” said Grandpa Bobby. “I’ve been carrying ’em around for years, hopin’ to meet just the right girl. Now I have.”
He dropped the emerald studs into Abbey’s palm and said, “Those little greenies are worth more than diamonds.”
“They’re worth even more than that,” said Abbey, “to me.”
I’d never seen my sister so excited. After Mom helped her put on the earrings, she ran to check herself out in the hall mirror.
Grandpa Bobby said, “Abbey, you’re as lovely as your grandmother was. I only wish you could’ve known her.” He looked at my father. “And, son, I wish …”
He didn’t finish the sentence. Slowly he got up and went out the back door. Through the window we could see him sag against the trunk of our big mahogany tree. He was rubbing his eyes.
“Do you still remember her?” I asked my father.
“Like it was yesterday, Noah.”
Then he went outside and put an arm around the old pirate’s shoulders.
Sometimes my parents make me slightly crazed, but the thought of losing either one of them is so unreal that I can�
��t imagine it. I can’t even try to imagine it.
All these years, I never considered the possibility that my father—my well-meaning but occasionally whacked-out father—might be walking around with a broken heart, carrying a pain too awful to talk about.
I mean, his mom died when he was a kid. Died.
How could anyone be the same afterward? How could there not be a huge sad hole in your life?
And how could it not get worse when somebody calls up to say that your father’s gone, too? The father you idolized—dead and buried in some faraway jungle.
So maybe Dad filled up all that emptiness another way. Whenever he saw something bad or wrong, he’d do just about anything to make it right, no matter how reckless or foolish. It’s possible he couldn’t help himself.
I think Mom understood. I think that’s why she’s been so patient through the rough times.
And maybe Dad will be better, now that he knows Grandpa Bobby is really alive. It’s something to hope for anyway.
On the afternoon before he left, my grandfather knocked on my bedroom door and said he wanted to go fishing. We grabbed a couple of spinning rods and headed off to Thunder Beach.
The water was crystal clear, and we waded up to our knees. Scads of minnows flashed like chrome spangles in the shallows, and right away we spooked a snaggle-toothed barracuda that had been hanging motionless near a coral head.
Grandpa Bobby started casting a small yellow bucktail, hopping it through the grassy patches where the snappers hang out.
“How are you going back?” I asked.
“Same way I got here. There’s a freighter leaving Key West for Aruba tomorrow,” he said. “From there I’ll hitch a ride on a banana boat.”
“You sure about this?”
Grandpa Bobby said, “Oh, I’ll be fine. Your mom even packed me a suitcase.”
“Not the plaid one?” I asked.
“Yeah. What’s so funny?”
“That’s the one she takes out whenever she’s thinking about dumping Dad.”
“Well, I guess that’s not in the game plan anymore.” My grandfather tucked the butt of the fishing rod under one arm and took out another old photograph to show me.
