Carl Hiaasen - Chomp

Gerry Germaine backed down in a heartbeat. He told Julie Cray that he’d be happy to pay Wahoo and Mickey the full contract amount for their services, and also take care of Mickey’s medical bills, which amounted to thirteen thousand dollars. It was Wahoo’s belief that his sister had a bright future in the legal profession.

At the end of his conversation with Julie, Gerry Germaine had a brainstorm: Would Mickey consider a full-time role as Brick Jeffers’s wrangler sidekick on the new, madeover version of Expedition Survival!?

Julie passed the offer along to her father, who responded with two words: “Bleep no!”

The next phone call after the show came from Tuna in Chicago, where she’d gone to join her mother.

“I saw my name in the credits!” she exclaimed. “ ‘Tuna J. Gordon-Taxonomist’!”

“You’re a rock star,” Wahoo said.

“How about you? ‘Wahoo Cray-First Assistant Wildlife Wrangler’!”

“Okay, we’re both rock stars.”

Wahoo’s parents had given him a cell phone as a birthday gift. He and Tuna had been texting regularly-he with one thumb-until Jocko, the bratty howler monkey, plucked the device from Wahoo’s jeans and beat it to smithereens with a banyan branch.

Since then, Wahoo and Tuna had spoken only a few times, when she’d called him on the Crays’ house phone.

“How’s your grandmother?” he asked.

“She’s hangin’ in there, thanks to Mom. We’re all hangin’ in.”

“And how’s Floyd dealing with the move?”

“He’s a hamster, dude. Every day’s a good day.”

Wahoo was curious to know if there was any wildlife to be classified in Chicago.

“Autumn is overrated,” Tuna said. “It’s already too cold for butterflies, though last month I logged a Vanessa atalanta.”

“Which is…?”

“A red admiral. He was just flyin’ around Grant Park, having a big old time.”

“Guess what I saw yesterday up in one of our palm trees.”

“Not an iguana!”

“Oh yeah,” Wahoo said. “A serious iguana.”

Tuna chortled. “Did you show your dad?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Smart call.”

She told Wahoo about her grandmother’s neighborhood on the city’s north side, which was overrun with obese and fearless raccoons. “They love chimneys,” she said, “otherwise known as coon-dominiums.”

Wahoo laughed, and he remembered how funny Tuna could be. He missed her, but he was glad she was safe, living in a place where she didn’t have to hide in her room at night with the door locked.

“Daddy might plead guilty,” she said.

“That’s good news.”

She and Wahoo had sometimes talked about hanging out together at the Miami courthouse while the case against her father was being heard. In truth, neither of them was looking forward to testifying while Jared Gordon sat only a few feet away, glaring murderously. It would be best if there was no need for a trial.

Selfishly, though, Wahoo felt disappointed that he might not get to see Tuna.

“So, you don’t know when you’ll be back in Florida?”

“At Christmas break, for sure,” she said. “Mom promised.”

“Really?”

“Maybe even sooner.”

“Cool,” he said. “We’ll go catch some critters.”

“I’d like that, Lance.”

“Me too, Lucille.”