Carl Hiassen - Sick Puppy

"Imagine if Governor Artemus orders Governor Tyree prosecuted," Lisa June was saying. "Once the story leaks out, Lord, it's front-page news all over the country – and not the kind you clip out for the family scrapbook, if you're Dick Artemus."

From the backseat: "What's the big deal? He won't scar."

Jim Tile said, "I believe you're missing the point."

"Two weeks, his scrawny butt'll be as good as new. What?"

Skink perked up. "Lisa June, are you giggling?"

"No."

"Yes, you are!"

"Well, it was ... "

"Funny?" Skink prompted.

"Not what I expected to see, that's all." Lisa June Peterson tried to compose herself. "You on top of him. Him with his fanny showing ... "

Thinking about the scene, Jim Tile had to chuckle, as well. "When can I go home?" he said.

From the backseat: "Soon as we spring the boy."

Lisa June addressed both of them. "If anyone asks, here's what happened today: Governor Richard Artemus held a cordial, uneventful private lunch with former Governor Clinton Tyree. They discussed – let's see – bass fishing, Florida history, the restructuring of the state Cabinet – and the strenuous job demands of the office of chief executive. The meeting lasted less than an hour, after which former Governor Tyree declined a tour of the refurbished residence, due to a previous commitment to visit a friend in a local hospital. All agreed?"

"Sounds good to me," Jim Tile said.

"It will sound even better to Governor Artemus. Trust me."

Skink sat up in the cage. "But what about that bridge?"

Jim Tile said, "Don't even think about it."

"Hell, I'm just curious."

"Your work is done here, Governor."

"Oh, relax, Lieutenant."

Lisa June Peterson said, "They'll reappropriate the bridge funding next week, during the special session. Once that happens, Shearwater is a go."

Skink sagged forward, hooking sun-bronzed fingers in the steel mesh. "So the veto was bullshit. They lied to the boy."

"Of course they did. They thought he was going to kill your buddy." Lisa June nodded toward the dozing dog. "It was extortion, captain. They couldn't cave in."

"Plus the bridge is a twenty-eight-million-dollar item."

"There's that, yes."

"And let's not forget that Governor Pencil Dick is dearly beholden to Shearwater's developer."

"Agreed," Lisa June Peterson said, "but the point is, everything worked out. Mr. Stoat's dog is safe. Mr. Stoat's wife is safe. And the young man, Mr. Spree, will get the professional help he needs ... "

Skink snorted. "The island, however, is fucked."

A cheerless silence settled over the occupants of the patrol car. Jim Tile thought: This is precisely what I was afraid of. This was the danger they risked, bringing him out of the swamp on such heartless terms.

The trooper said, "Governor, where will you take the kid?"

"A safe place. Don't you worry."

"Until he's feeling better?"

"Sure."

"Then what?" Lisa June asked.

"Then he's free to burn down the goddamn capitol building if he wants. I'm not his father," Skink groused, "and I'm not his rabbi." Once again he drew himself caterpillar-like into a ball, resting his shaved dome on the car seat. The Labrador awoke briefly and licked him on the brow.

As Jim Tile wheeled up to the hospital entrance, Lisa June Peterson asked: "You sure about this? He's OK to travel?"

The trooper explained that Twilly Spree's gunshot wound was a through-and-through; minor damage to the right lung, two fractured ribs, no major veins or arteries nicked.

"Lucky fella," Jim Tile said. "In any case, he's safer with him" – cutting his eyes toward the backseat – "than anyplace else. Somebody wanted the young man dead. Maybe still does."

"What if those officers upstairs won't let him out?"

"Miss Peterson, three of those troopers are being evaluated next month for promotions. Guess who's one of the evaluators?" Jim Tile removed his mirrored sunglasses and folded them into a breast pocket. "I don't think they'll raise a fuss if Mr. Spree decides to check himself out."

From the backseat: "You ever been there?"

"Excuse me. Governor?"

"Jim, I'm talking to Lisa June. Darling, you ever been down to Toad Island?"

"No."

"You just might like it."

"I'm sure I would," she said.

"No, I meant you might like it the way it is. Without the fairways and yacht basins and all the touristy crap."

Lisa June Peterson turned to face him. "I know exactly what you meant, captain."

Jim Tile parked in the shade and left the back windows cracked, so the dog could get some fresh air. While a nurse changed Twilly Spree's dressing, the three of them – Skink, Lisa June and Jim Tile – waited outside the hospital room. Jim Tile spoke quietly to the four young troopers posted at the door, then led them down the hall for coffee. Skink flopped cross-legged on the bare floor. Lisa June borrowed a spring-backed chair from the nursing station and sat next to him.

He eyed her with an avuncular amusement. "So, you're going to stay put here in Tallahassee. Learn the ropes. Be a star." The ex-governor winked.

"Maybe I'll write a book about you instead."

"I enjoy Graham Greene. I'd like to think he would have found me interesting," Skink mused, "or at least moral."

"I do," Lisa June said.

"No, you write a book about Governor Dickless instead – and publish it before the next election. Wouldn't that be a kick in the kumquats!" Skink's mandrill howl startled a middle-aged patient wearing a neck brace and rolling an IV rig down the hallway. The man made a wobbly U-turn and steamed back toward the safety of his room.

Lisa June Peterson lowered her voice. "Look, I was thinking ... "

"Me, too." The captain, playfully pinching one of her ankles.

"Not about that. "

"Well, you should. It'll do you good."

"The new bridge," Lisa June whispered. "Shearwater."

"Yeah?"

"The deal's not sewn up yet. There's one more meeting." She told him who would be there. "And Palmer Stoat, too, of course. He set the whole thing up. It's a hunting trip."

Skink's thatched eyebrows hopped. "Where?"

"That's the problem. They're going to a private game ranch outside Ocala. You need an invitation to get in."

"Darling, please."

"But let's say you did get in," Lisa June continued. "I was thinking you could talk to them about Toad Island. Talk to them the way you talked to me about Florida that night by the campfire. Who knows, maybe they'd agree to scale down the project. Leave some free beach and a few trees at least. If you can just get Dick on your side – "

"Oh, Lisa June – "

"Listen! If you can get Dick on your side, the others might go along. He can be incredibly persuasive, believe me. You haven't seen him at his best."

"I should hope not." Skink, toying with his buzzard beaks. "Lisa June, I just whittled a serious insult into the man's rear end. He ain't never ever gonna be on my side. And you know that." The captain leaned sideways and smooched one of her kneecaps. "But I sincerely appreciate the information."

The door to Twilly Spree's room opened and they both got up. A pleasant freckle-faced nurse reported that Mr. Spree was improving by the hour.

Lisa June Peterson tugged Skink's sleeve. "I'd better be getting back to the capitol. The boss has a busy afternoon."

"Don't you want to meet the notorious psycho dognapper?"

"Better not. I just might like him."

Skink nodded. "That would be confusing, wouldn't it?"

"Heartbreaking is more like it," she said, "if something bad were to happen."

When he wrapped his great arms around her, Lisa June felt bundled and hidden; safe. He told her: "Between you and Jim, I've never seen such worriers."