Carl Hiaasen - Hoot

He wasn't watching TV that evening, but his mother burst in to report that Tom Brokaw was talking about him and Beatrice on the network news. Mrs. Eberhardt led Roy to the living room just in time to hear the president of Mother Paula's promise to preserve the Coconut Cove property as a permanent sanctuary for burrowing owls and to donate $50,000 to the Nature Conservancy.

"We want to assure all our customers that Mother Paula's remains strongly committed to protecting our environment," he said, "and we deeply regret that the careless actions of a few former employees and contractors may have put these unique little birds in jeopardy."

"What a crock," Roy muttered.

"Roy Andrew Eberhardt!"

"Sorry, Mom, but the guy's not telling the truth. He knew about the owls. They all knew about the owls."

Mr. Eberhardt muted the television set. "Roy's right, Lizzy. They're just covering their butts."

"Well, the important thing is you did it," Roy's mother told him. "The birds are safe from the pancake people. You should feel great about that!"

"I do," Roy said, "but it wasn't me who saved the owls."

Mr. Eberhardt came over and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "You got the word out, Roy. Without you, nobody would've known what was happening. Nobody would have showed up to protest the bulldozing."

"Yeah, but it all started because of Beatrice's stepbrother," Roy said. "He's the one who should've been on Peter Brokaw or whatever. The whole thing was his idea."

"I know, honey," Mrs. Eberhardt said, "but he's gone."

Roy nodded. "Sure looks that way."

Mullet Fingers had lasted less than forty-eight hours under the same roof with Lonna, who'd spent most of that time on the telephone trying to drum up more TV interviews. Lonna had been counting on her son to keep the Leep family in the limelight, which is the last place he wanted to be.

With Beatrice's assistance, the boy had snuck out of the house while Lonna and Leon were arguing about a new dress that Lonna had purchased for seven hundred dollars in anticipation of appearing on The Oprah Winfrey Show. Nobody from Oprah's program ever called Lonna back, so Leon had demanded that she return the dress and get a full refund.

When the Leeps' shouting reached the same approximate decibel level as a B-52, Beatrice lowered her stepbrother out a bathroom window. Unfortunately, a nosy neighbor had mistaken the escape for a burglary in progress and had notified the police. Mullet Fingers made it only two blocks before speeding patrol cars surrounded him.

Lonna had been furious to learn her son was up to his old runaway tricks. Out of spite, she told the officers that he'd stolen a valuable toe ring from her jewelry box, and demanded that he be locked up in juvenile detention to teach him a lesson.

There the boy had lasted only seventeen hours before breaking out, this time with an unlikely accomplice.

Hiding in the laundry basket with his new best friend, Dana Matherson undoubtedly had no clue that he'd been specially selected to join the jailbreak, that the scrawny blond kid knew exactly who he was and knew all the rotten things he'd done to Roy Eberhardt.

Being of simple mind, Dana probably had thought only of his unexpected good fortune as the laundry basket was loaded into the laundry truck, which was then driven out the gates of the detention center. Even the approaching sirens probably hadn't worried him until the truck braked and the back doors flew open.

It was then the two young fugitives leaped from the smelly bundle of dirty clothes and made a run for it.

Later, when Roy heard the story from Beatrice, he knew instantly why her stepbrother had chosen Dana Matherson as an escape partner. Mullet Fingers was fleet and slippery while Dana was sluggish and sore-footed, still not fully recovered from his encounter with the rattraps.

The perfect decoy-that was Dana.

Sure enough, the police had easily caught up with the big thug, though he shook off two officers before eventually being tackled and handcuffed. By then, Beatrice's stepbrother was a distant blur, a bronze-colored wisp vanishing into a snarled tree line.

The police never found him, nor did they search particularly hard. Dana was the prize catch, the one with the rap sheet and the bad attitude.

Roy couldn't find Mullet Fingers, either. Many times he'd ridden his bicycle to the junkyard and checked the Jo-Jo's ice-cream truck, but it was always empty. Then, one day, the truck itself vanished, dragged off and pressed into a rusty cube of scrap metal.

Beatrice Leep knew where her stepbrother was hiding, but he'd sworn her to secrecy. "Sorry, Tex," she'd told Roy, "I made a blood promise."

So, yes, the kid was gone.

And Roy knew he'd never see Napoleon Bridger again, unless he wanted to be seen.

"He'll be all right. He's a survivor," Roy said, for his mother's benefit.

"I hope you're right," she said, "but he's so young-"

"Hey, I've got an idea." Roy's father jangled his car keys. "Let's go for a ride."

When the Eberhardts arrived at the corner of Woodbury and East Oriole, two other vehicles were already parked at the fence gate. One was a squad car, the other was a blue pickup truck; Roy recognized both of them.

Officer David Delinko had stopped on his way home from the police station, where he'd received another commendation from the chief-this time for aiding in the recapture of Dana Matherson.

Leroy "Curly" Branitt, who was temporarily between jobs, had been driving his wife and mother-in-law to the outlet mall when he'd decided to make the brief detour.

Like the Eberhardts, they'd come to see the owls.

As dusk fell, they waited in a friendly and uncomplicated silence, though there was plenty they could have talked about. Except for the fence with its fading streamers, the land bore no sign that the pancake-house people had ever been there. Curly's trailer had been towed, the earthmoving machines hauled away, the Travelin' Johnnys returned to the toilet-rental company. Even the survey stakes were gone, uprooted and carted off with the trash.

Gradually the night air filled with the buzz of crickets, and Roy smiled to himself, remembering the boxful he'd released there. Obviously the owls had plenty of other bugs to eat.

Before long, a pair of the birds popped out of a nearby burrow. They were followed by a wobbly-legged youngster that looked as fragile as a Christmas ornament.

In unison, the owls rotated their onion-sized heads to stare at the humans who were staring at them. Roy could only imagine what they were thinking.

"I gotta admit," Curly said with a fond grunt, "they're kinda cute."

One Saturday, after the Mother Paula's scandal had died down, Roy went to watch Beatrice and her friends play a soccer game. It was a sweltering afternoon, but Roy had resigned himself to the fact that there was no change of seasons in South Florida, only mild variations of summer.

And though he missed the crisp Montana autumns, Roy found himself daydreaming less often about the place. Today the sun lit up the green soccer field like a neon carpet, and Roy was happy to peel off his T-shirt and bake.

Beatrice scored three goals before she noticed him sprawled in the bleachers. When she waved, Roy gave her two thumbs up and chuckled, because it was pretty funny-Beatrice the Bear waving at Tex, the new kid.

The high sun and the steaming heat reminded Roy of another bright afternoon not so long ago, in a place not so far off. Before the soccer match ended, he grabbed his shirt and slipped away.

It was a short ride from the soccer field to the hidden creek. Roy chained his bike to a gnarly old stump and picked his way through the tangled trees.

The tide was very high, and only a weather-beaten wedge of the Molly Bell's pilothouse showed above the waterline. Roy hung his sneakers on a forked limb and swam out toward the wreck, the warm current nudging him along.