Carl Hiaasen - Flush

“Whatever,” I said. One was just as bad as the other.

I grabbed my bike and headed full speed down the old road. I'd had a bad feeling about Lice Peeking from the beginning, and now it looked like I might be right. If he was Dad's best hope for a witness against Dusty Muleman, we might be in deep trouble.

Halfway to the trailer park it started pouring, and I was drenched by the time I got there. I knocked so hard that the door swung open.

Dripping like a dog, I stepped inside. The TV was blaring-some station that shows country-music videos all day long. I turned it off and called out, “Helloooo?”

Nothing.

“Anybody home? Mr. Peeking?”

From the rear of the trailer came a muffled thump-thump of footsteps, and I tensed up. I was ready to run if Lice came out bombed or acting crazy.

But it was Shelly who walked up the hall, all alone. She looked red in the cheeks and not very happy. She was wearing the top half of a blue bathing suit and a Hawaiian-style wraparound skirt. Her brassy blond hair was pinned in a bun, and she was limping. I noticed that her right foot was wrapped in tape, and I wondered if it had something to do with the baseball bat she was carrying.

“Sorry for barging in,” I said, taking a backward step toward the door. “I knocked for a long time but nobody heard me.”

“I was busy redecorating. What do you want?”

“Mr. Peeking was supposed to stop over today and look at my dad's bonefish boat.”

“And he didn't show up? My darlin' Lice? What a surprise.” Shelly laughed in a cold way that made me shudder.

“Is he here?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“Do you know where I could reach him?”

“Nope.”

For several moments we stood there not saying anything, the rain drumming on the aluminum roof.

“What happened to your foot?” I heard myself ask.

“I believe I busted it,” Shelly replied.

“How?”

“Kicking the toilet to death.”

“Oh,” I said.

“I was pretending it was Lice's butt. He's gone, by the way, in case you hadn't figured that out.”

“Gone where?”

“Wherever it is that gutless, lazy, lowlife boyfriends go,” she said. “Bolted last night while I was in the shower. Took my Jeep, too. The cops found it abandoned this morning up near the toll plaza at Cutler Ridge.”

I didn't know what to say, but I had to be careful. Shelly looked like she was aching to use that baseball bat.

“But Mr. Peeking told me he doesn't have a driver's license,” I said.

“A minor technicality,” said Shelly, “for a weasel like him. Have a seat, Noah.”

“I really better be going.”

“I said have a seat. ”

So I did.

“Some man came by to see Lice last night,” she said, “just before he ran off. A big bald-headed guy with a weird foreign accent-French or Russian or something.”

“He was bald?” I thought of the stranger who'd grabbed Abbey at the marina.

“Like a bowling ball,” Shelly said. “Plus, he looked like somebody gave him a nose job with a socket wrench. Lice went outside to talk, and he came back white as a ghost. Wouldn't tell me anything, either. Waited until I was in the shower, then he took off. Did I mention he grabbed all the cash?”

“No, ma'am.”

“A hundred and eighty-six bucks. Everything I had.”

“That stinks.” I felt queasy, like somehow it was all my fault.

“Funny,” Shelly said, “but Lice didn't say nothin' about buyin' your daddy's boat.”

“I've really got to go now.”

“Remember what I told you about lying, Noah?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Besides, you can't be out in this rain. You'll catch strep.”

I was more than ready to risk it. “Please,” I said. “My mom's gonna be worried.”

Shelly nodded toward the telephone. “Then give her a jingle.”

Of course, I didn't move.

Shelly smiled. “Tell me about Lice and your daddy's boat,” she said. “Tell me everything, okay? I'm sure it won't take long.”

I couldn't take my eyes off the wooden bat, which she was slapping from one palm to the other.

“Relax, kid, this isn't for you,” she said.

I wasn't taking any chances. Without hesitating, I told her all about the secret deal between my father and Lice Peeking. I figured she'd just laugh and tell me I was stupid for trusting her no-good boyfriend, but I was wrong.

What she said was: “Noah, I think I can help you.”

Which was the last thing I expected.

The speeding ticket that my mother had been waiting in line to pay when she met my father was the only one she's ever gotten. She isn't a person who breaks the law, no matter how small the law might be. Most of the time Mom is steady, careful, and totally in control-in other words, the polar opposite of my dad.

Like him, she was born in Florida-a place called Kissimmee, up near Orlando. Both her parents worked as performers at Disney World, which sounds like more fun than it was. Grandpa Kenneth was Pluto, the cartoon dog, while Grandma Janet played one of Snow White's seven dwarfs-either Sleepy or Grumpy, I forget which. Mom still has a framed photograph of her mother and father dressed in costume, standing with their heads off in front of Cinderella's Castle.

According to Mom, Grandpa Kenneth didn't like his job from day one. The Pluto outfit was top-heavy and hard to navigate, and the temperature inside was about 105 degrees. The tourist kids would poke Grandpa Kenneth in the ribs and pinch his nose and yank on his floppy ears, but he wasn't allowed to say a word. That's because Goofy is the only Disney dog character who talks-Pluto just whines or yips. So when the kids started hassling Grandpa Kenneth, all he could do was bark or shake his head or wag his paw, which almost never worked.

One day he just “snapped.” That's Mom's word for what happened. Some brat yanked once too many times on his tail, and Grandpa Kenneth spun around and punted him halfway down Main Street USA. The kid's family sued Disney World for some insane amount of money, but by then Grandpa Kenneth and Grandma Janet had already packed up and moved to Moose Lick, Saskatchewan, where they opened a snowmobile dealership and never laid eyes on another tourist. We've gone up to visit them two or three times, but they refuse to come down to the Keys. Grandpa Kenneth is sure that the Disney people will have him arrested if he ever sets foot in Florida.

My mother returned when she was eighteen, to attend college at the state university in Gainesville. She was on her way to becoming a lawyer when she met a guy and got married and dropped out of school. The guy turned out to be a “knucklehead” (Mom's word again), and after only two years she pulled the plug. She was driving to the courthouse with the divorce papers when she got the speeding ticket that led to her meeting my father. They got married the day after her divorce was final.

Whenever Dad starts telling that story, my mother goes out to stack the dishes or fold the laundry. She doesn't like anyone bringing up her first marriage in front of us. I know that Dad's crazy for my mom, but sometimes he's totally clueless about her feelings. Abbey gets frustrated and tells me to talk some sense into him, but what am I supposed to say?

Better shape up, Dad. Remember what happened to the last knucklehead she married.

Even if I said something, he wouldn't take it seriously. He'd tell me not to worry because Mom was his “biggest fan.” My father has a bad habit of overestimating his charm-and also my mother's patience.

When I got back from the trailer park, she was standing in the driveway and talking with Mr. Shine, the lawyer. I waved and hurried inside the house, where Abbey was waiting to fill me in.