Carl Hiaasen - Flush

Shelly's eyes got as wide as saucers when I flew past the bar. A bleary, leathery-faced man who I assumed was Billy Babcock spun on his stool and exclaimed, “Is that a kid on the boat?”

I headed topside. An angry yell rose from behind me, and I turned to see two humongous guys in hot pursuit. They looked seriously ticked off. Each wore a tight red T-shirt with the words EVENT STAFF silk-screened across the front.

Shelly had warned me about them-the bouncers.

They bellowed at me to stop, but that wasn't going to happen. I scampered to the upper deck and ran straight for the bow. Reflected below, in the glassy basin, were the twinkling, Christmassy lights of the Coral Queen.

It was a long way down to the water; longer than I'd imagined.

“Game's over,” a voice said.

I turned to face the bouncers, 400-odd pounds of meat and muscle. Panting from the chase, they wore cocky grins. They thought they had me cornered, but they were wrong.

One of them beckoned with a beefy finger. “Let's go, boy.”

I kicked off my shoes and stuffed them into Abbey's backpack.

The other one spoke up: “Chill out, shrimp. Don't try anything stupid.”

After that “shrimp” remark, I couldn't resist messing with them. “If I fall overboard and drown,” I said, “you guys are in deep trouble.”

“Yeah, right.”

“My mom and dad'll sue Mr. Muleman for every cent he's got, so you'd better watch it.”

The bouncers looked at each other and their smiles faded.

While they huddled to discuss their next move, I ducked under the railing and edged into position. I purposely didn't look down again.

One of the goons took a step toward me. “Whaddya think you're doin'? You nuts?” he asked.

They were getting ready to rush me, I could tell.

“Move away from there!” ordered the other bouncer, also moving forward. “You're gonna break your fool neck.”

“I wasn't planning on it,” I said.

Something like panic showed in their pudgy, squinting faces. They figured they'd lose their jobs, or worse, if they let something bad happen to me.

One of the men whipped out a walkie-talkie and held it close to his mouth. “Luno! Better come check this out!”

“Yeah, tell him to hurry,” the other man said. “This kid's a real space case.”

It was definitely time to go.

The bouncers reached out and lunged, but I was already in the air, falling sweetly to freedom.

Or so I told myself as I hollered, “Geronimo!”

I don't remember hitting the water, but I do remember sinking.

Not very deep, but deep enough to remind me that I was wearing Abbey's backpack.

I could have ditched it, but that would have been the same as littering. Besides, MS. ABBEY UNDERWOOD was written with a bright red marker in two different places on the backpack. If somebody found it and saw all those empty food-coloring bottles, we were busted for sure.

Hurriedly I loosened one strap of the backpack to free my right shoulder, which made it easier to swim. I wasn't breaking any Olympic records, but I was definitely putting some distance between myself and the Coral Queen. At any moment I expected the blue dinghy to come chugging into view, Abbey riding to the rescue.

Behind me, where the casino boat was moored, a shouting match had erupted. I turned my head and spotted Luno stomping back and forth under the dock lights, hollering furiously at the two bouncers on the top deck. The bouncers were yelling back, pointing across the basin.

Pointing at me, of course.

I kicked harder, thinking: Hurry up, Abbey. Hurry.

“Stop, boy!” Luno commanded. “You stop now!”

He was running along the docks, trying to keep even with me, so I dove beneath the surface. The dirty water stung my eyes and I squeezed them shut. It didn't matter, because even with my eyes wide open I couldn't have seen a whale three inches in front of my nose-not in that murky basin in the dead of night. I was swimming blind, but at least I was swimming.

When I came up for air, a white blast of light caught me squarely in the face.

“There he is!” Luno cried out. He was standing on a fish-cleaning table, sweeping a portable spotlight across the basin.

I ducked like a turtle and swam farther. When I popped up again, the same thing happened-the bright light, Luno yelling at me to stop. This time, though, he sounded closer.

Where was my sister?

The channel was at least a hundred yards away. Luno would run out of dock before I'd run out of water, but I was getting exhausted. My clothes were slowing me down, and the waterlogged backpack felt heavier by the minute.

Still no sign of the dinghy.

Even if my “Geronimo!” wasn't loud enough, Abbey surely must have heard Dusty Muleman's goons bellowing like bull elephants. I took a gulp of air and dove under again. Two kicks later I struck what seemed to be a wall of blubber.

A wall that moved.

Next thing I remember was me spinning like a top-then shooting upward, launched by some invisible brute force. Flying out of the water, I opened my eyes just in time to see an enormous brown shape, mossy and slick, pushing away at an incredible speed. A broad rounded tail slapped the surface so hard, it sounded like a rifle.

Right away I knew what had happened: I'd crashed into a sleeping manatee.

I splashed down in a tumble. For a solid minute I treaded water, not going anywhere, until my heart quit racing and I was able to catch my breath. The marina was momentarily quiet except for the merry chime of steel drums from the Coral Queen 's calypso band.

Where in the world was Abbey? And where was that caveman Luno?

I began swimming again, although not as bravely as before. The collision with the sea cow had rattled me-I couldn't help wondering what other creatures might be cruising around the dark cloudy basin. As huge as manatees are, they feed strictly on vegetation and have no appetite for humans. That's not true for everything that swims at night, especially certain large and fearless sharks.

The water was as warm as soup, but an icy shiver ran down my neck as I kicked onward. I only know a few prayers by heart, but I said all of them to myself. Twice. That's how scared I was.

I can't say for certain whether God was listening, but it wasn't long afterward that I heard the wheezy chug-a-chug-chug of a small outboard motor. I stopped moving and fixed my eyes in the direction of the noise. A familiar shape took form along the edge of the shadows, near the mouth of the basin.

As the shape drew closer, into the pale wash of the dock lights, I recognized the blue dinghy and the spindly silhouette of my sister at the helm.

Excitedly I called Abbey's name, and she responded with our pre-arranged signal: three rapid blinks of her flashlight. I set out for the little boat as fast as I could, not caring how much noise I made. All I wanted was to get out of the water in one piece.

Abbey whistled, but I was too exhausted to whistle back. The dinghy was no longer heading my way; in fact, it seemed to be sliding away in the current. By the time I caught up, my arms and legs were starting to cramp. I grabbed on to the bow and, with my sister's help, hauled myself aboard.

At first I couldn't even talk-I just sat there, dripping and panting like a tired old dog. Finally, I shook off the backpack and dried my face with the tail of Abbey's shirt.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded and rubbed my aching muscles. “How come you turned off the engine?”

“I didn't,” Abbey said. “It stalled out.”

“Nice.”

“That's how come I was late getting here. It took like forever to get the stupid thing started!”