Carl Hiaasen - Flush

“But it would've been wrong to drag him into the middle of my situation, which was deadly serious. So my plan was to sneak into the Keys on the sly and see what I might do behind the scenes. I brought along some cash for bail, lawyers, bribes, whatever. There was plenty more in a lockbox up in Hallandale, though I hear your Aunt Sandy and Uncle Del already helped themselves.”

Dad said, “We don't need any money.”

Grandpa Bobby raised one silvery eyebrow. “Really? Since when did you win the lottery?”

“We'll be fine,” Mom said warmly. “But thank you, Pop.”

He smiled. “I understand.”

“Well, I don't,” my sister grumbled. She snatched her hand away from my grandfather. “Know what I think? I think you're a big-”

“Abbey, knock it off,” I said. “He saved our lives.”

“Not quite,” said Grandpa Bobby. “Some private plane spotted your dinghy and called in the location. Your daddy had his VHF radio dialed to the Coast Guard's channel-turns out we were only about three miles away, so we beat the Coasties no sweat. Your daddy's the one who knew where to search. I went along for the ride is all.”

“No, I'm not talking about the rescue,” I said, “I'm talking about what happened on the docks-about Luno and the gun.”

My mother went stiff. “What gun?”

“The guy was going to waste us!” Abbey burst out. “I mean, we were history. Then Noah dived on top of me, and then he”-she nodded toward Grandpa Bobby-“he jumped the goon and took the pistol away.”

Immediately I was sorry that I'd brought it up. My mom's face had gone white.

“He tried to kill you?” She looked at Grandpa Bobby. “Is that true? He tried to kill the children?”

“Donna, it was a flare gun. He probably wanted to scare the you-know-what out of 'em,” my grandfather said.

“Just a flare gun?” Abbey sounded disappointed.

“It's still bad,” Dad said angrily. “He could've set the dinghy on fire. Or your clothes.”

Grandpa Bobby told all of us to calm down. “The main thing is, nobody got hurt except for Baldy. Now, I believe it's Noah's turn to tell us his story. You ready, champ?”

“I guess.”

My sister pretended to hold her nose. “Don't leave out the part about the seagull,” she said.

I didn't leave out anything, even the stuff that made me look the opposite of brilliant. Nobody interrupted with questions. They just sat there and listened.

When I was finished, Dad clicked his teeth and said, “You crashed into a manatee?”

Then Mom said, “Who's this Shelly person?”

Then Abbey said, “The Mermaids' bathroom? You perv!”

Then Grandpa Bobby stood up and took the chain from around his neck. He placed it in my hand and said, “You earned it, Noah.”

The gold coin on the end of that chain was heavier than any coin I'd ever held. I couldn't believe he was giving it to me.

“Once belonged to the queen of Spain,” he said, “about four hundred years ago.”

“Where'd you get it?” Dad asked.

“Won it in a dice game. Or maybe it was poker.” Grandpa Bobby shrugged as if he honestly couldn't remember. “Come on, troops, let's go for a ride.”

“Where to?” I asked.

“Thunder Beach,” he said. “Where else?”

The food coloring didn't show up as brightly in the sea as it did in the store bottles, but you could definitely see it. As Abbey and I had hoped, the current and the wind were in our favor, transporting the dye down the shoreline in a shiny stream from Dusty Muleman's basin.

Dad and Grandpa Bobby stood together on Thunder Beach, admiring the telltale trail of fuchsia.

“I'm impressed,” my father said. “This was your idea, Noah?”

“Abbey's, too,” I said.

“All I did was pick out the color,” she said.

“That's not true. We were fifty-fifty partners the whole way.”

My grandfather slapped a hand on Dad's shoulder. “Paine, you and Donna really lucked out with these youngsters. They're true champs, both of 'em.”

“Most of the time,” Dad said, shooting us a sideways glance.

“You gotta admit,” said Grandpa Bobby, “this is a whole lot neater than sinkin' the man's boat.”

“Yeah, Pop, thanks for bringing that up.”

Mom kept staring at the purplish slick in the shallows. Even though she was wearing sunglasses, we could tell she was upset. At first I thought she was mad at Abbey and me, but it turned out that she wasn't. She was mad at Dusty Muleman.

“Unbelievable!” she exploded finally. “How can a person do something like that! A father, for heaven's sake! All the kids on the island go swimming here-and he's poisoning the place with all this… this…”

“Ca-ca?” said Abbey.

“Whatever,” my mother fumed. “The man ought to be in jail. He's a menace to the public health.”

Dad has a long list of people that he says should be locked up for one thing or another, but this was the first time I'd ever heard Mom say that about anybody.

My grandfather also was angered by what he saw, although he tried not to show it. “Jail's too good for the lowlife who did this,” he said evenly, “but it's a start.”

Abbey and I looked uneasily at each other. We'd seen Grandpa Bobby in action before.

“Paine, you 'member that big muttonfish I caught here?” he asked my father. “The fifteen-pounder?”

“You bet I remember. Only it was fourteen pounds,” Dad said. “Fourteen even.”

“Sure? Anyways, it was a helluva catch,” said Grandpa Bobby. “That was back before they dropped fish traps all over the reefs. Back before certain creeps started dumping their crapola in the sea.”

There was a rumbly edge to his voice, like he was struggling to keep his temper under control.

Mom said, “Don't worry, Pop. Someday Dusty Muleman will get exactly what he deserves. People like him always do.”

This was her famous what-goes-around-comes-around theory. My grandfather obviously didn't buy it, although he was too polite to say so. He picked up a branch of driftwood and swept it back and forth through the stained water.

“Somebody probably oughta notify the Coast Guard, while the tide's right,” he said.

I didn't mention the phone call I'd made earlier at the house. As if on cue, a sound like a rolling drumbeat rose from the north.

Abbey said, “Listen, guys! You hear that?”

Thwock-a-thwock-a-thwock…

We all turned and looked up.

“Over there!” said Dad. He has eyes like an osprey; the rest of us couldn't see a thing.

After a while my grandfather spotted it, too, and pointed where to look. At first it was just a small fuzzy dot in the wide open blueness of the sky. But as the dot grew larger, it turned blaze-orange and took on the shape of a helicopter.

The drumbeat of the rotors became a loud, high-pitched whine as the chopper circled lower. On its belly we could plainly read the words COAST GUARD. A side door rolled open, and a man in a dark jumpsuit leaned out. He was wearing a white crash helmet and aiming a camera down at the water.

Taking video of our amazing fuchsia river.

We waved at the Coast Guard man, but he was too busy to wave back. The helicopter gradually began to move, following the colorful current of evidence all the way up the beach, all the way to the marina where the Coral Queen was moored. There the chopper hovered for a long, long time.

Dusty Muleman was officially busted.

Abbey whooped and Grandpa Bobby clapped and I pumped a fist in the air. We headed home feeling hopeful and happy-though Dad and Mom weren't quite happy enough to forget about me and Abbey sneaking out the night before.