Carl Hiaasen - Flush

“By the way, you're both grounded,” Mom informed us in the car.

I signaled for Abbey to stay cool, but she ignored me.

“Grounded for how long?” she asked indignantly.

“Indefinitely,” Dad said.

Which was better than setting an exact number of days or weeks. From experience I knew that an “indefinite” grounding could be negotiated favorably-if only Abbey would quit whining.

“It's not fair,” my sister said. “In fact, it really bites.”

“Watch your mouth, young lady,” Mom warned.

“But we just saved Thunder Beach! Don't we get bonus points for that?”

Grandpa Bobby said, “Abbey, darlin', it won't be so bad. Anyways, it's probably a smart idea for you and your brother to lay low for a while.”

And he was the family expert on laying low.

I waited until we got back to the house before asking my parents to delay the starting date of our grounding. “Just until tomorrow,” I said. “Please?”

My father eyed me suspiciously. “Why? You've got big plans for this afternoon?”

“I need to go thank Shelly.”

“Me too,” said Abbey, scooting to my side.

Dad left the decision to Mom, who drilled us with one of her I'm-not-kidding stares. “You've got exactly one hour,” she said. “Not a minute more.”

We dashed for our bikes, Abbey calling over her shoulder, “Grandpa Bobby, you'd better be here when we get back!”

My mother and father honestly care about each other, but they argue about plenty of stuff. Sometimes it seems silly to me and Abbey, but other times it's really heavy. For instance, Mom was ninety-nine percent serious about divorcing Dad if he didn't come home from jail and get his act together. I totally understood why she felt like that, and at the same time I could see the point he was trying to make by sinking the Coral Queen .

But even when my parents are fighting, they don't actually fight. It's only sharp words back and forth; no fists or blunt objects.

Unfortunately, some people really get carried away-as my sister and I were reminded when we showed up at Shelly's trailer.

She was sitting on the steps, gazing off into the distance. She wore black jeans, a gray Gap T-shirt, and a blue trucker's cap turned backward.

In one hand was a sweaty bottle of beer, and in the other hand was a rake. Some of the tines were snapped off, and others were bent at sharp angles. It wasn't the sort of damage caused by normal, everyday gardening.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Love is a strange deal, I swear,” she said. “You wanna come in? It's a awful mess, I'll be honest.”

“We'll help you clean up,” Abbey offered.

“What kind of mess?” I asked.

“Like nothin' you ever saw before,” Shelly said. “Think you can handle it?”

After seeing the condition of the rake, I wasn't so sure. To stall I asked her what had happened on the Coral Queen after I'd jumped overboard.

She laughed. “Nobody heard a thing because the band was so loud. Everybody just kept drinkin' and gamblin'. The customers who saw you run past, they figured you belonged to one of the crew.”

“What about that nasty old lady who tried to break into the bathroom?”

“Oh, her? Free stack of chips and she was back at the blackjack table, happy as a clam,” Shelly reported. “Speaking of bathrooms, I had to make, like, seven trips before I got rid of all that purple goo. Every time I'd get settled nice and cozy, somebody'd start bangin' on the door, sayin' they couldn't wait. My wrist hurts from flushin' so much.”

“But our plan worked!” Abbey piped eagerly. “Did you hear the helicopter fly over? That was the Coast Guard-we saw 'em taking video of the stain in the water.”

“No kidding?” Shelly looked pleased. She stood up, spinning the rake like a cheerleader's baton.

“Did Dusty say anything after the casino closed?” I asked.

“Naw, he was a total basket case,” Shelly said. “There was some big fight on the docks, and Luno got his butt seriously whipped, is what I heard. One of the bouncers drove him to the hospital and then the cops showed up, asking what happened but by then Dusty'd already split. The crew didn't know any different, so they waited until all the people were gone and pumped the holding tank straight into the basin, same as usual.”

I told Shelly she'd done a great job. “Thanks for emptying that liquor crate so I had a place to hide, and for sneaking me into the ladies' head, and most of all for risking your neck to help us out…”

“Yeah, you did awesome,” said Abbey. “But what about Dusty's secret spy at the Coast Guard station? How'd you fix it so he wasn't around this morning when Noah called in about the Coral Queen ?”

Shelly propped the rake on one shoulder, like a rifle. “Come on in,” she said to us. “But, like I said, it's not a pretty picture.”

She wasn't kidding. Inside the trailer it looked like a small bomb had exploded-broken lamps, overturned furniture, dents and holes in the fake-wood paneling.

Two rumpled men lay facedown-one on the gross shag carpet, one on the gross moldy sofa. We couldn't see their faces, so it was hard to tell if they were dead or alive. The one on the floor was sopping wet and striped green with slime from the aquarium, which lay on its side, empty and cracked.

Shelly used the rake handle to poke at the unconscious man on the sofa. “You asked about Mr. Billy Babcock? Well, here he is.”

Billy Babcock made a low snuffling sound, but he didn't move.

“What'd you do to him?” Abbey asked.

“Nothin' he didn't want done,” Shelly replied with a snort. “He spent about two hours yakkin' at my bar last night. I figured the only way to guarantee that he wouldn't be at work this morning was to bring him home with me and-”

“We get the idea,” I cut in, not wanting Abbey to hear the R-rated details.

“That's cool, Noah, watchin' out for your little sister,” Shelly said, “but don't worry-I was a perfect lady. I invited Billy over for one of my high-octane cocktails, maybe two. All we did was hold hands on the couch until he got tired of tellin' me how gorgeous and wonderful I was. Then he keeled over and went nighty-night.”

“So who's the other guy?” I pointed at the soggy heap on the floor.

“You don't recognize him?” Shelly chuckled again. Using the business end of the rake, she snagged the man's ooze-covered shirt and rolled him onto his back. When I saw that pasty sunken face, I was completely blown away.

“Well? Who is it?” my sister asked impatiently.

“That's Lice Peeking,” I said.

“In person!” Shelly unhooked the rake from his shirt. “I told you, love's a strange deal.”

“Is he alive?” Abbey asked.

“More or less,” Shelly replied. “You guys want a Coke?”

We sat at the dinette and listened to her story. It was a good one.

After my father had gone to jail and started spouting off about the Coral Queen, Dusty Muleman had gotten nervous. He'd made a list of everyone besides Dad who knew the truth about the pollution scam, and he had sent Luno to warn each person to keep quiet-or else. The goon hadn't murdered Lice Peeking, as Shelly had thought, but he had scared the bodily fluids out of him.

When Luno had shown up at the trailer, Lice naturally assumed that Dusty had found out about his secret deal with Dad-the bonefish skiff in exchange for Lice's testimony. So as soon as Luno left, Lice swiped Shelly's Jeep and drove full speed for the mainland. True to form, he forgot to fill the gas tank. When it was empty, he simply parked the truck and took off on foot.

“But what about the bloodstains on the seats?” I asked.

Shelly shook her head sheepishly. “Ketchup,” she said. “The slob was pigging out on Big Macs and fries for forty miles.”