Flush - Carl Hiaasen [0]
“Hiaasen scores again. Fans of spy stories, action, environmental intrigue, and, well, Hiaasen, will cheer for this one.”
—The Bulletin
“Enough twists and turns to satisfy even the most serious adventure junkies.”
—The Horn Book Magazine
“Features a wacky father, an astute set of siblings and a polluting casino boat.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Hiaasen is able to portray the world as flawed, weird, yet sometimes wonderful.”
—USA Today
“It’s classic Hiaasen—laugh-out-loud satire in a Florida setting.”
—Life
“One of the most enjoyable books around.”
—The Globe and Mail (Toronto)
“Good guys, bad guys, dumb bullies, and lots of action with just the right touch of humor.”
—The Oakland Press
“Another keeper from an author whose tales know no limits.”
—The Oregonian
“A comic eco-thriller with an undercurrent of outrage. The far-fetched plot and nonstop one-liners belie a dead-serious exploration of the messy politics of conservation.”
—The Washington Post
“Biting humor, wacko characters, and a take-no-prisoners attitude toward rapacious developers.”
—Seattle Post-Intelligencer
“Flush contains Carl Hiaasen’s irrepressible mix of wacky eccentrics, ecological barbarians and heroic underdogs in an entertaining adventure set in steamy Florida.”
—Financial Times
“Readers will be hooked.”
—School Library Journal
“Outrageous but utterly believable.”
—St. Petersburg Times
“Hiaasen has written another winner.”
—The Charlotte Observer
“Droll dialogue, quirky characters … extremely amusing.”
—Voice of Youth Advocates
Also by Carl Hiaasen:
Hoot
Winner of a Newbery Honor Award
For the mighty Quinn
ONE
The deputy told me to empty my pockets: two quarters, a penny, a stick of bubble gum, and a roll of grip tape for my skateboard. It was pitiful.
“Go on inside. He’s waiting for you,” the deputy said.
My dad was sitting alone at a bare metal table. He looked pretty good, all things considered. He wasn’t even handcuffed.
“Happy Father’s Day,” I said.
He stood up and gave me a hug. “Thanks, Noah,” he said.
In the room there was another deputy—a broad, jowly bear standing next to the door that led to the jail cells. I guess his job was to make sure I wasn’t smuggling a hacksaw to my father so that he could break out.
“It’s good they let you keep your own clothes,” I said to Dad. “I figured they’d make you put on one of those dorky uniforms.”
“I’m sure they will, sooner or later.” He shrugged. “You doing okay?”
“How come you won’t let Mom bail you out?” I asked.
“Because it’s important for me to be here right now.”
“Important how? She says you’ll lose your job if you stay locked up.”
“She’s probably right,” my dad admitted.
He’d been driving a taxi for the past year and a half. Before that he was a fishing guide—a good one, too, until the Coast Guard took away his captain’s license.
He said, “Noah, it’s not like I robbed a bank or something.”
“I know, Dad.”
“Did you go see what I did?”
“Not yet,” I said.
He gave me a wink. “It’s impressive.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
He was in a surprisingly good mood. I’d never been to a jail before, though honestly it wasn’t much of a jail. Two holding cells, my dad told me. The main county lockup was miles away in Key West.
“Mom wants to know if she should call the lawyer,” I said.
“I suppose.”
“The same one from last time? She wasn’t sure.”
“Yeah, he’s all right,” my father said.
His clothes were rumpled and he looked tired, but he said the food was decent and the police were treating him fine.
“Dad, what if you just said you’re sorry and offered to pay for what you did?”
“But I’m not sorry for what I did, Noah. The only thing I’m sorry about is that you’ve got to see me locked up like an ax murderer.”
The other times my dad had gotten in trouble, they wouldn’t let me come to the jail because I was too young.
“I’m not a common criminal.” Dad reached across and put a hand on my arm. “I know right from wrong. Good from