Flush - Carl Hiaasen [16]
It had been a while since Lice Peeking had pedaled a bike, and he was wheezing by the time we got to the house. He seemed shocked that there was no beer in the refrigerator, but he settled for a Diet Coke. We went out back to see Dad’s skiff, and Lice Peeking made up his mind right away. It was a cool-looking boat.
“We definitely got us a deal,” he said. “I’ll be back with Shelly and the Jeep to pick it up—say tomorrow ‘round noon?”
“Hold on,” I said. “It’s not free.”
Lice Peeking sniffed. “Chill out, junior, I know that.”
“My dad wants you to sign a statement telling what you saw when you worked on the Coral Queen. You know, about Mr. Muleman making them empty the dirty holding tank into the water.”
“Sure, no sweat,” Lice Peeking said.
“And anything else illegal you know about. Like, if they’re dumping garbage or oil, too. You need to write it all down.”
“You bet.” He was walking back and forth, admiring the skiff from different angles. “Now, the trailer’s included, right?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Could you please bring the statement when you come get the boat?”
Lice Peeking made a face and looked down at me. “You want it tomorrow? Seriously?”
“Yes, sir. And Dad says it’s got to be signed and witnessed,” I told him. “That’s the deal.”
“Geez, you’re quite the young hardass, ain’t ya?”
“No, sir,” I said. “My father’s in jail and I want to help him out. That’s all.”
On the way back to the trailer court we passed Jasper Muleman Jr. and Bull pushing a wheelbarrow down the bike path. It was obviously a strain, and as we rode past I saw why. Balanced upside down in the wheelbarrow was the mud-splattered outboard motor from the johnboat that had sunk in Snake Creek. The engine’s propeller was dented and caked with greenish crud.
Jasper Jr. called out something nasty as we rode by, but I was surprised when Lice Peeking braked the bicycle and spun around. I told him to forget about it, just keep going, but he was mad. He pedaled straight up to Jasper Jr. and Bull, blocking their path.
“What was that you just said, boy?” Lice Peeking demanded.
“I wasn’t talkin’ to you,” Jasper Jr. mumbled.
“He was talking to me. Honest,” I said to Lice Peeking. I didn’t want any trouble right there on the main highway, where everybody could see us.
But Lice Peeking didn’t let up.
“Sounds like you got your daddy’s potty mouth,” he said to Jasper Jr. “Keep it up, you’ll need a whole new setta choppers before you’re eighteen.”
Bull said, “Come on, Lice, he didn’t mean nothin’. That’s the truth.”
“Shut up, Bull,” said Lice Peeking. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it stung you on the butt. Now, Jasper, how ‘bout you apologize to me and my friend?”
I could have gone my whole entire life without Lice Peeking calling me his “friend.” On the inside I was cringing.
Jasper Jr. shot me a vicious glare. Then he turned sulky and looked down at his feet.
“I’m waitin’, boy,” said Lice Peeking.
“I’ll ’polgize to you,” Jasper Jr. said finally, “but not to him.”
He jerked his grimy chin toward me.
Bull blurted, “Underwood’s old man sunk Jasper’s pappy’s boat!”
“Like I care,” Lice Peeking said.
He placed one boot on the rim of the wheelbarrow and gave a push. It turned over sideways, toppling the outboard motor with a crunch onto the hard asphalt. A gush of oily gray fluid spilled from the cracked cowling.
Bull groaned. Jasper Jr.’s jaw fell open.
“Don’t call people names,” Lice Peeking said. “It ain’t polite.”
Then we rode away.
That night, after dinner, Mom put on a CD by a singer named Sheryl Crow. One of the songs was called “My Favorite Mistake,” and my mother liked to joke that she could have written it herself—about my dad.
This time, though, she didn’t smile when the song came on.
I was going to tell her about Dad doing that interview with Channel 10, but I decided to wait until she was in a better mood. I didn’t tell my sister, either, because she’d get ticked off and start throwing stuff around her room. Abbey has a hot temper.
Around ten-fifteen Mom turned off the stereo, gave me a hug, and went off to bed. I was pretty