Flush - Carl Hiaasen [25]
After she and Abbey left, I sat down and watched the tape. My father was in rare form. He looked straight into the camera and declared: “I sunk the Coral Queen as an act of civil disobedience.” He said he was protesting the destruction of the oceans and rivers by “ruthless greedheads.”
The jailhouse jumpsuit didn’t look half bad on television, I had to admit. Dad had also combed his hair and put on his wire-rimmed glasses, so he came off more like a college professor than a boat vandal. This time he had the good sense not to compare himself to Nelson Mandela (or if he did, the TV people were nice enough to cut that part out). My father ended the interview by saying he intended to stay locked behind bars until the law dealt squarely with Dusty Muleman.
Next to show up on camera was a rodent-faced man who identified himself as Dusty’s attorney. In a righteous tone he described his client as an experienced boat captain, respected businessman, and “pillar of the community.” He said that Dusty would never purposely contaminate the waters where his own son played. The lawyer concluded by calling my father a “mentally unbalanced individual,” and challenged him to prove his “reckless and slanderous allegations.”
As I was rewinding the tape, somebody knocked on the front door. It was Mr. Shine, Dad’s lawyer. For once he didn’t look like he was on his way to a funeral.
“Hello there, Noah,” he said.
“Mom’s not here.”
“Oh. I should’ve called first, but I just received some important news.”
“About Dad? What is it?”
Mr. Shine sucked air through his teeth. “Sorry. I’m obliged to tell your mother first.”
“Is it bad news?” I asked.
“No, I should think not.”
“Then tell me. Please?”
“I wish I could,” Mr. Shine said.
Thanks a bunch, I thought. Couldn’t he even give me a hint?
“Did you see him on TV last night?” I asked.
Mr. Shine nodded with a sickly expression. “I strongly advised your father against doing that interview.”
“But he’s right, you know—about Dusty Muleman flushing the holding tank into the basin. Everything Dad said was true.”
“I’m sure he thought so at the time.”
“It’s all going to come out sooner or later. You just wait.”
Mr. Shine plainly didn’t believe me. “Please tell your mother that I’ll call later,” he said, and turned to leave.
“Can I ask one more question?”
“Of course, Noah.”
“Is my mom going to divorce my dad?”
Mr. Shine looked like he’d swallowed a bad clam. “What?” he croaked. “Where in the world did you get that idea?”
“Well, is she?”
He licked nervously at his lips. “Noah, quite frankly, I’m not comfortable with this conversation.”
“Hey, I’m not comfortable with the idea of Mom and Dad splitting up,” I said, “but Abbey and I have a right to know. Don’t we?”
By now Mr. Shine was backing away from the door. “You should speak directly with your parents about these concerns,” he said, “and in the meantime, don’t jump to conclusions….”
For an older guy he could move pretty fast. In a matter of moments he had hustled to his car and sped away.
I went back inside and replayed the videotape of Dad’s interview. I kept wondering what Mr. Shine had come to tell my mother, although I had a feeling that his definition of good news might be different from mine.
Later I climbed up on the roof to readjust the TV dish, or try. I wiggled the darn thing around so that it was aimed upward at the sky, although I had no idea exactly where the satellites were orbiting. It wouldn’t have surprised me to start getting MTV from Kyrgyzstan.
I unhooked the incriminating bucktail jig from the dish and started scaling down the rain gutter. Just then I heard honking, and a green Jeep Cherokee wheeled into our driveway. Shelly poked her blond head out the window and hollered my name.
I dropped to the ground and went to see what she wanted.
“Hop in,” she told me, “and hurry it up. I’m not gettin’ any younger.”
I got in because I was scared to say no. The thought of Shelly chasing me down and dragging