Flush - Carl Hiaasen [50]
“Ever since he heard Lice was gone, Billy’s been spendin’ lots of time at my bar,” Shelly said, “leaving ten-dollar tips on ten-dollar tabs.”
“Did he ask you out?” Abbey said.
“Only about two or three times a night.” Shelly tossed the plastic razor into a trash basket, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the dinette.
“I’ll handle Billy Babcock,” she said with a confident smile. “Now lemme see what you got.”
Abbey gave her the grocery bag containing the bottles of coloring gel. Shelly peeked inside and said, “Those are puny little suckers. Sure that’ll do the job?”
“Well, it’s concentrated—” I started to explain.
“I know it’s concentrated, Noah. I’ve baked a few treats in my time.”
Abbey told her that we’d bought out the store. “Thirty-four bottles. Is that okay?”
“No problem,” Shelly said. “I’ve got a purse big enough to carry a Honda Civic.” She held up one of the bottles. “Ever use this stuff before?”
Abbey and I shook our heads.
“Well, it doesn’t pour out like water. It’s more gooey, like sunblock, so you’ve really gotta squeeze,” Shelly said, demonstrating on a capped container. “Thirty-four bottles, that’s gonna take some time.”
I hadn’t thought about that when we’d picked out the gel. Neither had Abbey.
“See, it’s just me working solo behind the bar,” said Shelly, “and Dusty doesn’t like his customers to go thirsty. I only get two fifteen-minute potty breaks every night, which ain’t nearly enough time to flush all this stuff.”
“Does that mean you can’t help us?” I asked.
“Now don’t get your shorts in a knot,” she said. “I’ll tell Dusty I got sick off the shrimp salad—what’s he gonna do, make me go in a bucket?”
“Isn’t there a head near the bar?” I asked.
Abbey poked me. “A what?”
“A toilet,” I explained. “On ships they’re called heads.”
Shelly told us that the Coral Queen had three sets. “One fore, one aft, and one up in the wheelhouse, which is out of the question. It’s only for the casino manager and the crew.”
“But aren’t you part of the crew?” Abbey said.
“No, sweetie, I’m a bartender. They make me tinkle with the civilians.”
The more I heard, the more worried I got. The longer that Shelly was away from the bar, the greater the risk that Dusty or one of his goons would go searching for her. Other things could go wrong, too. What if the toilet she was using malfunctioned, or got clogged?
I decided on a slight change of plan.
“You’ll need some backup on board,” I said. “I’ll take half the dye and flush it from a different head.”
Shelly tossed her head. “Oh no you don’t, James Bond Jr. It’s too hairy.”
“Just find me a place to hide. There’s got to be somewhere safe.”
“Hello? What about me?” Abbey interjected.
Together Shelly and I turned and said: “No way!”
“You don’t bring me along, I’ll rat you out to Dad and Mom,” my sister declared. “I swear to God, Noah.”
She wasn’t joking, either. The veins in her scrawny neck were popping out, she was so ticked off.
“You couldn’t do this without me,” she said. “If it wasn’t for my fifty-one bucks, you wouldn’t have enough dye to color a birdbath!”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“This is gettin’ way too complicated,” Shelly said, slurping at her coffee.
“Look, we’re only going to get one chance at Dusty,” I said, “so we’d better do it right.”
Shelly shot me a doubtful look. “If you two brats get caught—”
“We won’t,” Abbey cut in.
“But if you do—”
“We’ll never mention your name,” I said. “That’s a promise.”
“Double promise,” said Abbey.
Shelly sighed. “I must be outta my mind.”
* * *
It was almost five-thirty when Mr. Shine dropped off my parents at the house.
They’d spent the afternoon at the courthouse, working out the final settlement of the Coral Queen case. Dusty Muleman had agreed not to prosecute my father for scuttling the casino boat, and in exchange Dad had promised to pay