Flush - Carl Hiaasen [66]
“Unbelievable!” she exploded finally. “How can a person do something like that! A father, for heaven’s sake! All the kids on the island go swimming here—and he’s poisoning the place with all this … this…”
“Ca-ca?” said Abbey.
“Whatever,” my mother fumed. “The man ought to be in jail. He’s a menace to the public health.”
Dad has a long list of people that he says should be locked up for one thing or another, but this was the first time I’d ever heard Mom say that about anybody.
My grandfather also was angered by what he saw, although he tried not to show it. “Jail’s too good for the lowlife who did this,” he said evenly, “but it’s a start.”
Abbey and I looked uneasily at each other. We’d seen Grandpa Bobby in action before.
“Paine, you ‘member that big muttonfish I caught here?” he asked my father. “The fifteen-pounder?”
“You bet I remember. Only it was fourteen pounds,” Dad said. “Fourteen even.”
“Sure? Anyways, it was a helluva catch,” said Grandpa Bobby. “That was back before they dropped fish traps all over the reefs. Back before certain creeps started dumping their crapola in the sea.”
There was a rumbly edge to his voice, like he was struggling to keep his temper under control.
Mom said, “Don’t worry, Pop. Someday Dusty Muleman will get exactly what he deserves. People like him always do.”
This was her famous what-goes-around-comes-around theory. My grandfather obviously didn’t buy it, although he was too polite to say so. He picked up a branch of driftwood and swept it back and forth through the stained water.
“Somebody probably oughta notify the Coast Guard, while the tide’s right,” he said.
I didn’t mention the phone call I’d made earlier at the house. As if on cue, a sound like a rolling drumbeat rose from the north.
Abbey said, “Listen, guys! You hear that?”
Thwock-a-thwock-a-thwock …
We all turned and looked up.
“Over there!” said Dad. He has eyes like an osprey; the rest of us couldn’t see a thing.
After a while my grandfather spotted it, too, and pointed where to look. At first it was just a small fuzzy dot in the wide open blueness of the sky. But as the dot grew larger, it turned blaze-orange and took on the shape of a helicopter.
The drumbeat of the rotors became a loud, high-pitched whine as the chopper circled lower. On its belly we could plainly read the words COAST GUARD. A side door rolled open, and a man in a dark jumpsuit leaned out. He was wearing a white crash helmet and aiming a camera down at the water.
Taking video of our amazing fuchsia river.
We waved at the Coast Guard man, but he was too busy to wave back. The helicopter gradually began to move, following the colorful current of evidence all the way up the beach, all the way to the marina where the Coral Queen was moored. There the chopper hovered for a long, long time.
Dusty Muleman was officially busted.
Abbey whooped and Grandpa Bobby clapped and I pumped a fist in the air. We headed home feeling hopeful and happy—though Dad and Mom weren’t quite happy enough to forget about me and Abbey sneaking out the night before.
“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