Flush - Carl Hiaasen [75]
I said sure—and braced for one of his rants.
“You know how much Dusty Muleman got fined for dumping his holding tank? For fouling nature with that awful crap? Guess what his punishment was!” My father was trembling with fury. “Ten thousand lousy dollars! Ten grand—that’s what he makes in one stinking night off that casino operation. It’s a joke, son. It’s chump change to a rich maggot like that!”
“Dad, take it easy—”
“No, you need to hear this. You need to know.” He hunched forward, eyes blazing. “Last year a few young hot-shots from the federal prosecutor’s office in Miami drove down here for a private bachelor party on the Coral Queen. You know what a bachelor party is, right?”
“No, but I’ll be glad to do some research.” I was trying to lighten the mood. “Yes, Dad, I know what a bachelor party is.”
“Don’t be a smartass, son. Just listen and learn. The party gets a little out of control, okay? On the boat there are some … well, let’s be nice and call them ‘dancers.’ Exotic-type dancers—”
“I get the idea, Dad.”
“Anyway, Dusty takes out a camera and he snaps some pictures. Now, these aren’t the sort of pictures that a person would necessarily want to frame and hang on the living-room wall—”
“Hold on,” I said. “You’re telling me that Dusty Muleman blackmailed the government’s lawyers?”
“Let’s say he didn’t hesitate to tell their boss what happened that night—and what was on that roll of film,” Dad said, “which I’m sure Dusty has locked away in a vault somewhere. Anyway, all of a sudden the feds are looking to cut a deal and close the case.”
“For a fine of ten thousand bucks.”
“It would’ve been even less, if it weren’t for Lice Peeking,” my father said. “He showed up one day at the Coast Guard station and gave a secret statement, testifying about what he saw when he used to work on the casino boat. He swore that Dusty ordered the crew to flush the holding tank whenever it got full, as long as nobody was around to see.”
I smiled to myself. That was pure Shelly—forcing Lice Peeking to step up and tell what he knew. It was obviously part of the price he had to pay if he wanted to be her boyfriend again.
“So Dusty agreed to cough up the ten grand,” Dad went on, “and he promised never, ever again to flush into the basin.”
“And they believed him? After all this?” I said. It was incredible.
“Oh, and dig this. To show how much he cares about the ocean, he offers to throw a big fund-raising benefit for the Save the Reef Foundation on the Coral Queen.” Dad chuckled bitterly. “It would be funny if only it were a movie and not real life.”
Now I understood why he’d slugged the doors. It was the surest way to stop himself from doing the same thing to Dusty Muleman.
“What happened to Luno?” I asked.
“He’s back in Morocco, probably living the high life,” my father said. “Dusty paid him off and put him on a jet, in case the feds went looking for him.”
“How’d you find this stuff out?”
“Shelly told me,” he said. “She’s slick. Dusty still hasn’t got a clue that she was in on your sting.”
Dad was thirsty, so I brought him some water and tipped the glass to his lips. He said that six of his ten knuckles had been fractured and that the doctors weren’t sure when the casts could come off.
“Until then, I guess I’m out of action,” he said dejectedly, “unless I learn how to steer a boat with my feet.”
“But you’re still getting back your captain’s license, right?”
“Absolutely, Noah. There’s no law against punching out your own house.”
We heard Mom’s car rolling into the driveway.
“Why don’t you let me be the one to tell Abbey all this,” I suggested.
“Good idea,” Dad said, “but be sure to leave out the part about the dancers.”
That night I was jolted awake by wailing sirens, one after another. I figured there was a bad wreck somewhere on the highway. The clock by my bed said 4:20.
With all the noise, it took me a while to go back to sleep. The next thing I recall, it was daylight and Abbey was shaking