Carl Hiaasen – Double Whammy

Thomas Curl watched intently as Catherine wrapped herself twice around in the blanket and sat down at the head of her bed.

“You got the nicest tits,” he said.

“Bet you say that to all your kidnap victims.”

“I think I might like to poke you.”

“Some other night,” said Catherine.

Slowly, like a sleepy chameleon, Thomas Curl closed his puffy eyes by degrees. His head drooped to one side, and would have drooped even more except that his temple came to rest on the muzzle of the pistol. For a moment Catherine was sure she’d be rinsing brains out of her hair, but abruptly Thomas Curl woke up. He uncocked the gun and slid it into his belt. With his dog arm he motioned to the telephone on the nightstand. “Call your doctor husband,” he said. “Tell him everything’s peachy.”

Catherine dialed the number of the hotel in Montreal, but James was not in his room. She hung up.

“I’ll try later,” she said.

Unsteadily Thomas Curl made his way to the bed. The stench from the dead dog head was overpowering.

“Can we open a window?” Catherine asked.

“Lie down.”

“What for?”

With his good arm he flattened her on the bed. Using torn strips of bed linen, he tied her to the mattress. Catherine was impressed by the strength of the knots, considering his limited dexterity.

Thomas Curl unplugged the phone and tucked it under his right arm. “Don’t try nuthin’ funny,” he said to Catherine.

“Are you leaving?”

“Lucas has to go for a walk.”

Catherine nodded.

“I’m taking the phone,” said Curl.

“Could you pick up some food?” she asked. “I’m starving.”

Thomas Curl threw R. J. Decker’s coat over his shoulders. “Burger King’ll have to do,” he said.

“Wendy’s has a salad bar,” Catherine suggested.

“All right,” Curl said, “Wendy’s.”

He wasn’t very hungry. He picked at some french fries while Catherine ate her salad and sipped a Diet Coke. Curl had had so much trouble untying her that he’d just cut the linen with a pocket-knife.

“Did Lucas enjoy his walk?” she said.

“He was a good boy,” Curl said, patting the dog head. “A good boy for daddy.”

He put the phone back in the wall and told Catherine to try Montreal again. This time James answered.

“How’s the convention?” Catherine said. “Lots of laughs?”

Thomas Curl moved close to her on the bed and took out the gun, as a reminder.

Catherine said to James: “Just so you won’t worry, I’m going up to my sister’s in Boca for a few days. In case you called home and I wasn’t there.” They talked for a few minutes about the weather and the encouraging advance orders for the electric vibrating chiropractic couch, and then Catherine said good-bye.

“That was good,” Thomas Curl said, munching a cold french fry. “You like him as much as Decker?”

“James is a sweetheart,” Catherine said. “If it’s money you’re after, he’d pay anything to get me back.”

“It’s not money I’m after.”

“I know,” she said.

“So now he won’t be worried, your doctor won’t? When you’re not home?”

“No, he’s having a ball,” Catherine said. “He got interviewed for Vertebrae Today.”

Curl burped.

“A chiropractic magazine,” Catherine explained. She herself was not overwhelmed with excitement.

The phone rang. Catherine started to reach for it, but Curl thwacked her arm with the butt of the gun. When he answered, a man’s voice said: “It’s me. Decker.”

“You here yet?”

“On the way,” Decker said. He was at a service plaza in Fort Pierce, gassing up Al Garcia’s car.

“You ready to trade?”

“Absolutely,” Decker said. “How’s Mrs. Gomez?”

Curl put the receiver to Catherine’s cheek. “Tell him you’re fine,” he said.

“R.J., I’m fine.”

“Catherine, I’m sorry about this.”

“It’s okay—”

Curl snatched the phone back and said: “This is the way we’re going to do it: a straight-up trade.”

“Fair enough, but I choose the place.”

“Fuck you, bubba.”

“It’s the only way, Tom. It’s the only way I can make sure the lady walks free.”

Curl rubbed his brow. He wanted to stand firm, but his mind could not assemble an argument. Every thought that entered his head seemed to sizzle and burn up in the fever. As Decker instructed him when and where to go, Thomas Curl repeated everything aloud in a thick, disconnected voice. Luckily Catherine jotted the directions on a Holiday Inn notepad, because Curl forgot everything the instant he hung up.

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