Carl Hiaasen – Naked Came The Manatee

“Sereno, security. Who’s in one-twenty?” The day guy’s voice said, “Why do you want to know?” I’m doing something wrong, Joe thought. I’m failing to communicate. “Listen, it’s important. The guy, there’s something about him isn’t right.” ‘ “Like what?”

“I think he’s using the Odyssey as a hideout.” “Is this the guy with the Steven Seagal hairpiece?” “You got it.” “Just a minute.” The twink was gone at least five minutes while Joe waited, trying to breathe through his mouth. Finally he came back on.

“His name’s Garcia.”

Franklin was working on the ceiling with a sponge mop; he would come down off his metal ladder and squeeze into a pail, then take the pail into the bathroom and dump it in the toilet. Marlis was scrubbing a wall with what looked like a big scouring pad, moving in time to the beat coming from the jam box, kind of spastic, Joe thought, but sexy all the same.

The two looked like they were dressed up in moon suits they’d made for Halloween: the white plastic coveralls, goggles, respiratory masks, covered head to toe. The smell of the chemicals they were using was even stronger now than the other smell. Joe got a whiff and started coughing as he asked Marlis what it was they cleaned with.

She said, “The green stuff for a lot of heavy, dried blood; the pink stuff when it isn’t too old and hard to get off.”

“Girl,” Franklin said, “your head keeps touching the wall and I see some hair sticking out.”

“I’ll fix it in a minute.”

Marlis had on rubber gloves that came up her arms. She said to Joe Sereno, “See these little specks here in the wall? They from the man’s skull, little tiny fragments of bone. Sometime I have to use pliers to pull them out. This dark stuff is the dude’s hair. See these other holes? They from the shotgun.” She funked around, doing steps to the music as she said to Franklin, “Coolio, for your pleasure.”

Franklin listened and said, “Ain’t Coolio.” Listened some more, said, “You got your Cools confused. It’s LL Cool J, no other, ’cause that’s ‘Hey Lover.’ ” He paused, looking past Marlis to a framed print on the wall. “Girl, is that like modern art on there or something else?”

Marlis went up to the picture for a close look and said, “It’s something else.”

Joe looked at it and said, “Oh, my God.”

He watched Marlis remove the print and drop it into a red bag. “Ain’t worth cleaning. Anything has body fluids, tissue, poo-poo, you know, anything biohazardous, goes in these bags. We give them to a company takes care of medical waste to get rid of.”

“You missed a speck there,” Franklin said, pointing at the wall.

“I’m still working on it, baby.” Lowering her voice, she said to Joe, “He don’t like to see me talking to other men.”

“Are you and him married?”

“You’d think so to hear him.”

“I was wondering, is there any money in cleanup work? You don’t mind my asking.”

“We quoted this job at fifteen hundred. Hey, how many people can you find to do it? Another reason it’s a good business, recessions don’t bother it none. This one here looks worse’n it is. Doesn’t smell too bad. You work where a body’s been decomposing awhile, now you talking about smell. Like old roadkill up close? You go home and take a shower, you have to wash out your nostrils good. The smell like sticks to the hairs in your nose.”

“What’s the worst one you ever had to clean up?”

“The worst one. Hmmmm.” She said, “You mean the very worst one? Like an advanced state of decomp has set in? The body’s in a dark, damp place and dung beetles have found it?”

Franklin said, “Girl?”

“I’m coming,” Marlis said. She got a scraper, like a big putty knife, from a box of tools and went back to work. She said to Joe, “It dries on here it’s hard to get off.”

“What is that?”

She was scraping at something crusted on there. “Little piece of what the dude used to use to think with. His brain, honey. He maybe should’ve thought better about coming here, huh? Two dudes die and nobody even knows who they are. Least it’s what I heard.” She looked over at Joe Sereno standing by the closet door, staring at the knob. “Don’t touch that, baby.”

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