Carl Hiaasen – Native Tongue

They had hauled the remains to one of the parking lots, and roped a perimeter to keep out nosy customers. To conceal Orky’s corpse, which was as large as a boxcar, Charles Chelsea had rented an immense tent from an auto dealership in Homestead. The tent was brilliantly striped and decorated with the legend “SOUTH FLORIDA TOYOTA-THON.” A dozen or so electric fans had been requisitioned to circulate the air, which had grown heavy with the tang of dead whale. The staff veterinarian, a man named Kukor, was up to his knees in Orky’s abdomen when Joe Winder arrived.

“Joe, thank God,” said Chelsea, with an air of grave urgency. He led Winder to a corner and said, “Mr. X is here, to give you some idea.”

“Some idea of what?”

“Of how serious this is.”

Joe Winder said, “Charlie, I don’t mean to be disrespectful but I’m not sure why I’m needed.” Over his shoulder, he heard somebody crank up a chain saw.

“Joey, think! First the damn mango voles and now Orky. It’s gonna look like we’re neglecting the wildlife. And this whole killer-whale thing, it’s gotten very controversial. There was a piece in Newsweek three weeks ago.” Charles Chelsea was sweating extravagantly, and Winder assumed it had something to do with the presence of Francis X. Kingsbury.

Chelsea went on, “I know it’s unpleasant, Joe, but you can leave as soon as Doc Kukor gives us a cause of death.”

Joe Winder nodded. “How many words?”

“Three hundred. And I need it for the early news.”

“Fine, Charlie. Later you and I need to talk.”

Chelsea was peering through the flaps in the tent, making sure that no gawkers had sneaked past the security men.

“Listen to me,” Joe Winder said. “There’s some big trouble in this park. I got the shit kicked out of me last night because of it.”

For the first time Chelsea noticed the battered condition of Joe Winder’s face. He said, “What the hell happened? No, wait, not now. Not with Mr. X around. We’ll chat later, I promise.”

Winder grabbed his elbow. “I need to know everything about the dead man at the bridge.”

Chelsea shook free and said, “Later, Joe, for heaven’s sake. Let’s tackle the crisis at hand, shall we?”

Together they returned to the autopsy. Instead of concentrating on Orky’s entrails, Joe Winder scanned the small group of official observers: a state wildlife officer, taking notes; the tow-truck drivers who had hauled the whale corpse to the tent; three of Uncle Ely’s Elves, apparently recruited as extra manpower; and Francis X. Kingsbury himself, mouthing obscenities over the gruesome ceremony.

Nervously Chelsea directed Joe Winder to Kingsbury’s side and introduced him. “This is the fellow I told you about,” said the PR man.. “Our ace in the hole.”

Kingsbury chuckled darkly. “Blame us for this? Some fucking fish croaks, how can they blame us?”

Joe Winder shrugged. “Why not?” he said.

Cutting in quickly, Chelsea said: “Don’t worry, sir, it’ll die down. It’s just the crazy pro-animal types, that’s all.” He planted a moist hand on Winder’s shoulder. “Joe’s got the perfect touch for this.”

“Hope so,” said Francis X. Kingsbury. “Meanwhile, the stink, holy Christ! Don’t we have some Glade. I mean, this is fucking rank.”

“Right away,” said Chelsea, dashing off in search of air freshener.

Kingsbury gestured at the billowing tent, the murmuring onlookers, the husk of deceased behemoth. “You believe this shit?” he said to Joe Winder. “I’m a goddamn real-estate man is all. I don’t know from animals.”

“It’s a tricky business,” Winder agreed.

“Who’d believe it, I mean, looking at this thing.”

It was quite a strange scene, Joe Winder had to admit. “I’m sure they can find a new whale for the show.”

“This time mechanical,” Kingsbury said, jabbing a finger at Orky’s lifeless form. “No more real ones. Computerized, that’d be the way to go. That’s how Disney would handle it, eh?”

“Either that or a hologram,” said Joe Winder with a wink. “Think of all the money you’d save on whale food.”

Just then Dr. Kukor, the veterinarian, tripped on something and fell down inside Orky’s closet-sized stomach cavity. Two of Uncle Ely’s Elves bravely charged forward to help, hoisting the doctor to his feet.

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