Carl Hiaasen – Native Tongue

Jim Tile said, “I’m worried about you.”

Skink grinned. “That’s a good one.”

“Maybe I should haul you in after all.”

“Wouldn’t stick. No one saw me do it, and no one found the gun. Hell, they wouldn’t even hold me overnight.”

“Yeah, they would,” Jim Tile said, “on my word.”

Skink’s smile went away.

The trooper said, “The charge wouldn’t stick, that’s true. But I could take you out of circulation for a month or two. Let the situation simmer down.”

“Why?” Skink demanded. “You know I’m right. You know what I’m doing is right.”

“Not shooting rental cars.”

“A lapse of judgment,” Skink admitted. “I said I was sorry, for God’s sake.”

Jim Tile put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know you think it’s the right thing, and the cause is good. But I’m afraid you’re gonna lose.”

“Maybe not,” Skink said. “I think the Mojo’s rising.”

The trooper always got lost when Skink started quoting old rock-and-roll songs; someday he was going to sit Skink’s shiny ass down and make him listen to Aretha. Put some soul in his system. Jim Tile said, “I’ve got a life, too. Can’t spend the rest of it looking out for you.”

Skink sagged against the car door. “Jim, they’re paving the goddamn island.”

“Not the whole thing—”

“But this is how it begins,” Skink said. “Jesus Christ, you ought to know. This is how it begins!”

There was no point in pushing it. The state had bought up nearly all North Key Largo for preservation; the Amazing Kingdom and the Falcon Trace property were essentially all that remained in private hands. Still, Skink was not celebrating.

Jim Tile said, “This guy you recruited—”

“I didn’t recruit him.”

“Whatever. He’s in it, that’s the main thing.”

“Apparently so,” Skink said. “Apparently he’s serious.”

“So locking you up won’t do any good, will it? Not with him still out there.” The trooper put on his hat and adjusted it out of habit. In the darkness of the car, Skink couldn’t read the expression on his friend’s face. Jim Tile said, “Promise me one thing, all right? Talk some sense to the boy. He’s new at it, Governor, and he could get hurt. That stunt with the bulldozers, it’s not cool.”

“I know,” said Skink, “but it’s got a certain flair.”

“Listen to me,” Jim Tile said sternly. “Already he’s got some serious people after his ass, you understand? There’s things I can help with and things I can’t.”

Skink nodded. “I’ll talk to him, I promise. And thanks.”

Then he was gone. Jim Tile reached across to shut the door and his arm instantly was enveloped by an influx of mosquitoes. Frenzied humming filled the car.

He stomped the accelerator and the big Crown Victoria sprayed a fusillade of gravel into the mangroves. Westbound at a hundred fifteen miles an hour, the trooper rolled down the windows to let the wind suck the bugs from the car.

“Two of them.” His words were swallowed in the roar of the open night. “Now I got two of the crazy bastards.”

TWENTY-ONE

Carrie Lanier’s place was furnished as exquisitely as any mobile home. It had a microwave, an electric can opener, a stove, a nineteen-inch color TV, two paddle fans and a Naugahyde convertible sofa where Joe Winder slept. But there was no music, so on his third day as a fugitive Winder borrowed Carrie’s car and went back to the apartment to retrieve his stereo system and rock tapes. He was not totally surprised to find that his place had been broken, entered and ransacked; judging by the viciousness of the search, Pedro Luz was the likely intruder. The inventory of losses included the portable television, three champagne glasses, a tape recorder, the plumbing fixtures, the mattress, a small Matisse print and the toaster. One of Nina’s pink bras, which she had forgotten, had been desecrated ominously with cigarette burns, and hung from a Tiffany lamp. Also, the freshwater aquarium had been shattered, and the twin Siamese fighting fish had been killed. It appeared to Joe Winder that their heads were pinched off.

The stereo tuner and tape deck escaped harm, though the turntable was in pieces. A pair of hedge clippers protruded from one of the speakers; the other, fortunately, was undamaged.

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