Carl Hiaasen – Sick Puppy

The governor grinned. “Let me guess. Robert Clapley intends to build a public school on Shearwater Island.”

“I expect he’ll be receptive to the idea, yes.”

“But school buses are heavy vehicles, aren’t they?”

“Especially when they’re full, that’s absolutely right.” Palmer Stoat was pleased. There was hope yet for Dick Artemus. “You can’t have a bus loaded with innocent little kids going back and forth across the bay on a rickety old bridge.”

“Too dangerous,” the governor agreed.

“Risky as hell. And how can you put a price tag on a child’s safety?”

“You can’t,” said Dick Artemus.

Stoat’s voice rose melodramatically to the occasion. “Try telling Mom and Dad that little Jimmy doesn’t deserve a safe new bridge for his first school bus ride to Shearwater Elementary. See if they don’t think twenty-eight million dollars is a small price to pay… ”

The governor’s eyes twinkled. “You’re a stone genius, Palmer.”

“Not so fast. We’ve got lots of phone calls to make.”

The governor canted one eyebrow. “We?”

“Hell, Dick, you said you liked dogs.”

This is craziness, thought Dick Artemus, whacko world. That he was even considering such a scheme was a measure of how desperately he wanted to keep Palmer Stoat on his side.

Said the governor: “I assume Bob Clapley’s on board for all this nonsense.”

“Oh, I’ll handle Clapley,” Stoat said with the flick of a hand. “He doesn’t give a damn how he gets the bridge, as long as he gets it. Don’t you worry about Clapley.”

“Fine, then.”

“In fact, I’d keep my distance from him until we get this ironed out.”

“You’re the man, Palmer.”

They talked about basketball and hunting and women until they were done with dessert, homemade pecan pie topped with vanilla ice cream. Stoat was putting on his coat when the governor said: “Your kooky dognapper—how do you know he’s not fulla shit?”

“Because he sent me a goddamn ear, that’s how,” Stoat said. “An ear off a real dog.”

The governor was dumbfounded. “Yours?”

“I don’t know for sure. It’s very possible,” Stoat acknowledged, “but even if it isn’t Boodle’s ear, you see what I’m up against. He hacked the damn thing off a dog, some dog somewhere. That’s the point. An actual ear, Dick, which he then sent to me via Federal fucking Express. Just so you appreciate what we’re dealing with.”

“Yes. I get the picture.” The governor looked shaken. He was thinking: Again with the “we”?

11

Palmer took Desie to a seafood restaurant on Las Olas Boulevard, where she was so distracted by his table manners that she hardly ate a bite. He’d ordered two dozen oysters, slurping them with such sibilant exuberance that customers at nearby tables had fallen silent in disgust. Now Palmer was arranging the empty oyster shells around the rim of his plate, six identical piles of four. He was chattering away, seemingly unaware of his deviant tidying. Desie was as perplexed as she was embarrassed. Wasn’t this the same slob who had, on the drive to the restaurant, lobbed an empty coffee cup and three handfuls of junk mail out of the Range Rover? Desie didn’t know the clinical name of her husband’s disorder, but the symptoms were not subtle; anything he couldn’t eat, drink or reorganize got chucked.

“You’re not listening to me,” said Palmer Stoat.

“Sorry.”

“What’re you staring at?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something wrong with your scrod?”

“It’s fine, Palmer. Go on, now. Tell me what Dick said.”

“He said he’ll do it.”

“Are you serious?” Desie had assumed there was no chance.

“For me, he’ll do it,” said Stoat self-importantly. “He’ll kill the bridge.”

“That’s fantastic.”

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna cost me big-time. Bob Clapley’ll want my testicles on a key chain before this is over, and he won’t be alone. Twenty-eight million bucks buys an army of enemies, Des.”

She said, “What’s more important—another stupid golf resort or saving your dog’s life?”

“Fine. Fine. When do we get the big guy back?”

“When it makes the newspapers, about the bridge veto. That’s when the kidnapper will let Boodle go. He said he’ll be in touch in the meantime.”

“Wonderful.” Stoat signaled for the check. “Too bad you didn’t get his name.”

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