SKIN TIGHT by Carl Hiaasen

“What did the women look like?’ Stranahan asked.

“One, I couldn’t tell. Her face was all busted up, cuts and bruises and Band-Aids. He must’ve beat the hell out of her for something. The other was a brunette, good-looking, on the thin side. Not humongous titties but nice pointy ones.”

Stranahan couldn’t decide whether it was Freddie or the music that was aggravating his headache. “The thin one—was she wearing blue jeans?”

Freddie said he didn’t remember.

“Did they say anything?”

“Nope, not a word.”

“Did he have a gun?”

Freddie laughed again. “Man, he doesn’t need a gun. He has that whirly thing on his arm.” Freddie told Stranahan what the thing was and how the man known as Chemo would use it.

“You’re kidding.”

“Like hell,” said Freddie. “Guy was the best goddamn bouncer I ever had.”

Stranahan handed the club owner a fifty-dollar bill and the phone number of the bait shop at the marina. “This is in case he comes back. You call me before you call the cops.”

Freddie pocketed the money. Reflectively he said: “Freak like that with two broads, man, it just proves there’s no God.”

“We’ll see,” said Stranahan.

28

Chemo’s first instinct was to haul ass with the doctor’s cash, which was more than he would see in a couple of Amish lifetimes. Forget about the Stranahan hit, just blow town. Maggie Gonzalez told him, don’t be such a small-timer, remember what we’ve got here: A surgeon on the hook. A money machine, for God’s sake. Maggie assured him that a million, even two million, was do-able. There wasn’t anything that Rudy Graveline wouldn’t give to save his medical license.

Goosing the Bonneville along Biscayne Boulevard, Chemo said, “What I’ve got now, I could get my face patched and still have enough for a year in Barbados. Maybe even get some real hair—those plug deals they stick in your scalp. I read where that’s what they did to Elton John.”

“Sure,” Maggie said. “I know some doctors who do hair.” She was trying to play Chemo the way she played all her men, but it wasn’t easy. Beyond his desire for a clear complexion, she had yet to discover what motivated him. While Chemo appreciated money, he hardly displayed the proper lust for it. As for sex, he expressed no interest whatsoever. Maggie chose to believe that he was deterred by her bruises and bandages; once the facelift had healed, her powers of seduction would return.

Then the only obstacle would be a logistical one: What would you do with the Weed Whacker under the sheets?

As Chemo pulled up to the Holiday Inn at 125th Street, Maggie said, “If it would make you feel better, we could move to a nicer hotel.”

“What would make me feel better,” Chemo said, “is for you to give me the keys to the suitcase.” He turned off the ignition and held out his right hand.

Maggie said, “You think I’m dumb enough to try and rip you off?”

“Yes,” said Chemo, reaching for her purse. “Plenty dumb enough.”

Christina Marks heard the door open and prayed it was the maid. It wasn’t.

The lights came on and Chemo loomed incuriously over the bed. He checked the knots at Christina’s wrists and ankles, while Maggie stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

After Chemo removed the towel from her mouth, Christina said, “What’s the matter with her?”

“She thinks I don’t trust her. She’s right.”

“For what it’s worth,” Christina said, “she already conned my boss out of a bundle.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Chemo sat on the corner of the bed, counting the cash that he had taken from Dr. Rudy Graveline’s pockets. Counting wasn’t easy with only one hand. Christina watched inquisitively. After he was finished, Chemo put five thousand in the suitcase with the rest of the haul; forty-two hundred went down the heels of his boots. He slid the suitcase under the bed.

“How original,” Christina said.

“Shut up.”

“Could you untie me, please? I have to pee.”

“Jesus H. Christ.”

“You want me to wet the bed?” she said. “Ruin all your cash?”

Chemo got Maggie out of the bathroom and made her help undo the knots. They had bound Christina to the bed frame with nylon clothesline. Once freed, she rubbed her wrists and sat up stiffly.

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