SKIN TIGHT by Carl Hiaasen

“No, I wasn’t.” Another lie.

He had been thinking of Maggie Gonzalez, and how he should have killed her two months ago.

The next day at noon, George Graveline arrived at the Whispering. Palms surgery clinic and demanded to see his brother, said it was an emergency. When Rudy heard the story, he agreed.

The two men were talking in hushed, worried tones when Chemo showed up an hour later.

“So what’s the big rush?” he said.

“Sit down,” Rudy Graveline told him.

Chemo was dressed in a tan safari outfit, the kind Jim Fowler wore on the Wild Kingdom television show.

Rudy said, “George, this is a friend of mine. He’s working for me on this matter.”

Chemo raised his eyebrows. “Happened to your thumb?” he said to George.

“Car door.” Rudy’s brother did not wish to share that painful detail of his encounter with Mick Stranahan.

George Graveline had a few questions of his own for the tall stranger, but he held them. Valiantly he tried not to stare at Chemo’s complexion, which George assessed as some tragic human strain of Dutch elm disease. What finally drew the tree trimmer’s attention away from Chemo’s face was the colorful Macy’s shopping bag in which Chemo concealed his newly extended left arm.

“Had an accident,” Chemo explained. “I’m only wearing this until I get a customized cover.” He pulled the shopping bag off the Weed Whacker. George Graveline recognized it immediately—the lightweight household model.

“Hey, that thing work?”

“You bet,” Chemo said. He probed under his arm until he found the toggle switch that jolted the Weed Whacker to life. It sounded like a blender without the top on.

George grinned and clapped his hands.

“That’s enough,” Rudy said sharply.

“No, watch,” said Chemo. He ambled to the corner of the office where Rudy kept a beautiful potted rubber plant.

“Oh no,” the doctor said, but it was too late. Gleefully Chemo chopped the rubber plant into slaw.

“Yeah!” said George Graveline.

Rudy leaned over and whispered, “Don’t encourage him. He’s a dangerous fellow.”

Basking in the attention, Chemo left the Weed Whacker unsheathed. He sat down next to the two men and said, “Let’s hear the big news.”

“Mick Stranahan visited George yesterday,” Rudy said. “Apparently the bastard’s not giving up.”

“What’d he say?”

“All kinds of crazy shit,” George said.

Rudy had warned his brother not to tell Chemo about Victoria Barletta or the wood chipper or Stranahan’s specific accusation about what had happened to the body.

Rudy twirled his eyeglasses and said: “I don’t understand why Stranahan is so damn hard to kill.”

“Least we know he’s out of the hospital,” Chemo said brightly. “I’ll get right on it.”

“Not just yet,” Rudy said. He turned to his brother. “George, could I speak to him alone, please?”

George Graveline nodded amiably at Chemo on his way out the door. “Listen, you ever need work,” he said, “I could use you and that, uh … “

“Prosthesis,” Chemo said. “Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

When they were alone, Rudy opened the top drawer of his desk and handed Chemo a large brown envelope. Inside the envelope were an eight-by-ten photograph, two thousand dollars in traveler’s checks, and an airline ticket. The person in the picture was a handsome, sharp-featured woman with brown eyes and brown hair; her name was printed in block letters on the back of the photograph. The plane ticket was round-trip, Miami to LaGuardia and back.

Chemo said, “Is this what I think it is?”

“Another job,” Dr. Rudy Graveline said.

“It’ll cost you.”

“I ‘m prepared for that.”

“Same as the Stranahan deal,” Chemo said.

“Twenty treatments? You don’t need twenty more treatments. Your face’ll be done in two months.”

“I’m not talking about dermabrasion,” Chemo said. “I’m talking about my ears.”

Rudy thought: Dear God, will it never end? “Your ears,” he said to Chemo, “are the last things that need surgical attention.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing. All I’m saying is, once we finish the dermabrasions you’ll look as good as new. I honestly don’t believe you’ll want to touch a thing, that’s how good your face is going to look.”

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