Razor Girl by Carl Hiaasen

Author:Carl Hiaasen
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2016-09-05T16:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Yancy heard the Porsche coming from a mile away. When it stopped in front of his house, he stood at the doorway beckoning.

Deb’s bandage was gone though her beak was still scabby from the flaming e-cig. She had dressed low-key in a tailored dark pants suit and black flats. The lawyer boyfriend wore cream-colored slacks, a light blue golf shirt and a cranberry blazer. Yancy no longer had the energy to call him anything but Brock. For some reason he looked tenser than Deb.

The couple was under the impression their diamond engagement ring was still missing, which meant that the thugs who’d removed it from Yancy’s kitchen had pocketed it. He shouldn’t have been surprised, yet he was. He should have felt responsible, yet he didn’t. The stone would still be safe in his refrigerator if Richardson hadn’t sent the two Jersey boys.

Now the lawyer was bitterly recapping the discovery of tribal teeth on his property, and his travails with the pesky state archeologist. Yancy made a mental note to deliver a five-pound sack of stone crabs to his helpful dentist and also to “Dr. Whitmore,” his teacher/actor friend.

“They’re saying the excavation work might take years,” Richardson said, “and we don’t want to wait that long to build. Deb and I don’t.”

“That’s right,” Deb murmured, distracted by intimate articles of apparel scattered on the disemboweled sofa. Richardson noticed them, too.

“You have company?”

“She’s at the gun range,” Yancy said. “Practicing.” In truth Merry had gone to the drugstore for more gauze and sterile tape. Yancy’s swathed midsection was concealed by an XXL Florida Gators sweatshirt.

Richardson said, “Let’s cut to the chase. I want to buy your house, Mr. Yancy.”

“It’s not for sale. You can call me Andrew.”

“The offer is two-fifty.”

Yancy crowed at the insult.

“Take the money,” said Deb, “if you know what’s good for you.”

Richardson added: “We’re going to bulldoze this shitbox and put up something fabulous.”

Yancy was in a contemplative drift, possibly due to the medication. He said, “I’m curious—what on earth do you two see in each other?”

Deb’s eyes flared and she looked away. Her fiancé frowned.

Yancy slipped another pill under his tongue. “Unless you come to your senses, prepare for a future of restlessness, disappointment and betrayal. One morning you wake up praying you’re alone in bed, except you’re not. Lying beside you is someone with whom you’ve exhausted all avenues of conversation.”

The couple stood mute and rigid.

“Now’s the time to reevaluate your commitment, before it’s too late,” Yancy continued. “Besides ritually overspending on jewelry and clothes, what do you lovebirds really have in common? This ridiculous villa you want to build, it’s only a diversion from the brewing domestic shit storm. Clearly neither of you is enthralled by the other, or by this particular way of life. Brock thinks of the house as a foolproof real-estate investment. Deb, you think of it as a place to get away from Brock. Meanwhile the incompatibility question hangs—does it not?—like a toxic fog. My advice is to separate on good terms and bolt for the exit.

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