Sick Puppy by Carl Hiassen

Author:Carl Hiassen [Hiassen, Carl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller_mystery

"This is all your fault," said Robert Clapley.

"I beg your pardon."

"You're the one who gave me that shit."

"In the first place," said Palmer Stoat, "it was for youto use, not the girls. That's my understanding of powdered rhinoceros horn, Bob. It's a male stimulant. In the second place, only a certifiable moron would smoke the stuff – you mix it in your drink. You know, like NutraSweet?"

They were in the doorway of the master bedroom at Clapley's Palm Beach condominium, which reeked of garlic and hashish and stale sweat. The place was a wreck. The mirror hung crooked and cracked, and the king-sized mattress lay half on the floor; the silk bed-sheets were knotted in a sticky-looking heap. Above the headboard, the walls were marked with greasy partial imprints of hands and feet and buttocks.

"Fucking olive oil," Robert Clapley growled. "And I meanfucking olive oil."

"What else they were taking," Stoat asked, "besides the rhino powder?"

"Hash, ecstasy, God knows what – trust me, you'd need a moon suit to go in their bathroom." Clapley laughed mirthlessly. "Some asshole they met at the spa sent up some Quaaludes. When's the last time you ever sawan actual Quaalude, Palmer? You can't find that shit in a pharmaceutical museum."

The men moved to the bay window that overlooked the sundeck, where Katya and Tish floated toe-to-toe in the Jacuzzi, with their eyes closed. Today they did not look much like Barbie dolls. They looked like whored-up junkies. In fact they were so blotched and bloated and unappetizing that Palmer Stoat almost felt sorry for Robert Clapley – almost, but not quite. This was, after all, the same prick who'd called him a turd fondler; the same prick who'd threatened him and brought that psycho Porcupine Head into his home. Therefore it was impossible for Stoat to be wholly sympathetic to Clapley's predicament.

"Where does it stand now. Bob? Between you and the twins."

"Limp is how it stands," Clapley said. Nervously he tightened the sash on his bathrobe. Stoat noticed a fresh scab on one earlobe, where once there had been a diamond stud.

"Here's the thing. The last couple days were wild, real carny stuff," said Clapley. "Truth is, the rhino horn didn't do a damn thing for me except ruin a perfectly good bourbon. But the girls, Palmer, they think it's some kind of supercharged jingle crack ... "

"But they were stoned, anyway."

"The point is," Clapley said, raising a hand, "the point is, they think it was the rhinoceros powder that gave 'em the big wet high. They believe,Palmer, and that's ninety percent of what dope is about: believing in it. And these are not – let me remind you, pardner – these are not the most sophisticated ladies you'll ever meet. They escape from a dull, cold, miserable place and end up in beautiful sunny South Florida, a.k.a. paradise. Everything's supposed to be new and exciting here. Everything's supposed to be better. Not just the weather but the drugs and the cock and the parties. The whole nine yards.

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