Skink--No Surrender by Carl Hiaasen

Author:Carl Hiaasen
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-375-87051-4
Publisher: Random House Children's
Published: 2014-09-22T16:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

A radio was playing. Country-western, which was not Malley’s favorite.

Nobody was visible on deck. As we drew closer I called her name. From the corner of my eye I saw the gar man pick up his rifle.

The houseboat was battered and grimy, the paint bleached flat by the sun. Once upon a time the boat had had a name, but the lettering on the transom had faded. The hull looked nicked and gouged. Bolted to the stern was a big outboard engine that was probably older than me. Part of the Evinrude decal had peeled off so that only the “rude” was left.

Laid out on the side rails were my cousin’s yellow swimsuit, some T-shirts, four white socks, a men’s pair of blue jeans and the gray hoodie that Malley had been wearing the night her mother dropped her at the Orlando airport. I remembered the hoodie from the security video that Detective Trujillo had showed me.

The houseboat’s windows were open, but they’d been covered from the inside with bed sheets. Maybe the sheets were meant to keep out mosquitoes, or maybe they were put there to prevent anyone from seeing inside.

Nickel eased the garfish barge alongside. He tied off with a greasy-looking rope. Balancing on the gunwale, he jabbed the barrel of his .22 through one of the houseboat’s windows and pulled down the sheet. He took a long look inside before announcing: “Ain’t nobody home.”

In a way, I was relieved. My fear was finding Malley tied up and gagged.

“What kinda trouble you think your cousin’s got into?” the gar man asked.

“I’m not sure yet.”

My guess was that Online Talbo had taken Malley ashore to find something to eat. It was only a short swim. He’d probably left the music playing to make people think the boat was occupied, so they wouldn’t try to sneak on board and swipe anything.

“Those her clothes hung up to dry?” Nickel said.

“Some of them, yeah.”

“Then she ain’t dead, is my thought. They’ll be back.”

“I’ll wait.” Nervously I climbed aboard. It must have been a pitiful sight, me and my nine-iron, because Nickel said, “You sure ’bout this, boy?”

“Definitely.” I wasn’t going back without Malley, no way. I flicked the eighteen-button rattle hanging from my neck and said, “It’s my good-luck charm.”

“Didn’t help the snake too much, did it?”

Thanks, I thought, for the vote of confidence.

“Look, I cain’t stay and watch over you.”

“No problem,” I told him. “We made a deal. You did your part.”

“They’s a man in Bonifay gonna pay me two hundred bucks for these fish. Maybe two ten. He grinds ’em up to fertilize his watermelon patches, eighty acres total. But he don’t like to wait.”

He glanced down at his .22, and for a second I thought he might offer it to me. If he had, I would’ve said no thanks. The only thing I’ve ever aimed a rifle at was a Dr. Pepper can, and it took five tries to put a hole through it. I was target-shooting out near the landfill with Mitch, a friend of mine who’s in tenth grade.

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