“No, sweetie, I'm a bartender. They make me tinkle with the civilians.”
The more I heard, the more worried I got. The longer that Shelly was away from the bar, the greater the risk that Dusty or one of his goons would go searching for her. Other things could go wrong, too. What if the toilet she was using malfunctioned, or got clogged?
I decided on a slight change of plan.
“You'll need some backup on board,” I said. “I'll take half the dye and flush it from a different head.”
Shelly tossed her head. “Oh no you don't, James Bond Jr. It's too hairy.”
“Just find me a place to hide. There's got to be somewhere safe.”
“Hello? What about me?” Abbey interjected.
Together Shelly and I turned and said: “No way!”
“You don't bring me along, I'll rat you out to Dad and Mom,” my sister declared. “I swear to God, Noah.”
She wasn't joking, either. The veins in her scrawny neck were popping out, she was so ticked off.
“You couldn't do this without me,” she said. “If it wasn't for my fifty-one bucks, you wouldn't have enough dye to color a birdbath!”
I couldn't argue with that.
“This is gettin' way too complicated,” Shelly said, slurping at her coffee.
“Look, we're only going to get one chance at Dusty,” I said, “so we'd better do it right.”
Shelly shot me a doubtful look. “If you two brats get caught-”
“We won't,” Abbey cut in.
“But if you do-”
“We'll never mention your name,” I said. “That's a promise.”
“Double promise,” said Abbey.
Shelly sighed. “I must be outta my mind.”
It was almost five-thirty when Mr. Shine dropped off my parents at the house.
They'd spent the afternoon at the courthouse, working out the final settlement of the Coral Queen case. Dusty Muleman had agreed not to prosecute my father for scuttling the casino boat, and in exchange Dad had promised to pay back Dusty's insurance company for the cost of refloating the thing, cleaning it up, and fixing the diesels. The bill must have been super expensive because the judge gave my father five whole years to pay it off. He also made Dad swear not to say anything bad about Dusty on TV, in the newspapers, or anywhere in public.
“So much for the First Amendment,” my father griped as we sat down to dinner. “Might as well walk around with a cork in my mouth.”
“The important thing is, it's over,” Mom said. “Now maybe our lives can get back to normal.”
I didn't dare look at Abbey for fear of clueing my mother that we were up to something. Dad was too bummed out to notice.
“Everybody in the county thinks I'm crazy anyway,” he said sourly.
“Who cares what everybody thinks?” I said.
“And who cares if you're crazy,” Abbey piped up, “as long as it's a good crazy.”
She meant that as a compliment, and my father seemed to take it that way. “It's unholy what Dusty is doing, a crime against nature,” Dad went on. “Know what he deserves? He deserves to be-”
“Paine, that's enough,” my mother said sternly. “Someday he'll get exactly what he deserves. What goes around comes around.”
Dad snorted. “If only.”
“Mom's right,” Abbey said. “Dusty can't get away with this stuff forever.”
My sister played it perfectly straight. She's a slick little actress.
“Someday they're going to bust him cold. Don't worry,” she said.
Dad looked at her fondly and said, “Let's hope you're right.” But we could tell he didn't believe that Dusty Muleman would ever be caught.
My mother said, “Noah, we need you to stay home with Abbey tomorrow night.”
“What for?” I tried to sound annoyed but I was really excited. This was the golden chance that my sister and I needed.
“Your dad and I are going out for dinner and a movie,” Mom said.
“Woo-hoo, a hot date!” teased Abbey.
“We're celebrating your father's new job.”
“Oh yeah,” Dad said dryly. “My exciting new career, towing numskull tourists off the bonefish flats.”
“Well, doesn't it beat driving a cab?” I asked.
“True enough,” he admitted.
“I want you both in bed by eleven. Not a minute later,” Mom told us. “You hear me?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Double absolutely,” said Abbey. “Eleven sharp.”
Neither of us could look Mom in the eye. It felt lousy lying to her, but honestly we had no choice. Not if we hoped to catch Dusty Muleman red-handed.
Or fuchsia-handed, to be exact.
FIFTEEN
Mom and Dad left on their “hot date” at exactly a quarter to seven. The Coral Queen opened for business at eight, so Abbey and I didn't have a moment to spare.
We rode our bikes to Rado's house and jumped the wooden fence, which turned out to be a real bad idea. Rado and his parents were still vacationing in Colorado (which I knew), but they'd left Godzilla at home in the backyard (which I didn't know).
Godzilla isn't the world's smartest dog, but he's the biggest I've ever seen. Rado says he's “part rottweiler, part Newfoundland, and part grizzly bear.” He easily outweighed my sister and me put together, and he wasn't all that happy to see us.
“Good dog,” I said in the calmest voice I could fake.
“Nice try,” whispered Abbey, “but we're still gonna die.”
Godzilla had cornered us against the fence, and we didn't dare make a move. I was hoping the beast remembered me although it probably wouldn't matter, if the neighbors had forgotten to feed him. Abbey would be the appetizer and I'd be the main course.
“Here, boy,” I said, holding out my right hand.
“Are you crazy?” Abbey hissed.
“Dogs never forget the smell of a person they've met.”
“Says who?”
“Says the Animal Planet, that's who. They did a whole show on dogs' noses,” I said.
“Yeah, well, obviously you missed the episode on dogs' teeth.”
But Godzilla didn't chomp off my hand. He sniffed it suspiciously and nudged it with his moist snout. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't shaking.
“Noah, his tail's not wagging,” Abbey said under her breath.
“Thanks for the bulletin.”
“If he bites you, I'm biting him.”
“Easy, girl,” I said.
They say you can look into a dog's eyes and know whether he's friendly or not. Unfortunately, I couldn't see Godzilla's eyes because they were hidden beneath thick tangles of black Newfoundland hair. A pearly string of drool hung from his mouth, which meant he was either hot or hungry, or possibly both.
With my left hand I fished into my pants and took out a green apple that I'd brought along for a snack.
Abbey grunted. “Noah, you've got to be kidding. Dogs don't eat fruit!”
“It's the best I can do, unless you've got a sirloin steak in your backpack.” I held out the apple and said, “Here, boy. Yum!”
Godzilla cocked his anchor-sized head and let out a snort.
“It's a Granny Smith,” I said, as if he actually understood. “Go on and try it. It tastes good.”
“Yeah, if you're a squirrel,” my sister muttered.
But to our total amazement the huge dog opened his huge jaws and clamped down his huge fangs on the apple, which he firmly tugged from my trembling hand.
As Godzilla trotted away with his prize, I said to Abbey, “Check out his tail.”
It was wagging cheerfully.
Abbey and I hurried toward the canal, where Rado kept a blue dinghy tied to the seawall. His father had salvaged the little boat off a scuttled motor yacht and patched up the fiberglass as good as new. It wasn't more than ten feet long, but it was dry and sturdy, with high sides and a deep hull. Rado, Thom, and I often took it out on calm days to snorkel around the bridges.
When we climbed into the dinghy, I tossed Abbey one of the life vests. She insisted she didn't need it, but I told her we weren't going anywhere until she put it on.