Abbey and I looked at each other with happy relief.
“So what’s the big plan?” Shelly asked. “And how does your daddy fit in?”
“He doesn’t fit in. We’re not telling him about it,” Abbey replied.
Shelly opened one bloodshot eye and studied us. “That’s probably a darn good idea,” she said.
“But he’ll still get blamed for everything—if we get caught,” I pointed out. “That’s why we need you.”
Shelly sighed. “So let’s hear it.”
When we told her our plan, she didn’t laugh or make fun. She just lay there, thinking.
“Well?” Abbey said impatiently.
Shelly levered herself upright, balancing the ice pack on her forehead. “This idea of yours is so whacked,” she said, “it just might work.”
“Does that mean you’ll help us?”
“And all I gotta do is flush?” she asked. “That’s it?”
“That’s all you’ve got to do,” I said. “Flush, and flush often.”
* * *
The next thing that happened was all my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.
Abbey and I were riding home slowly along the Old Highway, talking about the Coral Queen, when somebody rushed up on us from behind. Before I could wheel around, Jasper Muleman Jr. grabbed my bike and Bull grabbed Abbey’s, and together they dragged us backward into a stand of Australian pines.
Not again, I thought in a panic. It wasn’t me I was frightened for—it was my sister.
No sooner had Jasper Jr. knocked me to the ground than I heard Bull cut loose with a spine-chilling wail. Instantly I knew what had happened: He’d been too careless with Abbey.
“Make her let go!” Jasper Jr. hollered at me.
“I can’t.”
Jasper Jr. jerked me to my feet. “Underwood, you don’t make her let go of Bull, I’ll snap you like a twig.”
Bull kept on wailing. Abbey had sunk her teeth into his left earlobe and was hanging on like a starved alligator. Bull was at least a foot taller than her, so he had to be careful not to pull away or else he might lose the entire ear. Whenever he moved even a little bit, his wailing got louder. The boy was in serious pain.
“Make her stop!” Jasper Jr. demanded. “He’s bleeding, man, can’t you see?”
“Abbey, is Bull really bleeding?” I asked.
She nodded, causing Bull to crank up the volume. It was pitiful to hear.
Jasper Jr. started throttling me by the shoulders. “Make her quit, Underwood, make her stop!”
“One condition,” I said. “You guys let her go free.”
Jasper Jr. sneered his famous sneer. “How ‘bout this for a condition, dorkbrain? Your sister quits chewin’ on Bull, else I start poundin’ your head with a ripe coconut.”
Bull managed to calm himself long enough to offer his own opinion. “The girl takes her teeth outta my ear, she walks. You got my promise, Underwood.”
“Hey, no way—” Jasper Jr. began to protest.
“You shut up,” Bull snapped. He was looking at us with his thick neck bent toward the ground and his head positioned sideways, to give Abbey as much slack as possible. Considering the delicate situation, she seemed incredibly calm.
I didn’t see a single drop of blood, but there was no reason to inform Bull that he wasn’t really bleeding to death. “So, guys, do we have a deal or not?” I asked.
“Deal,” Bull grunted.
“Yeah, whatever,” said Jasper Jr., spearing me with a bony elbow.
“All right then,” I said. “Abbey, you can let go now.”
“Nhh-ugh,” she said through a mouthful of crinkled ear.
“Come on. Let go of Bull.”
“Nhh-ugh.”
“You want to catch some gross disease? He probably hasn’t had a bath since Christmas,” I said.
Even that didn’t make her quit. I knew why, too. She didn’t want to leave me out there alone with the two of them.
“Honest, I’ll be okay,” I said, which must have sounded incredibly lame. She knew I wasn’t going to be okay. She knew they were going to stomp me into hamburger meat.
“Nhh-ugh,” my sister said emphatically.
“Abbey, come on!”
There was no way I could let her stay there in the woods. Jasper Jr. was a vicious punk who wouldn’t think twice about beating up a girl half his size.
Bull said, “I think I’m gonna hurl.”
Abbey chomped down harder, and the noise that came out of Bull didn’t sound human.
Jasper jumped me again and put me in a headlock. “Now listen, you little brat,” he snapped at my sister. “We’re gonna do this my way. I’ll break your brother’s neck, you don’t spit out Bull’s ear by the count of three.”
There was no response from Abbey, but now I saw true fear in her eyes. My face must have looked like a tomato about to explode, as hard as Jasper Jr. was clinching down on me. I couldn’t tell my sister what to do next because I couldn’t squeak out a word.
“One,” said Jasper Jr.
Abbey hung on.
“Two …”
Abbey wasn’t budging.
“Two!” Jasper Jr. barked again.
I tried to wriggle free, but it was no use. Jasper Jr.’s forearm was locked tight against my throat, and it hurt to breathe. Everything in front of me started getting fuzzy and dark, and I figured I was about to pass out.
The next words I heard were: “Try two and a half, shorty.”
The voice sounded too old and gravelly to be Jasper Jr., but I just assumed that my hearing was messed up because he’d squeezed all the oxygen out of my brain.
“Let him go!” the voice said again, and it clearly wasn’t speaking to Abbey. It was speaking to Jasper Jr.
Who, to my complete surprise, immediately let me go. I fell to the ground and stayed on all fours until I caught my breath.
“You all right, Noah?”
I lifted my eyes in bewilderment. The voice belonged to a lanky, long-armed man with woolly, silvery hair. A gleaming gold coin hung from a tarnished chain around his neck. His craggy face looked like a mahogany stump, and on one tanned cheek was a scar in the shape of an M.
Anybody could see that the guy was old—and tough. Shirtless and barefoot, he leaned casually against the trunk of a tall pine. His weather-beaten cutoffs had been bleached gray by the sun, and a dirty red bandanna was knotted around his right wrist. The curly hair on his bare chest was as shiny as the hair on his head.
Jasper Jr. wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he knew that the stranger meant business.
“We was only jokin’ around,” he said timidly.
“That right?” The old pirate smiled in a way that caused Jasper Jr. to go pale. Bull whimpered like a puppy but said nothing.
The stranger turned to my sister. “Now it’s your turn, Abbey. How ’bout you let loose of that boy?”
My sister’s eyes got wide at the sound of her name. She released her grip on Bull’s ear, stepped back, and began spitting vigorously into the bushes. Bull straightened up and pressed a fist to his throbbing ear, trying to stanch the invisible bleeding.
“Who are you?” I asked the old man. “How’d you know our names?”
He brushed past me and went up to Jasper Jr., who looked like he desperately needed a bathroom.
“You ever bother these two kids again,” the old man warned him, “and you’ll dearly regret it. Comprende?”
Jasper Jr. nodded shakily.
Bull was actually an inch or so taller than the pirate, but it didn’t help him. The guy walked over and got square in his face. “Pretty summer day, you can’t think of anything better to do than hassle some helpless little girl? That’s flat-out pathetic, son.”
“Helpless? She nearly took my ear!”
“I’d say you got off lucky,” the stranger said with a smile.
He winked at Abbey and me, and jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Y’all run on home. Hurry up, now.?
??
“Who are you?” my sister asked.
“Nobody. And that’s the truth.”
He wasn’t kidding around.
“Now get goin’, both of you,” he said. “Me and the boys are gonna finish our chat.”
Abbey and I quickly retrieved our bicycles and took off. As soon as we were out of the trees, we started pedaling for home as fast as we could.
“You ever seen that guy before?” Abbey asked breathlessly.
“I don’t think so.”
“Then how’d he know who we were? Has he been spying on us or something? He looked kind of dangerous, Noah, you think he’s dangerous?”
“Abbey, I honestly don’t know.”
Maybe I should have been creeped out by the strange old pirate, but I wasn’t. For some reason I believed everything he’d said in the woods.
Except the part about him being nobody.
It was an hour before dark when we got out to the islands called the Cowpens. They got the name because Indians supposedly kept sea cows penned up there a long time ago.
Dad tossed the anchor into a deep hole about two hundred yards from the main channel. The Tropical Rescue towboat was much bigger than Dad’s bonefish skiff, so there was plenty of room for Mom to ride along. She’d said yes, too, which was a nice surprise. She sat on the bow with her back to the sun and snapped pictures of us fishing.
Right away I got a couple of decent mangrove snappers, and Dad caught a fat keeper grouper. My sister reeled in a puffer fish that blew itself up into a spiny balloon—she said it looked just like her fourth-grade teacher.
Of course, Abbey and I didn’t mention what had happened that afternoon on the way home from Shelly’s trailer. Dad would have taken off after Jasper Jr., and Mom would have gone to the police to tell them about the strange old man.
Besides, my father liked things quiet and peaceful when he was out on the water. He didn’t go for too much talking. He said it was disrespectful to nature.
After a while we put away our fishing rods and sat down to wait for the sunset. The sky to the west was mostly clear, except for a few wispy clouds and the long foamy contrail from a big military jet. Dad took a seat up front next to Mom, who handed the camera to Abbey. I dangled my legs off the starboard gunwale, where RESCUE was painted in bright orange lettering.
A flock of pelicans floated over us in the shape of a V and kept on flying, straight toward the great Gulf of Mexico. A light breeze was blowing from the southeast, rocking the boat just enough to make us a little drowsy. Abbey nudged me and cut her eyes toward our parents, who were actually holding hands.
Everything felt so good and so right, I had this feeling that we’d finally get to see the green flash. The evening was perfect for it.
Gradually the sun changed from gold to blazing pink and seemed to turn liquid as it dimpled the horizon. None of us said a word because we didn’t want the moment to end.
People who’ve never seen a sunset at sea would be blown away. Time seems to slow down until finally that huge blazing ball looks like it’s just hanging there, balanced on the far edge of the earth. In reality, though, it’s dropping fast.
As the last rosy crescent melted into the Gulf, I felt myself leaning forward, squinting hopefully at the skyline.
Then the sun was gone, leaving a pale lemon emptiness. I glanced over at Abbey, who was putting the camera away. She smiled and shrugged.
“Wow, that was gorgeous,” my mother whispered.
“Yeah,” said Abbey, “but no green flash.”
“Maybe next time,” my father said, as he always did.
I turned my gaze back to the horizon and held it there, even as the rim of pink faded to darkness. I heard Dad hauling in the anchor and Mom zipping her windbreaker and Abbey asking if she could steer back to the dock, but still I couldn’t take my eyes off the sky.
FOURTEEN
Fifty-seven dollars and sixteen cents.
That’s all Abbey and I could scrounge up—and fifty-one bucks of it was hers. I would’ve had more if I hadn’t bought new skateboard trucks the first week of vacation.
“You think it’s gonna buy enough?” Abbey asked on the way to the store.
“It’ll have to,” I said.
I didn’t know the exact size of the Coral Queen’s holding tank, but I guessed it carried a couple hundred gallons of waste. I also didn’t know how much dye we could get for fifty-seven dollars and sixteen cents.
Abbey led me to the aisle where the food coloring was displayed.
“Blue won’t work, right?”
“No, that wouldn’t show up,” I agreed, scanning the shelves. “What do they use this stuff for anyway?”
“Frosting. Desserts. All kinds of goodies.”
“Do they make an orange?”
“No, but here’s fuchsia,” Abbey said.
“What?”
“That’s how it’s pronounced, Noah. Few-sha.”
I had no idea what fuchsia was, but it sounded like something you wouldn’t want to step in.
“It’s a hot reddish purple,” Abbey explained. “Perfect for Operation Royal Flush.”
That was the code name for our secret mission to nail Dusty Muleman. We’d decided to use food-coloring gel instead of laundry dye because the gel wasn’t made with chemicals that would harm the sea life. Even better, it was highly concentrated, which meant that a small amount would dye a lot of poopy water.
The plastic bottles were little, though, holding only an ounce. There was only one container of fuchsia on the shelf, so we asked a stock boy to go find more.
“How many you want?” he asked.
“Bring us all you’ve got,” I said.
When we got to the cash register, the checkout lady gave us the skunk eye as she tallied up the total.
“What in the world,” she said, arching an eyebrow, “would you kids be doing with thirty-four bottles of food coloring?”
Abbey smiled sweetly. “We’re baking a birthday cake,” she said.
“Oh, is that right?”
“A very big birthday cake,” my sister added.
“And a very purple one, I see,” the checkout lady said, handing us the bag of bottles.
On the way home I kept looking behind us to see if we were being followed by the old pirate geezer. I couldn’t stop wondering who he was, and how he knew us.
Abbey said he was probably a gnarly old mate from one of the sportfishing boats, or maybe a bridge person who’d seen us around the island and overheard us calling each other by name.
Whoever he was, I kept my eyes peeled.
As we turned the corner of our street, someone called out to us. It was Bull, of all people, standing in front of the house. He waved as we rode up, though Abbey and I were too suspicious to wave back.
I hopped off my bike and asked, “What’s up?”
Bull seemed edgy and uncomfortable. I could see Abbey’s teeth marks on his left ear, which was still puffy and crinkled. He cleared his throat about five times before he finally spoke.
“Uh, I just came over to say I was sorry,” he said. “Real sorry.”
I set the grocery bag full of dye bottles on the sidewalk. My sister stood behind me and said, “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“No way.” Bull shook his head forcefully. “I’m righteously sorry—for everything, dude.”
He was looking straight at me. “All the times me and Jasper hassled you, it was wrong, okay? Bogus and wrong.”
“What’s going on, Bull?”
“Nothin’! Why you ask me that?”
“Because all of a sudden you’re Mister Huggy Bear. It’s very weird.”
“Come on, Underwood, can’t a dude say he’s sorry and be real? What’s the problem?”
Bull was getting frustrated, and I didn’t want to push him too far. “Okay, we’re cool,” I said. “You say you’re sorry, I believe you.”
“Excellent.”
“Well, Idon’t believe you,” Abbey c
ut in. “Either you’re faking it, or you’ve had a total personality transplant.”
Bull’s long, dull face pinched in confusion. “Whaddya mean by that? What kind a ‘transplant’ you say?”
“Never mind,” I said. “What about Jasper Jr.?”
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. He’s sorry, too.”
“Really? Then where is he?”
Bull hitched his shoulders. Dark half-moons of sweat had appeared in the armpits of his faded Harley-Davidson T-shirt.
“He couldn’t come, but he wanted me to tell you it won’t never happen again,” Bull said. “We won’t beat on you no more.”
“That’s nice. Next you’ll be sending me flowers.” Naturally, Bull didn’t catch on that I was being sarcastic.
“I’d really like to hear Jasper Jr.’s apology in person,” I said.
“Fat chance,” mumbled my sister. She picked up the grocery bag and lugged it inside the house.
Bull just stood there, sweating through his shirt and staring down at his enormous bare feet. It sounds strange, but I felt sort of sorry for the guy. He’d quit school and left the Keys to be a big baseball star, but here he was back on the rock, bagging groceries and hanging out with losers like Jasper Jr.
“Come on, man. Tell the truth,” I said, though it wasn’t in Bull’s nature.
He looked up slowly. “Underwood, who’s the freaky old man? The guy in the woods?”
“Just a friend,” I said, thinking: a friend and total stranger.
“Where’d he get that wicked-bad scar on his face?”
“He doesn’t talk about it,” I said, hoping that Bull would think I was tight with the pirate guy.
“Thing is,” Bull said, “he told me and Jasper to … well—”
“What?”
“He told us to tell you we was sorry for what we done to you and your little sister. He was real clear on that,” Bull said. “But when it come time, Jasper just flat wouldn’t do it. He said he didn’t care what some crazy old bush rat told him.”
“What else did the old man in the woods say?” I asked.
Bull turned and checked over his shoulder, his eyes moving up and down the street. “He said not to screw up again. He said he’ll be hangin’ close, and don’t never forget it.”