Flush
Carl Hiaasen
Language: English
Pages: 272
ISBN: 0375861254
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Take a romp in the swamp with this New York Times bestselling mystery adventure set in the Florida Keys from Newbery Honoree Carl Hiaasen!
Noah's dad is sure that the owner of the Coral Queen casino boat is flushing raw sewage into the harbor—which has made taking a dip at the local beach like swimming in a toilet. He can't prove it though, and so he decides that sinking the boat will make an effective statement. Right. The boat is pumped out and back in business within days and Noah's dad is in the local lock-up.
Now Noah is determined to succeed where his dad failed. He will prove that the Coral Queen is dumping illegally . . . somehow.
“The writing is pitch perfect.” —The New York Times
“A royal flush.” —Chicago Sun-Times
“Classic Hiaasen—laugh-out-loud satire in a Florida setting.” —Life
From the Hardcover edition.
right?” “Yes, sir,” I said. “Could you please bring the statement when you come get the boat?” Lice Peeking made a face and looked down at me. “You want it tomorrow? Seriously?” “Yes, sir. And Dad says it’s got to be signed and witnessed,” I told him. “That’s the deal.” “Geez, you’re quite the young hardass, ain’t ya?” “No, sir,” I said. “My father’s in jail and I want to help him out. That’s all.” On the way back to the trailer court we passed Jasper Muleman Jr. and Bull pushing a
himself to Nelson Mandela.” “Uh-oh.” “He’s even talking about a hunger strike.” “No way.” “Here. See for yourself.” Mom slid the newspaper across the table. I forced myself to read the article from beginning to end. Miles Umlatt obviously thought my father was quite a character. He’d let Dad go on and on about greedy polluters, and he’d put in the stuff about what happened with Derek Mays and the Carmichaels. Miles Umlatt described my father as “passionate about the environment” but also
sister now?” Unfortunately, I didn’t have a Plan B. I’d been so sure she’d gone to spy on the Coral Queen that I hadn’t even considered any other possibilities. “Let’s just drive,” Dad said glumly, fiddling with the switch on his spotlight. In the glow from the dashboard his face appeared to be covered with odd black freckles—but then I realized that the freckles were actually more mosquitoes, too gorged with blood to fly away. “Maybe Abbey went home already,” I said hopefully. “She’s
black Cadillac SUV, and he wore bright flowered shirts and smoked real Cuban cigars, just to let the world know what a big shot he was. But according to Dad, Dusty still showed up every night at the casino boat, to count the money personally. Abbey said, “Muleman’ll have that tub fixed up good as new in a week. What was Dad thinking? If he was serious, he would’ve burned the darn thing to the waterline.” “Don’t give him any ideas,” I said. Lice Peeking lived in a trailer park on the old road
stand there and let Luno take aim at a couple of pint-sized trespassers? We must have really annoyed him, I thought, with all our snooping around. And what were the odds of being rescued for a second time by the same stranger? Either the old pirate was following us around like some sort of weird guardian angel, or Abbey and I were the luckiest two kids in Florida. “Hard right!” she called from the bow. I pushed the tiller, and we skittered past a glistening spear of two-by-four, only inches