Free Flush by Carl Hiaasen

the gambling boat and shining a flashlight.
    It seemed like a fine time to run away.
    But as I rose to my feet, a car came bouncing down the dirt road toward Dusty’s docka police car, with its headlights off. Immediately I dove back to my hiding spot, which would have been a nifty move except that I banged my head on the sewage tank.
    The pain was ridiculous. At first everything went bright, like a starburst, and then suddenly it was as black as a tunnel. My skull was ringing like a gong.
    As I lay there, trying not to cry out and give myself away, I heard my own voice say,
    It’s empty.

    Empty!
    It wasn’t my skull that was ringing; it was the sewer tank.
    Which should have been full, if the Coral Queenhad emptied her hose into it that night.
    I watched the police car roll to a stop near the boat. The bald goon hurried down the gangplank and waved at the deputy, who hopped out of the car and followed Dusty’s man onto the boat. Both of them were shining flashlights back and forth.
    I rolled to my knees and sat up too fast. As I waited for the dizziness to go away, I noticed a dark, powdery tracing on the concrete slab under the sewage tanksomething so small that the pollution inspectors might never have noticed. I touched it and, in the faint light from the docks, saw red on my fingers.
    Rust. The old tank was rusting away.
    I reached underneath and found a patch of pitted metal that crumbled like stale crackers. Peeling it away, I made a hole so large that I could stick my fist inside.
    The sewer tank wasn’t just empty, it was wrecked and uselessa phony prop in Dusty Muleman’s scam.
    Suddenly the knot on my head didn’t hurt so much. I stuffed a handful of rust into my pocket, and took off.

EIGHT
    The next afternoon Mom insisted on driving all the way to Homestead for groceries because nobody there knew who she was. Dad’s TV interview was the buzz of the Keys, and she didn’t want to deal with the stares and whispers at the local market.
    After she and Abbey left, I sat down and watched the tape. My father was in rare form. He looked straight into the camera and declared:
    I sunk the Coral Queenas an act of civil disobedience.
    He said he was protesting the destruction of the oceans and rivers by
    ruthless greedheads.

    The jailhouse jumpsuit didn’t look half bad on television, I had to admit. Dad had also combed his hair and put on his wire-rimmed glasses, so he came off more like a college professor than a boat vandal. This time he had the good sense not to compare himself to Nelson Mandela (or if he did, the TV people were nice enough to cut that part out). My father ended the interview by saying he intended to stay locked behind bars until the law dealt squarely with Dusty Muleman.
    Next to show up on camera was a rodent-faced man who identified himself as Dusty’s attorney. In a righteous tone he described his client as an experienced boat captain, respected businessman, and
    pillar of the community.
    He said that Dusty would never purposely contaminate the waters where his own son played. The lawyer concluded by calling my father a
    mentally unbalanced individual,
    and challenged him to prove his
    reckless and slanderous allegations.

    As I was rewinding the tape, somebody knocked on the front door. It was Mr. Shine, Dad’s lawyer. For once he didn’t look like he was on his way to a funeral.

    Hello there, Noah,
    he said.

    Mom’s not here.

    Oh. I should’ve called first, but I just received some important news.

    About Dad? What is it?

    Mr. Shine sucked air through his teeth.
    Sorry. I’m obliged to tell your mother first.

    Is it badnews?
    I asked.

    No, I should think not.

    Then tell me. Please?

    I wish I could,
    Mr. Shine said.
    Thanks a bunch, I thought. Couldn’t he even give me a hint?

    Did you see him on TV last night?
    I asked.
    Mr. Shine nodded with a sickly expression.
    I strongly advised your father against doing that interview.

    But he’s right, you knowabout Dusty Muleman