Free Strip Tease by Carl Hiaasen Page B

replied, truthfully. He felt little in the way of physical pain. The doctors didn’t seem to know why.
    Erin said, “Since when do you carry a knife?”
    “Since when do you hang out with ugly bald-headed Amazons?” Darrell Grant got up and whipped the dagger like a sword through the air. He was batty on speed. “I suppose it’s just a coincidence that you’re here in this very parking lot tonight? En garde!” He slashed a Z in the air. “What, you think I’m blind? I saw your car from three blocks away, Erin. Jesus, you’d make a great spy. Maybe next time you can set off fireworks.”
    She said, “You’re such an asshole.”
    Darrell Grant grinned crookedly. “Is that how they speak at the St. Virus Society? That was you on the phone, right? Talking about all those brand-new wheelchairs.”
    “You’ve lost your mind.”
    “Then explain this!” Accusingly, he pointed the dagger at the Fairlane. “And this!” He poked Shad with the toe of a tan cowboy boot. “You fucking set me up!”
    Erin said: “Darrell, I’m keeping a list: assault with a deadly weapon, false imprisonment, burglary, possession of narcotics—”
    “Shut up,” he snapped. “What’m I supposed to believe, that you and Igor stopped here to make out? I know you’re lonely, Erin, but this is ridiculous. I seen handsomer iguanas.”
    She thought of the gun in the car, gauged the steps back to the driver’s side. Then she pushed the idea from her mind. Shooting Darrell would mean she’d never see Angie again. The judge would make sure of it.
    “Junior?” It was Shad, speaking from the side of his mouth. He had no choice, being face-down on the asphalt. “Junior, listen up. The lady and I work together. She was giving me a lift home when this piece a shit excuse for a Ford overheated. We pulled in to let the radiator cool, and that’s it. That’s the whole story.”
    Darrell Grant dropped to his haunches and tweaked Shad’s nose. “Well, I’ll be damned. It talks.”
    Wonder drugs, thought Erin. “What’s with your hair?” she asked. Darrell flared at her caustic tone. For a man whose profession was stealing from invalids, he was surprisingly vain about his appearance.
    He said, “I lightened it a touch. So?”
    “And the stubble,” Erin said. “Come here, let’s see.”
    “No way.” He stood up, sullenly.
    “Is this your Don Johnson period?”
    “Shut up, Erin.”
    She was trying to take his mind off Shad and further mischief with the knife. “I’ll bet you got yourself a white linen Armani to go with the hair.”
    Darrell Grant said, “Fuck you.” When he put the dagger in his belt, Erin felt slightly better about the situation. She hoped he was down-gearing for a simple argument.
    Then he stood on Shad’s head with the heels of his cowboy boots.
    “Get off!” Erin cried.
    “Make me.”
    “Darrell, stop!”
    Shad made no sounds. Erin wasn’t sure if he was still conscious.
    “I like it up here,” Darrell Grant chirped. He balanced on Shad’s skull as if it were a cypress stump.
    “Don’t,” Erin pleaded.
    “What’s it worth to you? How about a twenty?”
    Erin looked at Shad’s face under the boots. His eyes were closed but his jaw was set.
    “Twenty bucks,” Darrell Grant repeated. “Hurry, hurry.”
    He had tossed Erin’s purse under the car. She had to crawl for it. Darrell Grant leered as he watched her down on all fours. “I like that,” he said. “Brings back memories.”
    Mechanically Erin fumbled in the purse for her cash. She found a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to her ex-husband. He sniffed it as if it were cognac. “Amazing,” he said. “All you gotta do is flash your twat and men throw money. Isn’t it a great country, Erin? Aren’t you proud to be an American?”
    At that moment, the only person she hated more than Darrell Grant was herself, for marrying him. “Get off the man,” she said coldly. Darrell hopped from Shad’s head.
    “Where’s Angie?”
    “Safe