Free Star Island by Carl Hiaasen Page A

worst.” She had twice told him she was an actress, but he’d obviously forgotten. “Guns are too noisy. I usually use an ice pick,” she said matter-of-factly.
    Skink didn’t seem to hear her. The bus had stopped at the tollbooth, and from there Ann could see the sign at Alabama Jack’s. Skink re-inserted his glass eye while the driver waited for change.
    “You need some money?” Skink whispered to Ann.
    She thought he was the most unusual homeless person she’d ever encountered, not that she’d met many. “No, I’m good,” she said, patting her handbag. “Is my phone in here?”
    When the bus pulled into the empty parking lot of the bar, Skink pointed out the blue motorcycle. Standing nearby was a broad-shouldered figure wearing a helmet with an opaque face shield. “That’s Jim,” Skink said. “When you get to the mainland, he’ll give you a piece of paper with a phone number. Put it in a safe place, Annie.”
    She laughed. “Is this your weird way of asking me out?”
    He pecked her on the forehead and said, “Thirty years ago I would’ve chewed your panties off by now. Gently, of course, with candles in the foreground.”
    “Scented candles?”
    “Use that number if you ever get in trouble. The one Jim gives you.”
    “Are you serious?” Ann said. “I’m callin’ the cops on
you
, mister!”
    “Sure you are,” said Skink. He smacked her on the butt as she stepped off the bus.
    Before Cherry Pye got hold of him, Bang Abbott’s most memorable sexual experience had occurred the night after he’d won the Pulitzer Prize. The newspaper threw a party at a popular St. Petersburg sports bar, where a clerk named Naomi from classifieds led Bang Abbott to the ladies’ room and screwed him silly whilebalancing upright in an unlocked stall. The lusty clerk wasn’t particularly petite, and Bang Abbott was not (even in his younger days) especially limber. As a result, he snapped the anterior cruciate ligaments in both knees at the instant of climax, sending him and Naomi crashing to the tile. In the emergency room she had barely acknowledged him, and then rudely refused to accept his phone calls after she returned to work the following month. Before he could win her back, Bang Abbott had become sidetracked by ugly rumors about his prizewinning shark-attack photograph. The rumors happened to be true, which complicated Bang Abbott’s defense. By the time he was off the crutches and packing for California, he’d lost interest in Naomi. Later he heard that she’d dropped twenty pounds and married a Saab dealer.
    “Was that your first mile-high?” Cherry asked.
    Bang Abbott nodded as he fumbled to belt his pants. He was in a peculiar daze. According to his watch, the entire act had taken only four minutes, yet he felt like he’d been floating for days on a tantric cloud. Cherry yelled for the flight attendant, who had discreetly retreated to the galley, and demanded a bucket of ice.
    “That was incredible,” Bang Abbott said.
    “You bet.” Cherry poured each of them another drink. “How ’bout a Percocet?”
    “Not right now.” Bang Abbott was already worried about his level of alertness. Cherry had more or less pounded his senses numb.
    She pulled on her jeans and said, “I’m totally tuckered, Claude. You wore me out.”
    “Have a nap,” he said.
    “Only if you swear not to take my picture.”
    “On my mother’s grave.”
    She reached for his crotch, her small hand burrowing like a hamster. “I mean it, Claude, don’t be an asshole. Not if you ever want to make love with me again.”
    Bang Abbott said, “I promise, Cherish.”
    As soon as she began to snore, he uncapped a Nikon and popped off a dozen frames. Then he unbuttoned her blouse and took a few more shots, for the European tabs. The flight attendant,who was fixing coffee for the pilots, frowned disapprovingly but said nothing. When Bang Abbott pretended to snap her picture, she blushed and turned away.
    The jet hit some