Read Online Strip Tease by Carl Hiaasen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carl Hiaasen
Tags: Unknown, Fiction, General, Suspense, Humorous stories, Humorous, Action & Adventure, Mystery & Detective, Extortion, Adventure fiction, Legislators, Florida Keys (Fla.), Stripteasers
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owners recently introduced Friction Dancing Night to compete with Nude Oil Wrestling Night at the Eager Beaver. Friction dancing was not so much dancing as it was rubbing, vigorously, against the frontal surfaces of fully clothed customers. It was demonstrably more erotic than oil wrestling, and not nearly as messy. Orly was definitely feeling the pressure.
“Tell me the truth,” he said to Erin.
“I told you the truth. I’m meeting my ex-husband.” She picked up her purse to indicate the conversation was over. “If you don’t believe me, ask Shad. He’s coming along.”
“My Shad?” Orly’s eyebrows twitched with concern.
“As a favor to me,” Erin explained. “There could be trouble.”
“Then be damn careful.”
“I will.”
“Because good bouncers are hard to find,” Orly said. “Harder than dancers, believe it or not.”
Erin first met Darrell Grant at Broward General Hospital, where her mother was recuperating from an operation in which her navel had been cosmetically inverted. Erin’s mother had paid a plastic surgeon $1,500 to transform her “outie” belly-button to an “innie.” Erin was unaware that such a procedure was available, but her mother assured her that all the big-name fashion models had it done.
Erin was standing at her mother’s bed, admiring the surgeon’s work, when Darrell Grant appeared with fresh linens and a clean bedpan. He worked as an orderly at the hospital and, as Erin later learned, it was there he acquired his taste for narcotics and his aptitude for boosting wheelchairs. In appearance, though, Darrell seemed anything but a criminal. Erin was still naive enough to believe that all crooks had bad teeth, greasy hair and jailhouse tattoos. She assumed that cleancut, good-looking men possessed the same natural advantage as cleancut, good-looking women: the world treated you better, and consequently there was no reason for unwholesome behavior.
And Darrell Grant was uncommonly handsome, with a lean face and bright mischievous eyes. He took her to the hospital cafeteria and charmed her with a hastily fabricated story of his life. The centerpiece of the yarn was an authentic Bronze Star, which Darrell Grant kept in the breast pocket of his hospital garb. He told Erin he’d won it for killing a Cuban sniper during the invasion of Grenada. Erin chose not to question Darrell’s tale, knowing the Pentagon had given out about a hundred thousand medals in appreciation for making the tiny spice island safe once again for Holiday Inns. Much later in their relationship Erin would learn that Darrell had actually acquired the Bronze Star, along with two cases of Michelob, in the burglary of an American Legion post.
They dated for six months, to the horror of Erin’s mother. She had steered a long line of doctors, lawyers and accountants in her daughter’s direction, and Erin had found them all too serious and self-absorbed. Some of them were old enough to be her father. Darrell Grant was impulsive, full of tricks, and he made her laugh. At the time, that seemed important. Erin’s decision to marry him was sudden and cataclysmic, and it had the desired effect of freeing her from the clutches of her mother.
The sociopathic side of Darrell Grant didn’t surface for about eighteen months, until he abandoned all pretense of honest labor and devoted himself full-time to larceny. To explain the odd hours and fluctuating income, he told Erin he was selling medical equipment. Darrell’s boyish wit and warmth evaporated dramatically under the icy twin spells of amphetamines and methaqualone; he was either a dervish or a zombie, depending on the chemical cycle. Newly pregnant, Erin didn’t want to bail out of the marriage without giving Darrell Grant a chance to reform. The thought of divorce was almost as daunting as the thought of her mother’s shrill I-told-you-so.
When he learned that Erin was expecting a child, Darrell vowed to change his ways. He got off the pills,
“Tell me the truth,” he said to Erin.
“I told you the truth. I’m meeting my ex-husband.” She picked up her purse to indicate the conversation was over. “If you don’t believe me, ask Shad. He’s coming along.”
“My Shad?” Orly’s eyebrows twitched with concern.
“As a favor to me,” Erin explained. “There could be trouble.”
“Then be damn careful.”
“I will.”
“Because good bouncers are hard to find,” Orly said. “Harder than dancers, believe it or not.”
Erin first met Darrell Grant at Broward General Hospital, where her mother was recuperating from an operation in which her navel had been cosmetically inverted. Erin’s mother had paid a plastic surgeon $1,500 to transform her “outie” belly-button to an “innie.” Erin was unaware that such a procedure was available, but her mother assured her that all the big-name fashion models had it done.
Erin was standing at her mother’s bed, admiring the surgeon’s work, when Darrell Grant appeared with fresh linens and a clean bedpan. He worked as an orderly at the hospital and, as Erin later learned, it was there he acquired his taste for narcotics and his aptitude for boosting wheelchairs. In appearance, though, Darrell seemed anything but a criminal. Erin was still naive enough to believe that all crooks had bad teeth, greasy hair and jailhouse tattoos. She assumed that cleancut, good-looking men possessed the same natural advantage as cleancut, good-looking women: the world treated you better, and consequently there was no reason for unwholesome behavior.
And Darrell Grant was uncommonly handsome, with a lean face and bright mischievous eyes. He took her to the hospital cafeteria and charmed her with a hastily fabricated story of his life. The centerpiece of the yarn was an authentic Bronze Star, which Darrell Grant kept in the breast pocket of his hospital garb. He told Erin he’d won it for killing a Cuban sniper during the invasion of Grenada. Erin chose not to question Darrell’s tale, knowing the Pentagon had given out about a hundred thousand medals in appreciation for making the tiny spice island safe once again for Holiday Inns. Much later in their relationship Erin would learn that Darrell had actually acquired the Bronze Star, along with two cases of Michelob, in the burglary of an American Legion post.
They dated for six months, to the horror of Erin’s mother. She had steered a long line of doctors, lawyers and accountants in her daughter’s direction, and Erin had found them all too serious and self-absorbed. Some of them were old enough to be her father. Darrell Grant was impulsive, full of tricks, and he made her laugh. At the time, that seemed important. Erin’s decision to marry him was sudden and cataclysmic, and it had the desired effect of freeing her from the clutches of her mother.
The sociopathic side of Darrell Grant didn’t surface for about eighteen months, until he abandoned all pretense of honest labor and devoted himself full-time to larceny. To explain the odd hours and fluctuating income, he told Erin he was selling medical equipment. Darrell’s boyish wit and warmth evaporated dramatically under the icy twin spells of amphetamines and methaqualone; he was either a dervish or a zombie, depending on the chemical cycle. Newly pregnant, Erin didn’t want to bail out of the marriage without giving Darrell Grant a chance to reform. The thought of divorce was almost as daunting as the thought of her mother’s shrill I-told-you-so.
When he learned that Erin was expecting a child, Darrell vowed to change his ways. He got off the pills,
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