Heart of Palm by Laura Lee Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

not?” Carson said.
    “Because it’s private property.”
    “Isn’t it God’s property?” Carson said, gesturing at the mission behind them, the tiny chapel of Our Lady of La Leche crouching in the shade of the live oaks. “I called God,” he continued. “He said we could fish here.”
    “Don’t be a wiseass,” Do-Key said. “I’m not in the mood.”
    “Rough day?” Frank said. “Dunkin’ Donuts close early?”
    “I’m busy, you little prick,” the cop said. “We got the Easter parade coming through here in the morning, and I got bigger things on my mind than you little Bravo shits. Otherwise I’d bust your ass downtown so fast that . . .” He trailed off, seeming to lose sight of the hyperbole he’d planned to use. “So fast,” he concluded.
    “You riding in the parade?” Carson asked.
    “I’m driving the mayor, butt-head,” Do-Key said, and Frank had smiled inwardly, noting how the cop could not resist boasting that he’d been handed this prestigious task, to drive St. Augustine’s mayor in one of the most well-attended events in the city. Driving the mayor in the parade was a big deal, no doubt, for any city cop looking for advancement and recognition. Even Frank could see this, and he noted the way Do-Key’s chin jutted up just a tad when he made the announcement.
    “Congratulations,” Frank said, almost sincerely. “Congratulations, Do-Key.”
    Carson snickered, and Will elbowed Mac.
    “You call me that one more time and all bets are off, Bravo,” Do-Key said. “I am an officer of the law, and I’ve had about all I can take from you little pieces of white trash. Now get your sorry asses off this property. Go on back up to the woods where you belong.”
    “I still don’t understand why we can’t fish here,” Carson said, but he threw the last crappie back into the Holy Hole and snapped his tackle box closed.
    “Because it’s not allowed,” Do-Key said. “No fishing. No loitering. No assholes.”
    Frank sighed. “Officer Keith,” he said. “Why are you always so negative?”
    They left the Holy Hole and sat under the Vilano Bridge for a few hours, sharing half a bottle of Crown Royal and plotting their next move. They were only a little drunk, but it was drunk enough, as it turned out, because by midnight they were in the dark parking lot of the St. Augustine Alligator Farm, staring at the eight-foot wooden fence that encircled the park, debating the need for a ladder. By the time they emerged from the park, wrestling a four-foot gator, his mouth tenuously clamped shut with Will’s leather belt, into the bed of Carson’s truck and arguing over who would have to sit back there with it, they were tired, dirty, and sweating like livestock. So they parked the truck at the end of a quiet lane on Fish Island and napped a bit, though Mac, who’d drawn the short straw and was sharing a pickup bed with an irritable alligator, complained later that he didn’t get a wink.
    Before dawn, they drove across the Bridge of Lions to the St. Augustine police station, where the lights were on inside the precinct and the parking lot was full of cruisers. They positioned Mac and Will as lookouts for officers who might leave the morning briefing early. Then Frank and Carson located Do-Key’s car, worked a little magic with a slim jim, and deposited the pissed-off, wriggling, shit-covered alligator into the front seat. The gator thrashed mightily across the upholstery for a few minutes, doing God-knows-what kind of damage to instruments and official-looking police equipment before settling down with a groan across the center console, its now-unbound jaw resting precisely on the driver’s seat.
    Oh, it was beautiful. Epic. The best move they’d ever pulled. The thunderstruck look on Do-Key’s face when the briefing dismissed, when he came out at dawn to get into the cruiser for his big day with the mayor. The howls from the other cops, the way even the commanding officer grinned, stood