Strip Tease by Carl Hiaasen Read Free Book Online

guard with so many teeth missing.
    “Think about it,” Alberto was saying. “Packs of wolves patrolling the perimeter. There goes your terrorist threat. There goes your sabotage.”
    The screen door opened and Rita charged in. “Al, how many times I tole you—they ain’t no guard dogs. They don’t got the disposition for it.”
    She wore a housedress, thong slippers, a catcher’s mask, and canvas logging gloves that went up to the elbows. The sight of her reminded Erin that none of Darrell’s siblings had grown up to be remotely normal or well-adjusted. In the Grant family, procreation had become a game of genetic roulette.
    “Hello, Rita,” said Erin.
    “Oh. Hi there.” Rita took off the catcher’s mask, revealing a nasty track of fresh stitches from the midpoint of her forehead to the bridge of her nose. “Lupa,” she explained. “She damn jumpy around those cubs.”
    Alberto said, “Erin, honey, how about a drink?”
    “Water would be fine.”
    “No, I mean a drink.”
    Rita said, “Make that two.”
    “Just water,” Erin said. “I can’t stay long.”
    Alberto was plainly disappointed. He shuffled to the refrigerator and began grappling with an ice tray. Rita tugged off the logging gloves and said, “Well, this is quite a surprise.”
    Erin said, “It’s about Darrell. He’s gone again.”
    “Now don’t get all worked up.”
    “You know where he is?”
    “No, ma’am, I do not.” Rita lowered herself onto a black Naugahyde sofa, which hissed beneath her weight She said, “You still workin’ at that tittie place?”
    Rita wasn’t going to be easy; playing dumb was her life’s work. Alberto was the weaker link.
    “I hear the money is good,” Rita remarked. “But it damn well ought to be.”
    Erin said, “When’s the last time you talked to your brother?”
    “Lord, I’m sure I don’t remember.”
    Alberto reappeared with water for Erin and a bourbon for Rita, both served in Fred Flintstone jelly jars. Out of the blue, Alberto said, “What about private parties? Some of the boys at the plant were asking. They were talking about getting a banquet room at the Ramada.”
    “I don’t do private parties,” Erin told him. “I dance at the club. That’s it.”
    “What about the other girls?”
    “You’d have to ask them, Alberto.”
    Rita said, “He’s been up to your place. What’s the name again?”
    “The Eager Beaver,” said Alberto, helpfully.
    Rita furrowed her brow. “I thought it was the Flesh Farm.”
    Alberto said, “No, that’s another one.”
    “Well, anyhoo, he’s seen you dance.”
    “Really?” Erin didn’t like the idea of Alberto tiptoeing into the club, sneaking a peek. She could picture him giving a full report to the guys down at Turkey Point. It was pathetic, really. Erin was the closest thing to a celebrity that Alberto would ever know.
    “I hope it was a good show,” she said sweetly. “I hope you got your money’s worth.”
    “Gawd.” Rita lit a cigarette. “It’s all he talked about for weeks after. You’d think he ain’t never seen pubic hairs before.”
    Alberto Alonso reddened, finally. Erin said, “You should’ve told me you were coming. I would’ve sent some champagne to the table.”
    “Are you kidding? Pink champagne?”
    A howling commotion erupted in the backyard. Rita grabbed the catcher’s mask and hurried out the screen door.
    “Careful now!” Alberto shouted after her.
    Erin motioned him to sit down. “We don’t get to visit much anymore,” she said.
    “Well, the divorce and all.”
    “Doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends,” Erin said.
    “I’d like that,” said Alberto. He scooted the chair closer. “Friends it is. You and me!” His breathing had become audibly heavy, and his eyebrows looked moist.
    Erin didn’t often see men sweating from their eyebrows. “There’s two sides to every story,” she went on. “Darrell had his faults.”
    “Now that’s a fact. He is no saint.”
    From