Squeeze Me (Skink #8)

by Carl Hiaasen

Mrs. Fitzsimmons had no personal experience with intestinal mayhem but she loved a good party.

In a place like South Florida, such heart-bound faith in the justice system could best be described as quaint.

It was rampaging imbecility, and possibly unstoppable.

“Greed makes people stupid. We like that.”

sketchy guacamole.

It was the third dead body he’d found while fishing, but such was the reality of a childhood spent outdoors in Florida. It was a testament to the teen’s passion for angling that he’d never considered getting a new hobby.

His feet were like moist loaves, the tiny toes appearing more decorative than functional.

Mockingbird sometimes found it hard to believe this was the same man she’d married; he looked like a different person now—as if someone had put a fire hose up his ass and inflated him with meringue.

“Hey, I don’t hurt him. I’ve never hurt him. Soon as he’s out of breath, we stop.”