Double Whammy
(Sprache: Englisch)
"Follow the adventures of a news-photographer-turned-private-eye as he seeks truth, justice, and an affair with his ex-wife" (The New York Times) in this hilarious caper from bestselling author Carl Hiaasen.
R. J. Decker, star tenant of the local...
R. J. Decker, star tenant of the local...
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"Follow the adventures of a news-photographer-turned-private-eye as he seeks truth, justice, and an affair with his ex-wife" (The New York Times) in this hilarious caper from bestselling author Carl Hiaasen.R. J. Decker, star tenant of the local trailer park and neophyte private eye, is fishing for a killer. Thanks to a sportsman's scam that's anything but sportsmanlike, there's a body floating in Coon Bog, Florida--and a lot that's rotten in the murky waters of big-stakes, large-mouth bass tournaments. Here Decker will team up with a half-blind, half-mad hermit with an appetite for road kill; dare to kiss his ex-wife while she's in bed with her new husband; and face deadly TV evangelists, dangerously seductive women, and a pistol-toting redneck with a pit bull on his arm. And here his own life becomes part of the stakes. For while the "double whammy" is the lure, first prize is for the most ingenious murder.
Lese-Probe zu „Double Whammy “
1On the morning of January 6, two hours before dawn, a man named Robert Clinch rolled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He put on three pairs of socks, a blue flannel shirt, olive dungarees, a Timex waterproof watch, and a burgundy cap with a patch stitched to the crown. The patch said: "Mann's Jelly Worms."
Clinch padded to the kitchen and fixed himself a pot of coffee, four eggs scrambled (with ketchup), a quarter-pound of Jimmy Dean sausage, and two slices of whole-wheat toast with grape jam. As he ate, he listened to the radio for a weather report. The temperature outside was forty-one degrees, humidity thirty-five percent, wind blowing from the northeast at seven miles per hour. According to the weatherman, thick fog lay on the highway between Harney and Lake Jesup. Robert Clinch loved to drive in the fog because it gave him a chance to use the amber fog lights on his new Blazer truck. The fog lights had been a $455 option, and his wife, Clarisse, now asleep in the bedroom, was always bitching about what a waste of money they were. Clinch decided that later, when he got home from the lake, he would tell Clarisse how the fog lights had saved his life on Route 222; how a wall-eyed truck driver with a rig full of Valencia oranges had crossed the center line and swerved back just in time because he'd seen the Blazer's fancy fog lights. Robert Clinch was not sure if Clarisse would bite on the story; in fact, he wasn't sure if she'd be all too thrilled that the truck hadn't plowed into him, vanquishing in one fiery millisecond the expensive Blazer, the sleek bass boat, and Robert Clinch himself. Clarisse did not think much of her husband's hobby.
Robert Clinch put on a pair of soft-soled Gore-Tex boots and slipped into a vivid red ski vest that was covered with emblems from various fishing tournaments. He went out to the garage where the boat was kept and gazed at it proudly,
... mehr
running his hand along the shiny gunwale. It was a Ranger 390V, nineteen and one-half feet long. Dual livewells, custom upholstery and carpeting (royal blue), and twin tanks that held enough fuel to run all the way to Okeechobee and back. The engine on the boat was a two-hundred-horsepower Mercury, one of the most powerful outboards ever manufactured. A friend had once clocked Bobby Clinch's boat at sixty-two miles per hour. There was no earthly reason to go so fast, except that it was fun as hell to show off.
Robert Clinch loved his boat more than anything else in the world. Loved it more than his wife. More than his kids. More than his girlfriend. More than his double-mortgaged home. Even more than the very largemouth bass he was pursuing. Riding on the lake at dawn, Robert Clinch often felt that he loved his boat more than he loved life itself.
On this special morning he decided, for appearance' sake, to bring along a fishing rod. From a rack on the wall he picked a cheap spinning outfit-why risk the good stuff? As he tried to thread the eight-pound monofilament through the guides of the rod, Clinch noticed that his hands were quivering. He wondered if it was the coffee, his nerves, or both. Finally he got the rod rigged and tied a plastic minnow lure to the end of the line. He found his portable Q-Beam spotlight, tested it, and stored it under a bow hatch inside the boat. Then he hitched the trailer to the back of the Blazer.
Clinch started the truck and let it warm. The air in the cab was frosty and he could see his breath. He turned up the heater full blast. He thought about one more cup of coffee but decided against it; he didn't want to spend all morning with a bursting bladder, and it was too damn cold to unzip and hang his pecker over the side of the boat.
He also thought about bringing a gun, but that seemed silly. Nobody took a gun to the lake.
Robert Clinch was about to pull ou
Robert Clinch loved his boat more than anything else in the world. Loved it more than his wife. More than his kids. More than his girlfriend. More than his double-mortgaged home. Even more than the very largemouth bass he was pursuing. Riding on the lake at dawn, Robert Clinch often felt that he loved his boat more than he loved life itself.
On this special morning he decided, for appearance' sake, to bring along a fishing rod. From a rack on the wall he picked a cheap spinning outfit-why risk the good stuff? As he tried to thread the eight-pound monofilament through the guides of the rod, Clinch noticed that his hands were quivering. He wondered if it was the coffee, his nerves, or both. Finally he got the rod rigged and tied a plastic minnow lure to the end of the line. He found his portable Q-Beam spotlight, tested it, and stored it under a bow hatch inside the boat. Then he hitched the trailer to the back of the Blazer.
Clinch started the truck and let it warm. The air in the cab was frosty and he could see his breath. He turned up the heater full blast. He thought about one more cup of coffee but decided against it; he didn't want to spend all morning with a bursting bladder, and it was too damn cold to unzip and hang his pecker over the side of the boat.
He also thought about bringing a gun, but that seemed silly. Nobody took a gun to the lake.
Robert Clinch was about to pull ou
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Carl Hiaasen
Carl Hiaasen was born and raised in Florida. He is the New York Times bestselling author of fifteen novels, including Razor Girl, Bad Monkey, Star Island, Nature Girl, Skinny Dip, Sick Puppy, Lucky You, Skin Tight, and Tourist Season, as well as the bestselling children's books Squirm, Hoot, Flush, Scat, Chomp, and Skink. His most recent work of nonfiction is Assume the Worst, a collaboration with the artist Roz Chast.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Carl Hiaasen
- 2020, 400 Seiten, Maße: 13,7 x 20,8 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Berkley
- ISBN-10: 0593334752
- ISBN-13: 9780593334751
- Erscheinungsdatum: 25.01.2021
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Praise for Double WhammyA raucous, mordant whopper of a fish story with more weird and bloodthirsty creatures above the water than in it. Los Angeles Times
A day-glo version of reality that is insanely funny and scary. Boston Herald
Twists and turns with breathtaking speed...Climb aboard, Bubba, strap yourself in. You re gonna like this ride. The New York Times Book Review
Great fun...I went for Double Whammy hook, line, and sinker. Washington Post Book World
Carl Hiaasen s vivid imagination serves up a seven-course meal in Double Whammy. It s a spread where every course is thick, rare, red meat...You ll have a good time. Houston Post
A stewpot full of the strange, the wacky, the interesting, and the bizarre...zany, diverting, marvelously grotesque. Newsday
A savagely funny crime adventure...bristles all over with Swiftian wit...For all its loony-tunes characters and their mondo-bizarro adventure, there s something about this mordant, comic fantasy that says it s just too crazy not to be true. Miami Herald
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