Skin Tight by Carl Hiaasen

him that right now.” Chloe slammed down the phone and stalked to the door. She looked up at Chemo and said, “How’d you get past the pooch?”
    Chemo shrugged. He was wearing black Ray-Bans, which he hoped would lessen the effect of his facial condition. If necessary, he was prepared to explain what had happened; it wouldn’t be the first time.
    Yet Chloe Simpkins Stranahan didn’t mention it. She said, “You selling something?”
    â€œI’m looking for a man named Mick Stranahan.”
    â€œHe’s a dangerous lunatic,” Chloe said. “Come right in.”
    Chemo removed the sunglasses and folded them into the top pocket of his shirt. He sat down in the living room, and put a hand on each of his bony kneecaps. At the wet bar Chloe fixed him a cold ginger ale. She acted like she didn’t even notice what was wrong with his appearance.
    â€œWho are you?” she asked.
    â€œCollection agent,” Chemo said. Watching Chloe move around the house, he saw that she was a very beautiful woman: auburn hair, long legs, and a good figure. Listening to her, he could tell she was also hard as nails.
    â€œMick is my ex,” Chloe said. “I have nothing good to say about him. Nothing.”
    â€œHe owe you money, too?”
    She chuckled harshly. “No, I took him for every goddamn dime. Cleaned his clock.” She drummed her ruby fingernails on the side of the ginger ale glass. “I’m now married to a CPA,” she said. “Has his own firm.”
    â€œNice to hear it,” Chemo said.
    â€œDull as a dog turd, but at least he’s no lunatic.”
    Chemo shifted in the chair. “Lunatic, you keep saying that word. What do you mean? Is Mr. Stranahan violent? Did he hit you?”
    â€œMick? Never. Not me,” Chloe said. “But he did attack a friend of mine. A male-type friend.”
    Chemo figured he ought to learn as much as possible about the man he was supposed to kill. He said to Chloe, “What exactly did Mick do to this male-type friend?”
    â€œIt’s hard for me to talk about it.” Chloe got up and dumped a jigger of vodka into her ginger ale. “He was always on the road, Mick was. Never home. No doubt he was screwing around.”
    â€œYou know for a fact?”
    â€œI’m sure of it.”
    â€œSo you got a . . . boyfriend.”
    â€œYou’re a smart one,” Chloe said mordantly. “A goddamn rocket scientist, you are. Yes, I got a boyfriend. And he loved me, this guy. He treated me like a queen.”
    Chemo said, “So one night Mr. Stranahan gets home early from a trip and catches the two of you—”
    â€œIn action,” Chloe said. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t plan it that way. God knows I didn’t want him to walk in on us—you gotta know Mick, it’s just not a safe situation.”
    â€œShort fuse?”
    â€œNo fuse.”
    â€œSo then what?”
    Chloe sighed. “I can’t believe I’m telling this to some stranger, a bill collector! Unbelievable.” She polished off her drink and got another. This time when she came back from the bar, she sat down on the divan next to Chemo; close enough that he could smell her perfume.
    â€œI’m a talker,” she said with a soft smile. The smile certainly didn’t go with the voice.
    â€œAnd I’m a listener,” Chemo said.
    â€œAnd I like you.”
    â€œYou do?” This broad is creepy, he thought, a real head case.
    â€œI like you,” Chloe went on, “and I’d like to help you with your problem.”
    â€œThen just tell me,” Chemo said, “where I can find your ex-husband.”
    â€œHow much are you willing to pay?”
    â€œAh, so that’s it.”
    â€œEverything’s got a price,” Chloe said, “especially good information.”
    â€œUnfortunately, Mrs. Stranahan, I don’t have any money. Money is the