Coconut Cowboy Read Online Free PDF Page A

used a desiccated rib to point across the rest of the diner at children and grandparents and more overalls. “Couldn’t ask for a better bunch of neighbors . . .” Then he cupped hands around his mouth, calling out to a man in a crisp plaid shirt sitting alone in back. “Steve! Will you stop with the utensils already?”
    The man smiled back and waved a piece of cutlery.
    Vernon shook his head benevolently. “Still eats ribs with a knife and fork. But we’ll learn him.”
    â€œAnother newcomer like you,” said Jabow. “Bought Old Man Maynard’s farm last year.”
    â€œHe’s a farmer?” asked Peter.
    â€œNo, just a city boy who don’t like the city no more. Has some kind of wholesale brokerage job he can do at home with a computer, so he moved here.” Vernon refilled his iced tea and squeezed lemon, hitting Harlan in the eye. “More and more city folk are discovering what we got here, but we don’t want it too discovered, if you know what I mean.”
    The front door opened, and a disheveled man stumbled over to the table and whispered in Vernon’s ear. The mayor nodded and handed him a Budweiser from the cooler.
    â€œYou know I’m good for it,” said the man.
    â€œForget about it, Grady.”
    He staggered out the door.
    Vernon saw the question in Peter’s eyes. “The town drunk. Every small place needs one. Practically an official position . . .”
    The door opened again. Peter expected Grady’s return, but this time he saw the opposite. A trim man in his fifties, hundred-­dollar haircut, khakis and a button-­down oxford shirt. He stood beside the table with extra-­white teeth. “Gentlemen.”
    â€œRyan, grab a chair,” said Vernon.
    â€œNo time. I just wanted to check on that thing—­” He stopped when he noticed they weren’t alone.
    â€œRyan,” said Vernon, “these are our guests, Peter and Mary Pugliese . . . Peter and Mary, meet our state senator, Ryan Pratchett.”
    He shook their hands with another large smile. “Visiting this fine community we’ve got here?”
    â€œNo,” Vernon interjected. “Just bought a place out in the pines, our newest neighbors.”
    â€œEven better,” said Ryan. “Two more votes!”
    More chuckles around the table.
    â€œVern, I’ll talk to you later about that other thing,” said the senator. “Guys . . .”
    â€œTake care, Ryan.”
    The front door of the restaurant closed again. The Puglieses were getting dizzy.
    â€œSo what do you think?” asked Vernon.
    â€œAbout what?” said Peter.
    Vernon spread his arms. “Everything.”
    â€œIt certainly is a lot different from the big city.”
    â€œAnd we mean to keep it that way.” Vernon yanked off his bib and stood. “I have to take a squirt. Welcome to Wobbly, Florida.”

 
    Chapter FOUR
    BORN ON THE BAYOU
    T he oncoming pickup truck approached the motorcycle on a lonely country road.
    A shotgun poked out the window.
    Bang .
    The cyclist crashed, and the red-­white-­and-­blue teardrop gas tank exploded in a fireball.
    Serge watched the flames rise on his laptop screen. He turned off the device and dabbed misty eyes.
    Coleman exhaled smoke from a bong he’d fashioned out of a toy airplane. “Why are you so upset?”
    â€œThe last scene in Easy Rider always chokes me up.” He aimed a camera out the window. “Two freethinkers exploring the limitless road of our great nation, and they’re wasted by a pair of mental dead ends.”
    Coleman exhaled again as pot smoke filled a tiny cockpit. “I remember that movie now. It was about those cats doing weed all the time. What a great plot!”
    â€œColeman, that wasn’t the plot—­”
    â€œIt most definitely was the plot.” Coleman nodded emphatically as he packed