The story too, other than the addition of Chemo, my long-time favorite, reoccurring Hiaasen hitman, doesn’t have the usual originality of a Hiaasen tale. Yours truly, last summer, doing what I do best. It kicks off with an inept assassin (one of many) and as the past barges back in Mick must finally figure out what happened to Victoria Barletta and her nose-job gone bad from famous, overpriced plastic surgeon Rudy Graveline. Unfortunately, an old missing person’s case, a vengeful surgeon with a scalpel to grind, an assassin with some serious skin problems, and a Geraldo Rivera-like journalist with a keen nose for cover-ups and on camera beatings are all circling vulture-like, ready to descend on his hard-won peace. This also means being far away from his continual spree of bad marriages (five in and counting) and away from his not so clean past as an investigator. In Skin Tight, ex-cop/investigator Mick Stranahan has hung up his Glock to retire to Stiltsville, out in the ocean, where he can spend his days blissfully alone, caring for a giant Barracuda and fishing. Earlier last year, I stretched out on the beach for a much-needed de-stressing vacation and grabbed the nearest Carl Hiaasen, ready to return to his wacky world of corrupt Floridians, con-artists, gangsters galore, and slap-stick murder.
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