Fever Beach: A Novel - Softcover

Hiaasen, Carl

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593315472 ISBN 13: 9780593315477

Verlag: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2026

Inhaltsangabe

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • From the bestselling author of Squeeze Me comes a wildly entertaining Florida caper—a razor-sharp send-up of modern American life, packed with misfits and mayhem.

“No satirist arrived at our dystopian moment better prepared than Carl Hiaasen.” —Slate

“[Carl Hiaasen’s] reality with a side of escapism is a blessing for our fragile minds at this time.” —Samantha Irby in The Atlantic

Welcome to Fever Beach, where the sun blazes, the politics are unhinged, and the characters are as volatile as a summer storm.

Dale Figgo is a half-baked crusader with the rare distinction of being kicked out of the Proud Boys—for being too dumb. His latest bad decision? Picking up a hitchhiker on a rainy afternoon while running an errand.

That errand sets off a chain reaction involving Viva Morales, a clever, resilient newcomer trying to rebuild her life post-divorce. She’s renting a room in Figgo’s apartment and working at the Mink Foundation—a philanthropic front with something far darker beneath the surface.

Circling them is Twilly Spree, a hotheaded environmentalist with too much cash and a gift for over-the-top revenge.

When dark money and twisted motives bring their worlds crashing together, Viva and Twilly become unlikely allies. Together, they uncover a tangle of corruption and conspiracy led by a plastic-surgery-loving billionaire couple and a clueless congressman with delusions of grandeur.

In his most outrageous and deliciously funny novel yet, Hiaasen delivers a gleefully chaotic portrait of contemporary madness.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

CARL HIAASEN was born and raised in Florida. He is the author of fourteen previous novels, including the bestsellers Squeeze Me, Razor Girl, Star Island, Nature Girl, Skinny Dip, Sick Puppy, and Lucky You, and seven bestselling children’s books, Hoot, Flush, Scat, Chomp, Skink, and Squirm. His novel, BAD MONKEY, was recently adapted into a hit series on Apple TV+ starring Vince Vaughn.

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1

On the afternoon of September 20th, dishwater-­gray and rainy, a man named Dale Figgo picked up a hitchhiker on Gus Grissom Boulevard in Tangelo Shores, Florida. The hitchhiker, who reminded Figgo of Danny DeVito, asked for a lift to the interstate. Figgo agreed to take him there after finishing an errand.

The distance to the highway wasn’t far, and the hitchhiker would have walked if not for the pounding thunder and wild lightning. As a boy he had witnessed a neighbor’s gelded llama struck to the ground by a bolt that lit up the small Wisconsin pasture like Lambeau Field. The llama had survived the shock, but from then on yipped day and night like an addled collie. The hitchhiker shared this anecdote with Dale Figgo, who agreed that lightning was a thing to be avoided.

Soon they entered a manicured subdivision called Sanctuary Falls, where Figgo eased his Dodge Ram 1500 quad cab to the curb and told the hitchhiker what was about to happen. The hitchhiker placed his backpack on the floorboard and pivoted warily toward the back seat, where he saw an assault rifle, a can of bear spray, a sex doll made to look like the lower torso of a woman, and a pile of clear Ziploc bags. Each bag contained a handful of what appeared to be beach sand and a garishly printed flyer. Reading upside down, the hitchhiker saw that one of the words was “JEWISH.” Figgo began sorting and stacking the bags on the console.

“I’ll drive,” he said. “You throw.”

“Do what?”

“The sand is for weight. Also, so the baggies won’t blow away.”

The hitchhiker said, “I’m pretty sure ‘Holocaust’ isn’t spelled with a k.”

“And I’m pretty sure I didn’t tell you to proof-­teach my business.”

Slowly Figgo began driving up and down the tidy streets, the hitchhiker reluctantly lobbing the slur-­filled Ziplocs onto driveways of multimillion-­dollar properties lush with bougainvilleas, black olive trees, and hybrid palms.

When the hitchhiker noticed a shamrock painted on one of the mailboxes, he asked Figgo if they were in the right neighborhood.

“Never question the mission,” Figgo said.

“What mission exactly?”

“Community outreach, dumbass. To enlight the motherfuckin’ citizenry!”

“ ‘Enlight’?” the hitchhiker said. “For real?”

Figgo reached across and popped him in the jaw.

“What the hell?” cried the hitchhiker, rubbing his chin. It was the first time he’d been slugged by a driver. Propositioned? Sure. Robbed? Too many times to count.

But never once punched—­and he’d thumbed his way from coast to coast.

Figgo said, “You want a ride to 95 or not?”

The rain was falling harder, the thunder more ominous.

“Why’d you hit me? For Christ’s sake, I’m old enough to be your dad.”

“Just keepin’ it real,” said Figgo, grinning. “That’s what I do. My top forte, you might say.”

What’s wrong with this fuckwhistle? wondered the hitchhiker.

After all the bagged tracts were distributed, Figgo made a phone call to somebody named Jonas and reported that the run had been completed without incident.

But then, as Figgo was navigating an exit from Sanctuary Falls, a gangly, middle-­aged blond man stepped into the road. He wore orange Crocs and a terrycloth robe, and he was clutching one of Figgo’s baggies. Heatedly he waved both arms, signaling for the pickup truck to halt. The hitchhiker perceived that this particular citizen was rejecting Figgo’s version of enlightenment.

As soon as Figgo hit the brakes, the man in the robe lurched closer. Figgo grabbed the can of bear spray from the back seat.

“Aw, don’t,” the hitchhiker said.

“Self-­defense. You’re my fuckin’ witness.”

“Seriously, the dude’s wearin’ a damn robe.”

“So did Mike Tyson!”

Figgo rolled down his window. The man in the street was cursing in a wheezy, irate voice. He called Figgo a lowlife racist and scumbag Nazi. Then he reared back and hurled the plastic bag, which, because of the sand, made a thwap when it bounced off Figgo’s forehead.

“Game on!” Figgo crowed, aiming the nozzle of the bear spray at the maniac.

But when he pulled the trigger, nothing happened, not even a squirt. The hitchhiker reached over and snatched away the can.

“It’s empty, bro,” he said.

“Viva,” Figgo muttered. “That stupid bitch.”

The angry homeowner was now endeavoring to spit, through a slanting sheet of rain, at Figgo’s prized Ram. When Figgo stomped on the accelerator, the man tried to jump out of the way but ended up splayed across the hood of the quad cab—­robe unhitched, Crocs airborne, the back of his skull spidering the windshield.

“Stop the truck!” the hitchhiker shouted.

“No way.” Figgo sped up and began to weave erratically.

“You killed him, man!”

“He ain’t dead. He’s hangin’ on like a damn gecko.”

Figgo made a screeching swerve and the pedestrian slid off the hood, landing in a heap on a bike path. Figgo sped away, nervously checking the rearview.

“How come that asshole got so pissed?” he muttered when they were back on A1A. “He sure didn’t look Jewish. Do they even make blond Jews?”

“Let me out,” the hitchhiker pleaded.

“See what he did to my truck?”

It wouldn’t have been necessary for Figgo to hit-­and-­run the man if only the bear spray had worked. The container was empty because Figgo’s tenant, a woman named Viva Morales, had in a moment of panic mistaken it for Raid and blasted the blinding contents at a cockroach, rendering the townhouse apartment she and Figgo shared uninhabitable for thirty-­six hours. Thrifty by nature, Figgo had saved the bear spray can, trusting it was good for another shot or two.

“That shit ain’t cheap,” he groused to the hitchhiker.

“Seriously, I’ll get out now.”

“Chill, brah. That old geezer’s fine,” Figgo said.

“You need to call 911.”

“No way. He flipped me the finger when we took off.”

The hitchhiker, who had observed no such gesture from the man crumpled on the bike path, fell silent. Soon the fleeing pickup truck got stuck in traffic, inching through the downpour.

“So, where you headed for?” Figgo asked.

“Austin, Texas.” The hitchhiker gathered his backpack onto his lap, prepping for departure.

“What’s the woke situation down in Austin? I heard it was bad.”

“Austin’s cool,” the hitchhiker answered. “Great music.”

“But mostly country, right?”

“All kinds of music.”

“That rap shit, too?”

“Hip-­hop, sure.”

“See, that’s what I’m gettin’ at. The rotten lib-­tards, that’s the whole crust of the problem.”

“Ah.” The hitchhiker stole another worried glance at the big gun on the back seat.

“Sorry about the punch in the face,” Figgo said.

“Yeah, I’m not sure why you did that.”

“Wanna make some money?”

“Thanks, but I’m...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2026
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593315472
• ISBN 13: 9780593315477
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 385
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar