Tuna Tango

by Steven Becker

  Silence had prevailed when he asked for more money. He explained how the rotten beams would also have to be replaced and that the job was bigger than he’d realized, and would take more time and materials.

  Lance blew, starting to yell about time and costs and lost opportunity. How he was under pressure to get the job done now and that Will was only delaying the process to make more money.

  Will had been confused first at his silence and apparent lack of concern to get the job done right. And then at his rant. But he could not overlook faulty work, and things were getting worse every time he turned around. He thought he had been hired to do the job right.

  As if on cue, the noise of a loud truck interrupted his thoughts. He looked toward the road and saw George drive by, the truck slowing as he approached, clearly checking out the job; reminding Will that he was watching.

  He looked back at the boys. “Listen, I spent just about everything on materials this morning. If we can get a couple of poles set, I can get some cash from the owner and pay you.”

  “How long’s that going to take?” Dick whined.

  The truck had turned around and was coming back toward them now, and Will couldn’t help but glance at the blonde hair flying from the open window. Even from this distance, she was breathtaking.

  “Dude, seriously, that bitch is way over your head. And what about Sheryl?” Dick asked.

  “We had a fight yesterday.” Will looked back at the truck, hoping to catch one more glimpse of her, then turned back to Dick. “If we can get everything set up today, we can set the poles tomorrow, and I can get you cash on Wednesday.”

  “That’s no good,” Kyle said as he glanced at Dick.

  Will watched the boys, noting the desperate look on their faces. “Look. If there was something I could do … Maybe Sheryl will help you out, if you tell her I can pay you in a couple of days.”

  ***

  Dick and Kyle were alone in the boat house. Will had taken the platform underneath to inspect the other beams for damage, and Kyle was drilling pilot holes through the plywood in each corner of the squares, Dick following behind him with a Sawzall to cut out the wood. After two holes, Dick motioned Kyle outside.

  They stood in the shade cast by the freezer. “Dude, we don’t get some money tonight, we’re freakin’ dead. That dude’s been waiting two weeks already,” Dick said as he packed a bowl, lit the pipe, and pulled hard.

  “Dude, if we hadn’t partied last night we would have had it. Now what?”

  “I thought we could get an advance out of Will and make everything cool. And there’s no way the dickhead at the club is going to give us a cent. Maybe we should ask Sheryl.” He took another hit on the pipe.

  “We can ask, but we need a backup plan. That dude said 8 o’clock. That’s not a lot of time.”

  “Shit. What are we going to do? Remember those goons he sent after us last time we were this late? I thought they were going to hammer us, but they were cool, then. It’ll be worse this time.”

  “You could stop smoking that shit. That’ll be a start,” Kyle said.

  Dick dumped the spent contents on the pavement and put the small pipe back in his pocket. He leaned against the cooler. “Hey, what about the fish?”

  “What fish?”

  “In the cooler, idiot. Who’s been smoking what?”

  Kyle went around the side and looked at the door. “It’s got a new lock.”

  “And how was that a problem last time?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “What the fuck? If there’s something in there, it’ll easily cover what we owe. We can take it to Dirk and sell it to him to grind up for his fish spread. It won’t be what it’s worth, but it’s fast cash.”

  “Don’t you think the dude that owns the cooler is going to come after us?”

  “What’s he gonna do, go to the police or something?” Dick started to pace. “First we gotta get rid of Will. Then we can check it out.”

  They walked back into the building, where Dick picked up the sawzall and looked at the blade, bent from the angle of the cuts he had made. He pulled the trigger and the saw buzzed, the blade oscillating back and forth, and he got an idea. On his knees, he went to the next cut, stuck the blade in the pilot hole, and turned on the saw. Instead of easing it into the wood, he pushed as hard as he could. The saw hummed as the blade jammed and then snapped.

  Dick looked at Kyle with a smile on his face.

  “Hey Will.” Dick stuck his head in one of the holes and scanned the underside of the structure.

  “Yeah?”

  “Dude, sorry, but I broke the blade,” Dick said. “You got any more?”

  He waited while Will made his way back to the hole. “There’s a bag over there with some. There’s only a couple left in it, so you’ll have to be careful.”

  “Oh, I will,” Dick said as he went for the bag. He used the allen wrench attached to the cord to change the blade. A quick count of the remaining holes, and he went back to work. It would be too suspicious to break them too quickly, but he needed to get Will out of the way so he could check out the freezer. He bent over the next hole and started to cut. This time the saw jerked in his hands as it hit an unseen obstruction, and the blade snapped. With two blades left, he replaced the broken blade and finished cutting through the nail.

  Again the blade bound and broke.

  With one blade left now, he was more cautious, but it soon found another nail.

  “Hey, Will. That was the last blade!” he yelled through the hole.

  “Just a minute,” replied Will.

  Dick waited by the seawall for Will to come over, and helped secure the platform while he hopped off. “Bad luck, man. I kept hitting nails or something.”

  “That’ll do it. I should have known, and bought the big pack. Why don’t you guys take a break. I’ll run to the store.”

  Dick smiled as Will went to his truck, started the engine, and took off. As soon as the truck was out of sight, he went into the building. “Kyle, he’s gone. Grab those bolt cutters and let’s do it.”

  He waited at the door for Kyle, who tripped crossing the threshold. Dick grabbed the cutters from him and went for the cooler door.

  “Keep a look out.”

  The lock parted easily, the steel shank no match for the large cutters. Dick pulled it off, anxious to see what was inside. He opened the door and turned on the light. “Kyle! You gotta see this.”

  Kyle stood next to him, looking at the floor. Sitting on a tarp was the largest fish they had ever seen. Both boys had grown up by Tampa Bay, and still fished its waters for redfish and snook, but the fish covered the entire floor.

  “It’s a tuna.”

  “No shit, idiot. It’s a goddamn bluefin. They get like twenty bucks a pound for these.” Dick had two problems now. The first was it wouldn’t fit into the car. It was five feet long, and looked to be as wide. The second problem was that there was no way he was selling this to be ground up for a fish spread. Dirk would only give them maybe two or three bucks a pound.

  If this fish weighed what he thought it did, and the math in his head was right, it was worth a pile of cash.

  “How are we gonna move this sucker?” Kyle asked.

  “OK. Give me a minute and let me think.” He pulled the pipe from his pocket and lit up. After two puffs he handed it to Kyle, who declined. “We got to move it and replace the lock. We’ve probably got till dark before whoever it belongs to comes looking for it. This is a felony fish, and no question, they’re not going to move it in daylight. Help me drag it to the edge. We’ll tie it down underwater. Then you can take the car and get another lock. That ought to put the dude off for a while, thinking he lost the key.”

  They both grabbed the tarp and pulled. Expecting more resistance, Kyle stumbled, as the tarp slid easily against the cold metal floor. Once outside, it was another matter as they tried to drag the fish to the seawall. The tarp tore on the gravel and they were stuck, the fish
too slimy and heavy to lift by hand. Dick started pacing anxiously, desperate to find a way to move the behemoth before Will came back, or worse. Kyle went back into the building and returned a few minutes later with three pieces of pipe.

  “What the fuck man?” Dick was getting really anxious now, and wanted another hit on the pipe, but there was no time.

  “Relax. They built the pyramids like this. Seen it on the History Channel.” Kyle took a piece of pipe and, with Dick’s help, slid it under the fish. “It’ll roll now. I’ll push it and you get ready with the next piece. We can keep it moving if you stay one pipe ahead.”

  Dick nodded his head and waited with a section of pipe as Kyle started to push the fish. The slimy body tried to slide sideways across the smooth pipes, but other than having to direct the fish onto the pipes, it worked well.

  “Now what?” he asked after the fish was at the seawall.

  Again Kyle went into the building. This time he came back with a dock line. He took the preformed loop and doubled it around itself, then set it over the fish’s tail.

  “Saw that on TV too?” Dick asked.

  “Yup.” Kyle went into the water and tied the line to a pier under the building. Back on shore, they both struggled to push the fish over the seawall. It landed with a huge splash, and they looked around quickly to see if anyone were watching. Unobserved, they watched the fish roll under the building and out of sight.

  “Come on, I’ll clean this up. Take the old lock and get a new one just like it. There’s a hardware store down the street.”

  ***

  Will was sure he passed Kyle as he drove down Gulf Boulevard toward the fish house, but he shrugged and turned his mind back to his own problems. He had used his best sales pitch on Lance when he called as soon as he left the job and asked him to set up an account by credit card at the lumber yard on US 19. This would ensure that Lance paid cost, saw all the bills, and knew everything would be paid. With a few twenties balled up in his pocket, though, he was starting to worry about gas money—something he hadn’t thought about before.

  He pulled into the lot and saw a suspicious movement out of the corner of his eye. He parked and just as he got out, Dick walked quickly from around the cooler. Something wasn’t right; the boy was sweating and wet from the neck down.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Oh nothing, man. Just had a ride on your surf board thing down there. Thought I’d check it out while Kyle went to get us something to eat. Kind of lost my balance and fell off.”

  “No problem,. He handed him the bag with the large package of blades, and they both turned as Kyle's car pulled in.

  “Hey, can you show me how to cut through those nails without breaking these things?” Dick asked, and walked into the building.

  Will followed. “I bought two kinds—one for metal and one for wood.”

  He wondered if Dick was listening to him at all, though.

  Chapter 9

  “Dude, we gotta go.” Dick looked around the bar, getting more paranoid by the minute. There was no guarantee the tuna would be there when they got back; large predators were known to roam the intracoastal waterway, looking for easy prey hiding under the docks and boats. If any one of them picked up the scent of the dead fish, it wouldn’t last long. “Come on and finish your beer.”

  “Would you relax? I want my paycheck,” Kyle replied.

  Ybor City had a whole different vibe on weeknights than on Saturday night. The club was mostly empty, with only a few customers at the bar and canned music playing over the music system.

  “That fish is our paycheck. Rucker gave us until midnight. He was pissed, but gave us a few extra hours. What time is it?”

  Kyle pulled out his phone and checked the screen. “Almost 8. We got time.”

  Dick was getting anxious, the beer doing little to calm him. He needed to get to the car and smoke a bowl. But this feeling was going to stay with him until they got the fish sold. If things were left to Kyle, they would be sitting here until closing.

  “We don’t have all night. By the time we drive there, cut it up, and bring it back to South Tampa, it’s at least a couple of hours. Then we have to pay Rucker off. It’s cutting it really close.”

  “All right, calm down.” Kyle finished his beer and walked over to the owner, who was hanging out by the waitress station, talking to Sheryl.

  Dick watched as the man stared at Kyle as if he had no business interrupting his conversation, or what looked more like a pick-up attempt. Kyle stared him down until he acknowledged him. They exchanged a few words and reluctantly the man disappeared toward the back of the club. Kyle chatted to Sheryl while he waited. The man was back in a few minutes, and shot Kyle a nasty look before handing him two envelopes. Kyle took them and headed back to Dick.

  “OK. Let’s go.”

  They left the bar and went to the car parked a half block away. As soon as Kyle had pulled into traffic, Dick pulled his pipe out, stuffed the bowl, and lit it. He proceeded to take several hits before handing it to Kyle, who took a small one and handed it back. The car was filled with smoke by the time they got onto the Crosstown Expressway and headed south toward 275 and the Howard Franklin Bridge.

  “You know the dickhead was trying to pick up Sheryl,” Kyle said.

  “What’s that matter to us? She didn’t fall for his line of shit, did she?” He turned the music down a notch, curious for the answer. It was a common topic to make fun of the club owner. The guy was a total loser.

  “She was eating the shit up, man. Think we ought to tell Will?” Kyle asked.

  “None of my business.” Dick was not the gossip guy. “We can set him up at work Friday night and show her how much of dick head he really is.” The employees at the club loathed the owner, and took any chance they got to make him look bad, especially with his lame pick up attempts.

  “Cool. Hope she doesn’t go out with him, though.” Kyle turned the music up as a Grateful Dead song came on.

  They crossed the bridge over Tampa Bay and entered St. Petersburg. The streets were quiet as Kyle exited on 22nd Street and headed toward the beach. There was little traffic, and they were quickly at the the fish house. The parking lot was dark, though the large security light hanging over the door of the marina cast shadows over the fish house.

  Dick got out as soon as the wheels stopped rolling and ran to the seawall to make sure the fish was there. He breathed in relief as he saw that the line was still attached to the pier the way they had left it. Figuring it was locked, but worth a try anyway, he checked the lock on the door. It was shut tight.

  He needed the Sawzall to butcher the fish, but it looked like he’d have to get it the hard way. He got on the platform and pushed himself toward one of the holes in the floor, where he jumped for the opening. His hands grabbed the rough edges of the concrete, and he pulled with all he had. Once his chest cleared the floor, he relaxed and took a breath before finishing the maneuver. He pulled himself the rest of the way into the dark fish house and started to look for the Sawzall. The rough teeth on the blade caught his eye and he worried how badly it would mar the flesh, but there was no option. Back on the platform with the saw and an extension cord trailing behind him, he pushed the platform back to the seawall. Kyle was in the water with the line in his hand when they heard a truck pull up.

  They froze in place as the door slammed, and heard someone walking toward them. The steps stopped short of the cooler, where a flashlight reflected off the metal and into the water.

  “Goddamn mother-f’ing son of a goddamn bitch,” the man swore.

  Dick scooted closer, staying in the shadows to have a look. The guy was fumbling with a keychain, trying several keys. He knew they wouldn’t work, and started to snicker under his breath. The man smacked the door, went back to his truck, and pulled out of the lot.

  “That was close,” Kyle said as he came up beside him.

  “I told you to hurry at the bar, now we’ve got no time.” Dick hopped off
the platform and went for the fish. “We’ve got to get this cut up and get out of here before he comes back.” He hauled the fish toward the seawall. “You got any more McGyver moves to get this up there?”

  Kyle looked at the fish and shook his head. He looked around, and saw a rock pile underneath the building where the seawall ended. “We can drag it over there and cut it up on the rocks. I think I can move the car so we can use the headlights to see.”

  Dick started to pull the fish by the tail rope. It moved easily through the water, but when he got to the rocks, he faced the same problem as they had before.

  “Hold on,” Kyle said. “Snake the rope up to the parking lot.”

  He went back to the seawall as Dick climbed on the rocks and pushed the end of the rope through a small opening between the building and the rocks. A moment later, the car started, and he watched the headlights as Kyle drove toward him. He could feel the heat of the engine as the car stopped, and Kyle got out. With the headlights illuminating the scene, he watched as Kyle took the rope and tied it around the bumper.

  “Yell when it’s good,” Kyle called out, and went back to the car. He put it in reverse, and Dick watched as the line came taught. It was going to damage the valuable flesh, but they were out of both time and options.

  With a quick squeal of the tires, Kyle accelerated, pulling the fish onto the rocks. Several large pieces of flesh came off as it came out of the water, but there was enough fish not to worry about scraps.

  The car door slammed and Kyle was soon back at his side with the sawzall. “You better keep watch. I’ll cut it up.”

  “That dude comes back, we’re both dead. Better let me help. I can use the platform and shuttle the meat to the car.”

  Dick nodded and pulled the trigger on the saw. The teeth of the blade cut easily through the thick skin and flesh of the tuna as Dick hacked away at it. He knew the cuts were ragged and he was probably losing money by butchering it this way, but he also knew it had to be done, and now. With one side carved off the spine, he started to cut it into manageable pieces as Kyle loaded them onto the platform.