Bucket of Fish

by Mike Hershman

  Chapter 8

  We wrapped the fish up in GB’s newspaper, ran up to my house, put them in the icebox, and headed out to the police station, about three blocks away. We walked past Ben’s Market and nodded to Ben Jr. sweeping the front of the store. He had on a green apron with a feather duster sticking out of a side pocket.

  “Hey, I heard you were surfing out at Skipjack – how’d you do?” I asked.

  “Ah – OK --- Ray’s better, I can’t turn the dang thing – I just stand up and come straight in.”

  “You guys going out today?”

  “Nah –Ray’s workin out at the bait house. His dad is a slave driver.”

  Ray’s dad was Elmer. He owned both the bait house and the icehouse.

  When we got to the police station, we sat outside for a while and tried to figure out what to say to Officer Hollis. We were sitting on a park bench across the street arguing about the best way to approach him. GB had all sorts of suggestions about what I should tell him. I noticed that none of his suggestions included one where he did the talking instead of me. I was really scared, my hands were all sweaty -- it was weird – they were sweaty, but my mouth was really dry.

  I had finally decided to go over and see Officer Hollis when I looked up and he was coming out of the next-door barbershop. He was walking out with Carl and another well-dressed man I didn’t recognize. The man was thin and about 6 foot tall. The things I noticed the most were his shoes. They were cordovan and white, about Gus’s size and looked exactly like the ones on the dead man.

  “Hey, you two kids,” Officer Hollis yelled, “ don’t just hang around that damn park bench – if you can’t find anything better to do – I’ll give you a broom and you can sweep out the damn jail cell.”

  Carl and the other man looked at us and laughed. I could still hear them laughing as we ran down the street -- so much for a new bike.

  Chapter 9

  We walked over to The Donut Hole. GB had a dime so we got a couple of chocolate donuts and split a milk. We sat down at a small round table in front and tried to figure out what to do next.

  “Are you sure those were the same shoes that the guy was wearing?” GB asked.

  “Yeah, I think so – they sure looked the same.”

  “Well, you know, I wonder if they buried that man with his shoes on.”

  “Huh.”

  “We could go out an dig up his body and see if he’s wearing any shoes.”

  “What! I don’t want to dig up some dead guy –Jeez! – He’ll have bugs and stuff crawlin’ all over his face.”

  “Well, we only have to dig up his feet.”

  “How the heck do we know which end his feet are on?” I asked.

  “I don’t know – maybe we could flip a coin – I still got a penny left.”

  “God – OK – let’s go out quick.”

  So GB and I went back over to his house, grabbed his bike and headed out Skipjack Road. All the way out GB talked about different reasons why the head would be on one side or the other. He was making me crazy as I sweated and pedaled. We were almost to the spot. GB was on theory number 10.

  “They would have loaded him in head first, Carl had that part which would have been heavier and so ----what the!”

  I took my eyes off the road, probably rolling them -- I was so frustrated with these stupid theories. The next thing I knew the front tire hit a deep pothole. GB hit the asphalt and I landed on top of him.

  “Jeez you dumb thit – you almost killed me,” GB yelled, wiping some blood off his forehead.”

  “I’m sorry – are you OK George Bailey?”

  He looked at me funny, cause I never called him anything but GB.

  I brushed the red hair away from his forehead. He just had a quarter size scrape. It looked and bled worse that it was. I had a napkin left in my pocket from the Donut Hole, which I used to wipe off the blood. We sat down by the side of the road for a little while ‘til his head stopped bleeding. I patted him on the shoulder a couple of times.

  “I’m OK – it’s only a little further, let’s go.” GB said.

  “Heck with it – let’s just go back – we’ll forget about the whole thing.”

  “Are you crazy! – Those guys probably have your bucket.”

  “Then I’m going to end up here anyway – next to that poor man.”

  “Probably,” GB said, which was not at all what I’d hoped he would say, “ but if we can find out what happened, we can report it to somebody else.”

  “Yeah, like who?”

  “The FBI.”

  “The FBI! –Is J. Edgar Hoover your uncle or something?”

  So we walked out to the spot and followed the trail out to the grave. We debated for a while – pulled out the penny and flipped it. We argued a little about what “heads” meant --- it was sorta confusing since we were talking about a real head. Anyway we finally settled it, went over, grabbed the shovel and started digging. About two feet down we hit something – a burlap sack. When we pulled it back there was a foot with a sock on -- and no shoes.

  I don’t know, everything seemed weird, this was a person, just like me, who walked and talked just a few days ago. Now he was dead – forever. Me and GB just sat there for a while and stared at each other. I could tell he was crying. So was I. We quickly covered the grave, put the shovel back --- and ran.

  Chapter 10

  We had a man with no shoes in a grave, and iceman named Carl and a fat guy who put him there, and a thin guy with what looked the man’s shoes. Carl and the thin guy all were talking like old pals to Officer Hollis. We were sitting at my kitchen table having dinner. Mom had breaded and fried up our corbina. She invited GB over for dinner after I told her that he’d helped me clean them.

  “You boys aren’t eating very much. Have a little George Bailey.”

  “No thanks Mrs. Jenkins – I’m full.”

  “Me too Mom.”

  “Well it was nice of you to help Walter with the fish and to give me a free newspaper every once in a while.”

  “I’d do it every day if I could.”

  “I know that honey.” She said mussing up his hair.

  Gus was working at the “Fish-On!” restaurant. It helped cause he got free food and stuff. I tried to get a job at the paddleboard dock. It was harder now because grown men were taking jobs that kids normally did. There were bank managers working on the paddleboard dock or pumping gas.

  When we finished dinner GB and I went in to my room. Mom was in the living room listening to the news. A guy was on talking about that guy Hitler who was the new ruler of Germany.

  “I wonder why they killed him.” I whispered.

  GB didn’t say anything – he just stared out my window. It was like he didn’t hear me.

  “It must have something to do with bootlegging,” he finally said.

  “But bootlegging is over, it’s legal now to sell beer. Guys like Jake can’t make money from selling liquor anymore like they used to.”

  “Yeah, but do you think they’re real happy about it?”

  “Whataya mean?”

  “Well, let’s say you were a bootlegger on this island. You smuggled beer in from Mexico for the last 13 years and all of sudden you couldn’t do it anymore. You paid off Officer Hollis all those years and now he can’t make any extra money either. Then a guy from the mainland comes over, a regular liquor distributor, maybe even the same guy that sold liquor on the island before all the bootleggers. He just wants his old customers back. They get mad and kill him.”

  “But don’t they know it’s legal now – sooner or later the they’ll lose out?”

  GB scratched his head for a while.

  “But what if they still have a bunch of booze on the island somewhere that they still have to sell. Maybe it’s all stocked up somewhere.”

  “Maybe –maybe – or maybe Mr. Johansen was just messing around with Carl’s girlfriend or something.”

  “Don’t be stupid Walt – why would you kill somebody
over a girlfriend?”

  GB was smart – but maybe he read too many comic books.

  Chapter 11

  After GB left, I just sat on the bed for a while and thought about everything. When my brother Gus came in from the “Fish-On,” I was still awake.

  “You gonna stay up all night?” He asked.

  “Nah – I was just thinking about bootleggers.”

  “Whataya mean?”

  “I wondered how they got the stuff here during prohibition and why guys like Al Capone didn’t control the island too.”

  “Al Capone was in Chicago, you idiot.”

  “I know, but they musta had guys like him in Los Angeles too.”

  “Oh, they did Walt, but the island was just small potatoes for them --- the local guys like Jake Neeves handled everything.”

  “But where did they get the booze?”

  “From Mexico, it was still legal there, Mexican boats would just motor up to the backside of the island, we’re only about 80 miles from the border --- local guys would signal them from the hills with flashlights and then row their dories out to pick up the stuff. They say that Clam Beach was the best spot.”

  “How the heck do you know all this stuff – were you a bootlegger?”

  “Nah, but plenty of older guys were –some worked for Jake and other guys too.”

  “What about the cops.”

  “Officer Hollis – where do you think he got that new convertible?”

  Gus threw his clothes in the corner, turned off the lights and jumped in bed. He was asleep in about 5 minutes – it took me much longer. I kept thinking about bootleggers – and that foot in the dirt.

  Chapter 12

  We sat in GB’s garage folding newspapers his circulation manager had just delivered. We three-folded the papers, put a rubber band around them and tossed them all in a cardboard box. When we finished, we took the papers out of the box and stuffed them all in his handlebar bag.

  “Do you have to toss ‘em all on the porch.”

  “Yeah, at apartments like yours, I have to set ‘em by the front door.”

  “Do people ever snatch a paper when you’re away from the bike?”

  “Nah – most everybody knows me – they don’t do that.”

  I told GB what Gus said about the bootleggers and how they operated. He got real quiet again and went off in a corner.

  “I’ve got an idea Walt.”

  “Uh oh --what now?”

  “No really, I think we should go stake out Clam Beach one night and see if anybody’s still bringing in booze.”

  “How do we know if it’s the right night? They probably don’t come in all the time – especially now that it’s legal.”

  “This is August remember, all the bars are busy, and Labor Day Weekend is only a couple of weeks away. I’ll bet if they’re still delivering beer and stuff, it might be a good time tonight. Maybe they’re not exactly sure when the boats come in.”

  “Why do we want to know?”

  He looked at me like I wasn’t too smart. “ Look, if they’re still bringing in booze, it means they still want to stay in business and the bootleggers don’t want any competition from mainland distributors. These guys have been making a lot of money for a long time and they don’t want to lose business. It’ll also tell us why that man was killed.”

  “How can we do a stake out late at night.”

  “Why don’t you tell your Mom you’re staying at my house and going fishing early? I tell my folks the same thing. Then we’ll just head out.”

  “What if they find out?”

  “We’ll be in trouble – but if we don’t figure this out you’ll be dead and buried when they find your initials on that damn bucket.”

  “Oh great --- thanks. If we find out everything – who the heck are we going to tell?”

  “Don’t worry – we’ll figure something out.

  Chapter 13

  It was about 9:30 PM -- I was pedaling hard out Skipjack Road headed to the other side of the island -- steering down the middle of the road following the faded white line. It was smoother there, with fewer potholes. GB had a flashlight, but we didn’t want to use it. Once our eyes got used to the dark it wasn’t so bad and, if any cars were coming, we would see their lights for a long way. We had hidden our fishing poles in the back alley by the side of GB’s garage. When we got back, we’d head out to the pier like we went fishing early. I grabbed an apple and a piece of bread from my house. He had a day-old maple bar and some raisins. Clam Beach was about a half mile away from Skipjack Point. Once we got there, we’d walk along the rocky shoreline if the tide was low enough --otherwise we’d have a steep hike.

  “What if the tide comes in after we get there?” I asked.

  “We can still wade around – it’ll only be a couple of feet deep.”

  I knew it would take a lot longer if we had to do that. We were going to sneak around and see if there were any dories on the beach. If we got lucky (if you call that lucky) maybe someone would be unloading a shipment.

  When we got to Skipjack Point we turned left and were surprised to see an Elmer’s Ice Model T parked near the dirt trail that led to Clam Beach. We quickly pushed the bike behind some large bushes and waited to see if anybody was around.

  “We better not go down that trail, it’s low tide and those guys are probably walking down that way.” GB whispered.

  “I don’t know, maybe we should just head back. We sure don’t want them to catch us out here --besides how do we know they took that trail?”

  “We don’t, but if they’re going to Clam Beach – it’s the easiest way. Why else would they be out here this late? We’ll take the hard way around and look down on them. If they’re here for a shipment they need to haul the stuff to the truck. It’ll take more than one trip.”

  We stumbled up the side of a steep hill. There were low dry shrubs, tumbleweeds and patches of prickly pear cactus. There was a half moon, and just enough light to keep us from running into the cactus. We tried to sort of crawl along and keep hidden. Every little bit we’d stop and catch our breath. I could feel my heart beating. GB was just ahead of me leading the way. Every once in a while he’d turn around and signal another direction. We finally came to the top of the hill and moved off to our right toward the coast. After a while, we crawled out on the top of a bluff which lead down to a narrow sandy beach far below.

  “Let’s get behind that bush over there.” GB said.

  We sat there for quite a while. We couldn’t see anything. There was no one on the beach. It was a clear night, and the ocean was very calm with only a slight wind chop. The moonlight shined on the water.

  “What’s that?” GB pointed. I looked and saw a dark shape about a quarter mile out and then two quick flashes of light.

  “Look,” I pointed down on the beach – another two quick flashes shined off a huge piece of driftwood, a tree trunk, on the far right side of the beach.

  The dark shape slowly grew larger as it moved towards the shore. After a while the boat came close enough – it looked like an old Tuna boat with lines hanging loose with old car tires for bumpers. It was hard to see, but in the reflected moonlight it looked like an abandoned wreck.

  Just then, down below on the beach, three men pulled on an old dory that had been hidden behind some bushes. They tugged it out down to the shoreline. One man got in and the other two pushed the boat out. When it was finally out deep enough, another man jumped in. They then rowed steadily in the direction of the large boat.

  “OK – let’s get the hell out of here,” I said.

  “Wait, I want to make thur they’re loading booze on board the dory.”

  “You’re going to get us both killed – what else would they be doing?

  “OK.”

  We figured it would take them quite a while to unload everything, but we weren’t taking any chances. We moved as quickly as possible back down to the bike.

  I pedaled as hard as I could down the middle of Skipj
ack Road. When we were about a half-mile past the Halfway House, I looked back and saw, way in the distance, headlights coming towards us. I quickly turned the bike to the right.

  “What the-----.”

  “Quick, there’s a car coming! We’ve got to hide.”

  There was nothing but low scrub bushes. I laid the bike down flat on the ground. The car was coming closer. GB and I both laid down flat on the ground. I could taste the dirt as I buried my head in the grainy sand and could hear the familiar sound of the old Model T as it approached us on the road. I thought I heard GB sobbing, but I wasn’t sure – maybe it was me. I thought my heart was going to explode. I have never, ever been so scared in my life. Suddenly I felt some wet –I was peeing. The Model T rumbled by – - and didn’t stop.

  As we pedaled back the wind hit me in the face. GB sat on the handlebars right in front of me. As I sniffed the familiar eucalyptus and dog poop smell, there was another smell too. I wasn’t the only one who peed his pants.

  Chapter 14

  We rode the bike down the alley behind GB’s house. It was about 12:30 AM. We argued what to do next. Since we’d both told our parents we were going to sleep at the other guy’s house—I figured we’d just sleep in his garage.

  “We don’t have any blankets or pillows,” GB said looking at me, “why don’t we both go to home and tell our parents we couldn’t sleep so we came home.”

  “Yeah – I can just crawl in the bedroom window. Gus and I always leave it open in the summer time and he never wakes up. Will your folks suspect anything?”

  “Nah – they’ll be too sleepy –it’ll most likely be my dad who comes to the door and he always has a bottle of wine almost every night – he will barely remember anything tomorrow.”