Bonefish Blues

by Steven Becker

  “Thanks. That’s just what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m in a bit of a jam. I need some quick cash, and the only way I can see getting my hands on it is to do some meat charters for a while.”

  Ned looked over his reading glasses, staring at him. “I can set some up for you, but Cody’s going to have a cow.”

  “I’ll just have to deal with him. Did he go out today?”

  “No, his charter cancelled because of the weather. I think he’s down by his boat.”

  Will swallowed hard as he left the conditioned air and walked down the dock. Cody was sitting on the transom, spooling line onto a reel, when he walked up. “Hey, I need to talk to you. Seems like I’m short on cash and …”

  “Shit, you want to talk to me?” Cody got up and raised his voice. “Stay away from my family and I’ll talk to you. Right now, all I got to tell you is to get the hell out of my face.”

  Will automatically backed away, “I got no interest in Nicole.”

  Cody jumped up and hopped on the dock. “Don’t you walk away from me. Didn’t look like that last night,” he paused. “See, we’re about to get back together you know…”

  Will’s phone rang, interrupting Cody. He turned away and glanced at the phone’s caller ID. Restricted number showed in the display. Anything to avoid a confrontation with Cody, though, so he answered.

  “Hi, Will? This is Sheryl from the building department.”

  He started walking away, looking over his shoulder to see if Cody was following. But the other man just stood his ground, scowling. “Hey,” he muttered.

  “Can you talk?”

  “Hold on.” He looked over his shoulder again and dropped his eyes when they met Cody’s glare. “Did you find out anything?” There was a pause on the line, and he felt like he was frozen in time, waiting for her to speak. Cody was coming towards him probably paranoid enough to think it was Nicole on the other end. Quickly he said, “If you’d rather get together, we could talk about it later. Maybe get some dinner or something?” He couldn’t believe the words had come that easily.

  “In person would be better. You have a boat?”

  “Yeah, a twenty-one-foot flats boat. What do you have in mind?” he relaxed as he looked back and saw Cody leaning against the dock, phone to his ear. He was probably calling Nicole, Will thought, just to make sure she wasn’t talking to him.

  “We should take a ride out to Flamingo. There’s a hand-drawn map in this file that needs to be verified.”

  “Sounds like a treasure hunt,” he said.

  “Not in the way you’re thinking. Bring some dive gear if you have it and pick me up at 4:45. I get off at 4:30. That’ll give me time to get home and change. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there.” He disconnected and looked back at Cody.

  He was approaching again and Will tensed. Cody started to walk right by him, tossing his usual glare, but nothing threatening. Hoping the situation was diffused and feeling good after talking to Sheryl he blurted, “By the way, just thought I’d let you know that I’m taking some meat charters now.” Relieved that he’d confronted him, he waited for a response.

  “You? That’s a good one. Ain’t no skin off my back.” Cody laughed, “Those guys need someone to drink with and tell jokes to. That ain’t you, boyo. You’ll die a little inside every day.” He started to walk away. “Gotta go. Got a date with Nicole tonight.”

  Will watched him walk away glad that Sheryl had called, glad that he was going to see her and glad that he had taken his vows last night and sworn off Nicole. The turmoil in his head was starting to clear.

  Chapter 10

  Again, her eyes were the first thing he saw as she walked toward him. If her pupils were fish he would have sworn he was looking into water. He stood motionless as she closed the gap. She was dressed in a tank top, shorts, and flip flops, with a messenger bag over her shoulder.

  “Ready?” he stuttered.

  “Yeah, let’s go before it gets dark,” she said.

  They walked to the boat in silence. Once aboard, he started the engine and tossed the lines onto the dock. Seconds later, the boat was idling out of the canal. As soon as they reached open water, he pushed down on the throttle and the boat quickly planed out. The light boat skimmed across the waves, barely touching some, caressing the tops of others. Will was thankful the seas were down. Earlier today, the ride would have taken more than twice as long as the fifteen minutes it took them to reach Flamingo Key. The boat settled after the wake lifted the hull, passing underneath, before dispersing its energy onto the beach.

  Sheryl had directed him toward the west side of the island, and Will looked around, not familiar with this area. He usually fished the east side, where mangroves lined the shore, offering protection to the fish. Palm trees were visible over the requisite mangroves set back by a small beach.

  She took the bag from her shoulder and removed a folder. “This is really interesting,” she said as she pulled out a sheet of paper and pointed to a clearing visible in the aerial photo. “It’s probably overgrown now, but this Key was partially developed back in the ‘80s. There are a lot of abandoned projects started without permits and abandoned when they instituted ROGO in 1992. Too much trouble and expense, the Rate of Growth Ordinance shut down all building for a while, especially the homesteaders. Now there is some, but the number of permits is limited by the ordinance.”

  He took the offered papers. There was nothing visible on the arial photo except the clearing and several paths. The second page was folded in half. When he opened the larger page, it revealed a hand-drawn site plan, which showed the island mostly cleared, with a dock running through the mangroves on the east side and a cluster of small buildings connected by paths that looked wide enough for a golf cart. Two lines were drawn toward the mainland; one marked sewer and the other water. The date was 1988. There was another, older page, also hand drawn, that showed a septic tank and water cistern in a much smaller clearing, with only a single building shown.

  “Looks like someone started to permit this as a compound or something, and then bailed on it. They had permits for the septic and water tanks, and apparently finished that, because there was a final inspection.” She removed a permit card and handed it to him. “Later, someone else saw a loophole and permitted the upgrade to city sewer and water, without the building even permitted, thinking it would be easier to get a building permit with a sewer in place. At that time, there were so many applications coming in that all they looked for was a permitted septic system before issuing a sewer connection. No one noticed that the house had never been built.”

  “And then it dropped off the radar until a couple days ago?”

  “With all the budget cuts we’ve had, there is no one to check on expired permits, especially the ones out here.”

  They both turned as a boat pulled up a quarter mile away and dropped anchor. Will squinted at the boat outlined in the setting sun, thinking it looked familiar, and could hear the voices as they pulled out fishing poles and started to fish. Someone screamed as they hooked up right away. Unusual, he thought; usually you had to set up a chum bag and wait a while for the fish to find you. Another scream indicated one of the other anglers was hooked up as well. He shook his head and focused on Sheryl.

  “Want to go have a look?”

  “I would. Some of these Keys have some interesting stories to be told.”

  He idled the boat closer to the beach, raising the engine as he went. The bow touched sand just as the propeller cleared the water. The engine off, he went forward and grabbed the anchor line, pulling about twenty feet out. He tossed the anchor onto the beach, pulled the line tight, and looped it around a cleat.

  “Unusual way to anchor.”

  “It’s slack tide, and we won’t be long. I imagine the mosquitos will eat us alive before we get too far.”

  She reached into her bag and brought out some repellent, which she quickly rubbed into her exposed skin.

&nbs
p; “Thanks,” he took the tube. Both covered in mosquito repellent, they eased over the low gunwale and waded the calf-deep water toward shore. The mosquitos swarmed, but kept their distance as they approached the mangroves. Will went first, clearing a path and holding back branches for Sheryl. He followed what appeared to have at one time been a trail. The ground cover had not grown back as aggressively as the mangroves slapping at their bodies. They reached the center of the island and entered the clearing.

  He looked around. “Look there’s footprints. Strange, they look fresh. It rained a couple of days ago. Funny, I’ve never seen anyone come out here; it’s all mangroves at high tide and sand bars extend way out at low tide.”

  She followed him as he moved to the two concrete tank lids, both a foot higher than the sand. “And here’re the tanks.”

  “Wow! That stinks,” he said as they approached.

  “That’s weird. They should be full of clean water so they don’t pop out of the ground when it rains. There’s something wrong here.”

  The image of the large bag on Braken’s boat popped into Will’s head, and he looked down and followed the footsteps. It looked like there were two sets with the distinct image next to them that the bag would have made being dragged through the sand . He emerged on the beach the Grady-White had been stranded on yesterday. They went back to one of the tanks, and saw a crowbar to the side of the lid.

  “This isn’t good. Maybe we ought to go back.”

  “No way. This was my idea.” She picked up the crowbar and started to pry at the tank lid.

  “You sure?” He watched her struggle, finally going over and offering help. She surrendered the bar and he went to work on the lid, walking the crowbar around the opening, the lid rising an inch or two each turn. She came toward him to help as the bottom of the lid became visible, and he handed her the crowbar to hold the heavy lid up while he bent over and flipped it over.

  The stench was overpowering, and he looked into the black void, suspicious of what it was. He went for the tank lid and wrestled it back in place. They quickly moved to the edge of the clearing, upwind of the tanks. “This is bad. Do you think?” He stopped.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I had a run-in with Braken and Scarface here the other day. They had one of those fish bags the tournament fishermen use to keep their catch hydrated. It was big enough to hold a man.” They looked at each other, “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.”

  They made their way along the path to the beach, where Will picked up the anchor and carried it back to the boat. Sheryl followed and dove into the water, trying to release the stench from her pores. Back on the boat, they looked at each other, not sure what to do or say.

  “Sorry, no towels,” was all Will could come up with.

  “It’s all right, let’s get out of here.” She started to shiver. “That was creepy.”

  The boat idled away from the island. “There’s a rain jacket in the side compartment. Grab that while I check something out.” He watched her as she bent over to get the jacket, wet clothes clinging to her body.

  He looked away as she rose. “See them,” He pointed to the fishing boat that was still anchored off the point. It was still loud, rods bent over and fish going in the box. There’s no reason for them to be there, no structure just flat bottom, and they’re catching fish. It’s almost like something is bringing them to that spot. Can I see the map again?” The puzzle was coming together in his mind. Intrigued about Cody’s fishing spot he overcame his usual timidness and focussed on his theory.

  “Sure, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Just a hunch,” he took the hand drawn map and oriented it. “See, it shows a pipeline coming through there from the water tanks. That was going to be the pipeline feeding the island from the mainland. Let’s check it out.”

  “I don’t know Will. I think I’ve seen enough. Maybe we should just go to the police with this, get cleaned up and then get some dinner.”

  “It’ll just take a minute. Can you grab that spotlight?” He idled the boat around to where he thought the pipe should be and shone the light in the water. “Look, there’s a pipe coming out of the sand there.” He pointed.

  She followed the shape of the pipe, partly buried in the sand, with the spotlight as they moved away from the island and toward the mainland.

  The light was fading, the pipeline invisible now, but he followed the direction the pipeline had been heading. Cody’s boat was directly in the path of the pipeline and the mainland.

  “What the hell Will. I’m on this spot,” Cody yelled as they approached his boat. “The other anglers chimed in with him.”

  “No problem, just having a look around,” Will called back not wanting any conflict with or without Sheryl. He turned the boat and pushed down the throttle.

  “We’ve got limits,” Will heard Cody yell to his charter, “What do you say we have some fun.”

  Chapter 11

  The engine noise made conversation difficult as they rode back each thinking about what they had seen. Will didn’t push the boat; ruining his propeller by hitting an object invisible in the dark was not in his budget. One of the traits that made him a good fishermen was being able to see things that weren’t apparent. Most experienced fishermen made the connection between bottom structure and fish, but Will could take it several steps further by envisioning where the fish would hold and at what depth and direction they would be facing at each phase of the tide and when they fed. It was also a trait that helped in his carpentry, allowing him to see things in a virgin piece of wood. In his mind he put together the tank, the pipeline and Cody’s fishing spot. It was too connected to be anything else, father and son on each end. Braken and Scarface were using the tanks to dump bodies and Cody was using the decomposing bodies as chum to attract fish.

  Sheryl was watching the lights on the shoreline pass by. He liked the fact that she could be close and stay in her own head; unlike Nicole who chatted incessantly. The quiet was broken by the roar of an outboard approaching.

  Will looked back and saw the green and red bow lights coming straight behind them. The boat was cruising faster than he was, using the flat water between their wake to gain. He figured it was just some drunk tourist, as the boat came close enough to read the registration numbers on its bow before pulling to the left and crashing through their wake.

  But it wasn’t a drunk tourist. It was the Grady White with Cody at the wheel bearing down on them.

  They watched as Cody and the other men leered at them, laughing as the boat pulled even for a second before pulling ahead and cutting them off. The bow of Will’s low-riding flats boat crashed through the wake instead of over it, dumping water into the boat.

  Will’s first reaction was to slow down and let Cody pass by, but he needed to keep speed up to allow the self-bailing boat to shed the water. Ahead, the green light shown on the bow, indicating that Cody had made a turn. The boat roared back at them, running straight toward him until turning at the last minute. This time, Will slowed in time to allow the boat to ride over the wave.

  Cody started circling the smaller boat, each circle tightening like a noose, forcing Will to slow further. Waves crashed into each quarter of the boat, soaking Will and Sheryl. Without the forward momentum, the hull would not drain and the boat sank in the water. If he didn’t stop they would sink. Will leaned his head over the side to check that the bilge pump was working. A steady stream of water shot from the hull, but he knew it was not enough to keep up with the water the boat was taking on.

  “He’s going to sink us!” Sheryl screamed.

  “I’ve got an idea. Hang on!”

  Will turned the boat toward open water and accelerated. The boat slammed through several waves created by Cody’s boat, taking on even more water, before they broke free of the wake and hit open water. The weight of the ankle-deep water in the cockpit slowed them, but with the boat now up on plane, the water was draining quickly. Will looke
d over his shoulder and saw Cody turn to follow, and the two boats raced into the night, the faster flats boat gaining a small lead. After a mile, the water, illuminated by the moonlight, subtly changed color. Will continued onto the flat, slowing to turn and watch Cody. He knew that the larger boat would be unable to follow him into the shallow water of the flat. If he saw it in time. They watched as the other boat made several passes, staying in the deeper water before turning toward the lights of Marathon.

  “What now?” Sheryl was wrapped tight in the rain jacket, but Will could see that she was still shivering.

  “He can’t get at us in here. The water is too shallow for his boat. Besides, those guys think it was funny now, but he tries anything else, they’ll be witnesses.”

  “No. I mean what now, like in the big picture. He just tried to kill us didn’t he?”

  Will didn’t want to go that far. Cody’s attempt may not have been homicidal, but it wasn’t a joke either. He wondered if it were just to beat on him and entertain his charter or if he knew they had found a stash of dead bodies and caught him fishing in the chum slick from them. “Maybe not kill us; more like scare us off.”

  “Well, it worked.” She moved to him.

  The embrace came naturally, but ended there. He held her, not sure if she was crying or not, but he was in favor of anything that avoided conversation, so he held on. After what felt like several long minutes, she pulled back and wiped at her eyes, streaked by her mascara. “I must look great.”

  “Actually, you do,” he said looking at her as she removed the rain jacket.

  She smiled and wiped her eyes with her shirt. “Probably dry better without this.”

  ***

  They waited an hour, sitting and talking about the island and what had gone on there. Will put out his theory about Braken and Scarface, the fish bag and Cody’s fishing spot and why he had been there tonight. Cody fished slack tide. He always came back quickly, with his boat filled. Under normal circumstances, fishermen relied on the moving water created by the tide change to move food and forage. In addition to the tide, they generally used a chum bag, sending scent and small pieces of bait into the current. After twenty minutes or so, fish were attracted to the slick and the real fishing began. But the chum, if you could call it that, coming from the pipeline was best served at slack tide, when Cody knew exactly where it would be. She nodded her head as he spoke.