Bonefish Blues (2 page)

“What the hell, boy?” one asked as Matt started throwing fish into the water. 

“They’re short. Snappers’ve got to be twelve inches, groupers twenty.” Three more fish followed. 

“You could hurry your ass up and just clean them. Toss the carcasses, nobody’ll be the wiser,” Cody said as he hopped to the dock, catching himself on a piling to break his fall.

Matt ignored him and handed each angler a larger fish. “Be happy to take a picture for you. Won’t take long to clean them after that.”

Bellies poked out of shirts and well-chewed cigar stubs hung from their mouths as the men pushed their hats back, took off their sunglasses, and smiled. 

“What’s that all about?” the man with Will asked as he handed him two hundred dollar bills.

Will peeled the perfect filet off the back side of the redfish and tossed the translucent spine to a waiting pelican. “Here you go.” He handed the bagged filets to the man. “Good fishing with you.” 

The man looked down at his catch, then glanced toward the scene on the dock. Will followed his look knowing he had some buyers remorse. “There’s no skill in that. Anyone can go out, drink some beers, soak some bait, and bring back fish. Catching them on a fly, just taking what you need for dinner … I’d say that’s a whole lot more honorable. Those guys don’t respect what we’ve got here. Without sportsmen like you, this place’ll be wiped out in a few years. Damn shame.”

The man shook his head and walked toward the dock, passing Matt as he navigated the narrow gangplank separating the seawall from the floating dock. Will watched as he walked up to the group, accepted a beer, and listened intently to their tale. He hung around for a while, finally taking a business card from Cody.

“Never mind that. You’re doing it the right way.” Ned put a cold soda on the cleaning table and watched Will as he finished hosing off the table’s surface and deck below. The old man had been around the Keys for years. A former college professor turned marina owner, he was the go-to guy for any local knowledge. He’d been there, done that and now held court at his dockside seat, liberally spreading his advice to anyone who would listen. “Takes a while to build a reputation here. I’ve been watching them come and go for thirty years.” He pointed to the dock. “That boy—” He tilted his head toward Cody. “Without his daddy, he’d be cleaning your fish. The old man puts the customers in his boat.” 

“Sometimes it looks like I have to do everything the hard way,” Will said.

“There’s only two ways, and the hard way is usually the right way. Besides, I don’t see you drinking beers and talking trash like that six days a week. That’s no way to live.”

Matt walked up holding a basket full of fish in his hands, “Can I take that table?” 

“Sure. I’m finished.” Will stepped to the side.

Matt set the laundry basket of fish on the deck, grabbed an empty bucket, and set the hose in it. While it was filling he took the sharpening steel to the worn fillet knife. One at a time he skillfully cleaned the fish, placing the fillets in the bucket of water, popping the eyes out of the carcass and tossing them to the waiting birds. 

“Take the soda.” Will pushed the unopened can toward him. 

Matt wiped the sweat from his brow and cracked the tab. “Thanks, Will. My dad only has beer on the boat.”

Will and Ned watched the boy finish cleaning the fish. He hosed the table off, wiping the remnants through the drain hole, and carefully took the fillets out of the bucket. Separated by species, he started to bag them, sucking the air from each bag before sealing it.

“What are you being so careful for?” Ned asked. “Not like those guys’ll appreciate the effort you’re taking.

“Just hoping for a big tip. Saving up for a car.”

***

Will watched as Cody and the two men approached. Matt handed them the bucket, baggies neatly stacked on the bottom. “Here you go, sir.” 

He waited, looking up at them expectantly.

“Go on down and clean the boat now,” Cody told him. 

The men ignored Matt’s glance as he headed down toward the dock, and Cody turned back to Will.

“Yo, Will. Didn’t do so hot today. Just a red?”

“Released a couple of nice bones and a small tarpon.”

“Don’t have much interest in that whole release thing.” Cody elbowed one of the men in the side. “Know what I mean, boys? That there’s a good day’s fishing.” He looked at the bucket. “Maybe ought to tip the boy something for cleaning them for you.” He accepted a twenty, and exchanged handshakes and fist bumps with his two clients. “See ya’ll at the bar.”

Then he turned back to Will and Ned. “Another banner day, boys,” he said. He winked, pocketed the bill, and headed towards the boat. 

“You going to pass that on?” Will called, referring to the bill in Cody’s pocket.

“Don’t think that’s any of your business. It’s my boy. You looking to clean my fish? Maybe pick up a few extra bucks? Charters ain’t exactly lining up for you.” Cody glanced toward the dock, scowling. “Tell the boy I’m not waiting for him. I’m heading for the bar. He can walk over when he’s done. Tell him I’ll let him practice his driving on the way home.”

Will shook his head. “Yeah, I’ll tell him.” He watched Cody with disdain as he walked toward the dock. Matt had his shirt off, sweat mixing with soap as he scrubbed the boat. “Hey, take a break and let it soak.” He looked over the bloodstained deck and frowned. “Raw water sprayer not working? Wouldn’t be half as bad if he sprayed it down a few times when they’re out there.”

Matt put down the brush and picked up the soda. He took a long sip. “You know the old man. Says it’s all part of the effect.” He put down the drink, picked up the brush, and started scrubbing again. 

Will checked his dock lines. His twenty one foot Action Craft flats boat sat still in the water, the tide slack. He hopped onto the deck and started stowing gear. A quick freshwater spray, and the boat was clean. He was religious about spraying after each fish, although that wasn’t as often as some of his charters would like. It burned him that the man from today had taken a card from Cody. He’d read the guy wrong. Maybe should have chummed up some snappers and let him take a limit. You could still catch them on the fly. Maybe his business would be better if he let the anglers catch limits, but conservation was wired into him, his reputation built on catch and release and he often wrongly assumed his charters knew that before they went out. The two months of tarpon season were different. He was the man then; tarpon season was different, a release only fishery ~ even Cody wouldn’t take tarpon — wouldn’t even fish for them. He was booked solid during the season, but slower the rest of the year. It seemed that since the economy had died, folks had lost interest in catch and release. They were all about filling their freezers. Bonefish and permit, the other catch and release only fish, were sought by a more exclusive, though dwindling group. He thought about his bank account, currently as low as a spring tide. 

Matt was coiling the hose on the dock when Will passed by. He paused and looked at the boy. He reached into his pocket and took out a twenty. It wasn’t right how Cody treated him, “Here. That’s from those guys your dad took out today. Said to meet him at the bar when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Will. I don’t get too many tips.” He pocketed the money, put his shirt on, and headed toward the building.

“Saw you give the boy some cash,” Ned said, approaching. 

“You know Cody is drinking on that tip money right now. He’s a good kid. Doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“Yeah, he is. But he’s not your responsibility. You can’t save everything. When was the last time you went out and had a good time?”

Will just looked at him, saying nothing in acknowledgment. Ned took the cue and went back to the office.

Chapter 3

“Give me seven points and I’ll take Vanderbilt,” Cody said as he chugged his beer. He looked up at the flat screen behind the bar; the talking heads on the screen had all picked Georgia. Cody knew he was going out on a limb, but the only way to dig himself out of the hole he was in was with a big shovel and the odds on Vanderbilt winning would buy him a backhoe. A win here would settle all his debts ~ he ignored the thoughts of what a loss would do.

The local bookie sat next to him, sipping a soda, “Number one, you got no credit. Number two, are you out of your mind?” Cody followed the man’s gaze to the screen.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the twenty. “Here, let’s call this a down payment. Make the bet a hundred,” he said trying to keep the look of desperation off his face.

The man grabbed the twenty. “You ain’t got that kind of credit. I’ll call the bet twenty.”

Cody guzzled the rest of his beer and slammed the mug down on the bar. “Just you wait. I’ll find another bookie and you’ll be missin’ my business.” He turned and looked around the bar for someone else he could bet with. 

The man saw what he was up to. “Good luck there. In this pisshole of a town, I’m the only game. I’ll take your money. Just make sure your old man backs you up.”

Cody stared at the screen, the kickoff seconds away.
What the hell,
he thought. His old man would bail him out. Not that he’d need it, he reassured himself. He ordered another beer and watched the game unfold. He got up at halftime, needing a bathroom break after half a dozen beers. His hopes were in the gutter; Vanderbilt was down by fourteen. Back at the bar, and ready for the third quarter, he switched to bourbon. 

This didn’t seem to help, as the chasm deepened to twenty points. Defeated, he finally left the bar.

***

Matt was texting, his head down when Cody approached the car. His math book was in his lap — Algebra two — a notepad open on the seat next to him. He was startled when Cody opened the door and got in. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, yourself. What are you doing on that stupid phone?” He grabbed it and slammed it on the dashboard. “You need to be working those books,” he slurred.

Matt looked him over, knowing he was drunk and had probably lost money by his temper. “Why don’t you let me drive?”

“I got this,” Cody mumbled as he turned the key. The engine turned over, and Matt reached for the keys.

“Dad, I’ve got my permit, and you’ve been drinking. I’ll drive. One more DUI and you have to do jail time,” Matt made a move for the door but was too late.

Cody ignored him and pulled the lever down. He was sloppy drunk, and jerked too hard, so that the shift went right past reverse and into drive.

“Dad, stop!” 

But it was too late; the truck jerked forward, slamming into the parking bumper. Matt grabbed his books and phone and reached for the door handle. “You can’t drive like this. I’ll walk.” He got out and slammed the door, leaping out of the way as the truck found reverse and pulled out of the lot, tires shooting crushed coral toward him. 

Head down he walked to the curb. Books at his feet, he sat on the vacant parking bumper and stared at his phone. It was five miles to his mom’s house. He was supposed to be staying with his dad this week, but he had no wish to be around the old man any more than necessary. Besides, she would let him stay there. Hopefully she didn’t have one of her boyfriends around. Just as he started to dial her number, he saw Will pull into the lot and he set down the phone. The old pickup stopped next to him.

“Hey, you okay?” Will asked.

“Yeah, sure. Just need a ride. I was just about to call my mom.”

“No problem. I’ll take you over there. You eat anything yet? I was just about to get something.” He figured Matt had been here the whole time waiting for Cody, “Want to go?”

Matt’s stomach had been grumbling for hours, but his dad had never asked whether he was hungry. The fact that Will did brought up a lump in his throat, and he quickly swallowed it down. “Yeah, that’d be great.” He went toward the rusted door and got in.

Will pulled out onto US1 and headed north. “Where’s your dad?”

“Think he had too much to drink again. Took off.” Matt put his head down and stared at the seat. They drove in silence, though Matt watched Will out of the corner of his eye. He knew he had some trust issues after dealing with his parents’ divorce, and watching his dad gamble and drink. Will was someone who he could count on, although he’d never really tested the trust. It was just nice to have someone that did stuff for you; knew when you needed help and when you needed to be left alone. He’d never seen Will drunk or abusive either.