South of the Pumphouse (9 page)

Ed opened his eyes and asked, “Isn't that Pop's old watch?”

“Yep.”

“Where the hell did you find that?”

“It was in an old Folgers can. I found it when we was cleanin' out his garage. Put a new battery in it. Works fine. Remember? We got it for him for his birthday.”

“His fortieth birthday,” acknowledged Ed.

“Yep. That's right. That was a big deal back then, havin' a
digital
watch.”

“Yep.”

Donny was less impressed. He snorted, “Well, it don't mean shit now. It's just a big ol' ugly hunka metal.”

“I don't know. I think it's kinda happening,” said Ed, still admiring the watch.

“This sucker wasn't cheap, neither. We pitched in all our aluminum can money, and Ma still had to kick in another twenty bucks.”

Ed chuckled. “I forgot about them cans.”

“Hell yeah, that was big business back in them days. Shee-it. Between Pops and Uncle Pete, we'd get enough beer cans to fill a pickup truck in no time,” Earl laughed.

“Yep, all Coors cans too.” Ed reached back into the ice chest.

“Well, at least your Pops had taste,” blurted Donny, before taking a swig from his beer. “Hey, Ed, you say that watch of yours tells you how far you run?”

“Yep.”

“I always just run till I throw up. That tells me how far I ran.” Donny grinned before he delivered the punch line: “Too fuckin' far.”

Donny was the only one to laugh. He looked at the other two men. “Well, they can't all be zingers.”

“Where the hell's my … ? Ah, here we go …” Ed pulled out a large can of Fosters lager and tapped the top. He opened it and took a big swig.

Donny watched Ed for a moment and then commented, “Fosters, huh? We used to drink those in high school. Remember, Earl?” He poked Earl in the side with his elbow.

Earl, who was intently watching the poles, acknowledged flatly, “Yep.”

“Actually, I always liked them Mickey's Big Mouths. We could hella slam those. 'Member that, Earl?”

“Yep.”

“We used to grab a pack or two of those Big Mouths, couple them Fosters, and hang out late night in Berkeley,” Donny recalled fondly.

“You used to hang out in Berkeley?” Ed blurted.

“Hell yeah! Me and Earl, when we worked at the Shell station Friday or Saturday nights, would get us some beers just before closin', do the cash out or tally or whatever the fuck we used to call it, then head on out to Berkeley for some Top Dogs.” He looked toward Earl and added, “You remember that Top Dog place, don't ya, Earl?”

A smile stretched across Earl's face. “Louisiana hot links.”

With a hoot of laughter, Donny exclaimed, “Yeah! Louisiana hot links! Shit, I forgot all about them damn things.” He leaned toward Ed and said in a low voice, “I always ate the bockwurst. They were those big, pale, greasy-lookin' ones.” He then turned back toward Earl before continuing, “Remember the time we took ol' Brian out there and he ate four of them hot fuckers?”

“Naw, I don't remember that.”

“Sure you do!” insisted Donny.

Earl looked perplexed.

“You remember ol' Brian, right?”

Earl didn't respond.

“Our boss?” said Donny impatiently.

“Hell, I know who Brian is. I just don't remember ever partying with him at Top Dog,” insisted Earl.

Donny looked out the back of the boat. “Well, shit. Maybe you weren't there? Anyways, me and Bri and whoever it was … Maybe it was Tony?” Donny pondered for a moment and then exclaimed triumphantly, “I know. It was that dipshit Bob!”

“Who?”

“You know, that redheaded fucker? His breath always smelled like he chewed his socks.”

They both laughed. “Oh yeah,” Earl finally acknowledged.

“Anyways, we headed on out there to Berkeley with some beers, and of course neither one of those guys had seen a place with such a wide selection of dogs.” He paused, then asked Ed, “You ever been to that Top Dog place, Pee Wee?”

Ed took a moment to respond. He hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation. “Yeah, it's been awhile, though.”

“Best fuckin' hot dogs, eh?”

“I don't know,” said Ed.

“What do you mean, you don't know?” said Donny, slightly irritated.

Ed, not really caring, shot back, “I don't know!”

Donny, intent on drawing a definitive answer, asked, “Where have you had a better dog?!”

“I don't eat meat.”

“Well, what the fuck were you doin' at Top Dog, then?!”

“I used to eat meat.”

“Well, was it the best damn dog you ever had, or what?!”

“Yeah, sure. I suppose.”

“Jesus Christ, Pee Wee!” barked Donny. “It's like pullin' fuckin' teeth.” He shook his head. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so ol' Bri doesn't know whether to get this or that, bratwurst or fatwurst, eye-tallion, or polish whatever the fuck. Finally he decides on the Louisiana hot links.
Four
of them fuckers!” He chirped with laughter. “I can't believe it. I tell him about the time I ate
two
and it gave me the ring of fire.” He leaned in toward the other two and then said under his breath, “Know what I mean?

“Anyways, he called me a pus,” Donny continued. “So I says, ‘Fine, fuck you. Do whatcha want.' So he wolfs them bastards down with a couple a Mickey's. The next day he comes into work cool as can be, happier than hell. We're all sittin' around the station bullshittin' between cars, and that fucker leans back and raises his leg like he's gonna blow this big-ass fart. AND HE SHITS HIMSELF! RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CREW!! THE BOSS SHITS HIMSELF! It was nasty as hell! But we laughed. We laughed our asses off,” Donny howled. “Dipshit spent the rest of the day on the toilet.”

Up until now, Ed had been staring blankly at his rod tip. Upon hearing this, he smiled and chuckled at the thought.

“I don't remember that,” laughed Earl.

“Yer shittin' me?!” said Donny. “I thought everybody knew about that. Fuckin' legendary. We didn't let him forget about it too soon, neither. Hell no.”

“Maybe I did hear somethin' about it,” Earl said thoughtfully. “I remember somethin' about some Pampers?”

“Shit yeah. Ol' Doc the tow truck driver got word of it and left a big box of diapers on Brian's desk. Bri got all pissed off.”

Earl pointed toward the rods and interrupted abruptly, “Ed, you're gettin' a bite!”

In a semi-stupor, Ed lunged forward and awkwardly yanked back his pole.

“Damn. Missed 'em,” mused Ed, as he looked up at the pole tip.

“You're a little slow on the draw there, Pee Wee,” said Donny with a smirk. He took a toke off his cigarette, washing it back with a swig from his beer. Earl chuckled as Donny went on: “Hell, you been starin' at the damn thing for the past twenty minutes.”

Earl folded his arms and sat tall in his seat. “Yep, bro. Gotta kick off some of that rust.” Ed stood to reel in his line, the clickety whir of the reel echoing in his head. The machinery of the mechanism moved smoothly in his hands. He watched the sinker and leader rise to the surface and glide toward the boat, leaving a colorful trail on the water.

“Yep,” was the only response Ed could muster.

Chapter 20

A N
IGHT AT THE
R
ANCHO

W
hen Ed was a kid, time had passed slowly on the boat when the fish weren't on the bite. But the overall experience of being on the water, especially in good weather, was quite pleasant. There were times, however, when he had wished that his father would let him stay in bed, particularly on days when it was cold and wet. It wasn't so much the rain that was bothersome as much as the wind that would occasionally kick up. Late fall and early winter on San Pablo Bay was, for the most part, quite calm, but on the random breezy day, the surface of the water would become choppy and make the boat uncomfortable. The rod tips would bounce so much that it was extremely difficult to differentiate fish action from the slapping ripples.

On this particular day, the only adverse condition that Ed was forced to tolerate was the company of Don Vowdy. The weather, at least, was on his side. With psychedelic eyes, Ed looked out across the vastness of the bay and marveled at the beauty of it all. The entire scene brought him back to the days when all had seemed right with the world, when his love and faith in his family and friends had yet to be corrupted by the realization of their shortcomings.

Ed looked at Earl and wondered at how his brother could be satisfied with his environment. As far as Ed could discern, Earl had never shown any sign of a desire to escape, either physically or philosophically. Ed both admired and was somewhat perplexed by Earl's ability to be content.

Suddenly the quiet bliss of the moment was ripped by a shrill sound that caused Ed to lurch.

“Hey, Earl, any action? Come back.”

Earl leaned far back in his chair and reached over his shoulder for the radio microphone. Speaking into the handheld mouthpiece, Earl replied, “Hey there, Red. Naw, we ain't seen nothin' here. Couple bullhead now and then. How 'bout you?”

“Naw, we had a shaker early this morning, but that's about it. Okay.”
Ed recognized the voice. He had always been perplexed by Red's habit of ending nearly every transmission with “
Okay
.”

“Tide will be turnin' around here. Maybe it'll pick up,” said Earl.

“Yeah, maybe. We'll see if it does. Ain't been much this year so far. Okay,”
the radio crackled.

“That's what I'm hearin'.”

“Yeah, I think we're about due for a hot bite. It's been too damn long between. Okay.”

“I sure hope so. I gotta get the skunk off my boat.”

Red chuckled over the radio.
“Yeah, I hear you. All right then, you get 'em. Over.”

“You too, Red. I'll let you know if somethin' comes up. I'm out.” Earl reached up to put the microphone back.

“Well, that's not too encouraging,” Ed observed.

“Eh, it'll pick up.”

“Fuckin' better,” Donny volunteered. “I'm gonna have to start goin' out with Duane the Chink.”

Donny was not a patient fisherman. In fact, to call him a fisherman at all would be a stretch. He was there on the boat, as he was most every place that he went, out of habit. Donny's circle of friends hadn't expanded much since he was a kid, and Earl had been his best pal as long as most folks could remember. Earl had been a likeable fellow, a bit mild mannered, but always likeable. Donny tended to be on the abrasive side, though not without a contagious sense of humor. When he was still very young, Donny had been dubbed a smart-ass by the boys' father—and for good reason. Donny inevitably seemed to be at the center of any ill-guided mischief into which the boys might have fallen. Yet his devilish charm had somehow kept him from any real trouble. In spite of his tactlessness, Donny never had problems attracting women, and lots of them, though the caliber of the conquests had been greatly varied.

“So, Donny,” Earl said, “what about this wild woman you was braggin' about?”

Earl was fully accustomed to Donny's exploits and the subsequent colorful tales that would follow a night of Vowdy debauchery. In this boat on these very waters, the stories of Donny's conquests had frequently been told. Though some of Donny's bragging seemed incredibly far-fetched, Earl rarely doubted the validity of Donny's words. Donny was a vulgar, simple man, but he had a knack for seeing through bullshit and was known for rarely supplementing any of his own.

“Oh yeah, boy, let me tell you.” Donny sat up straight in his chair, readying himself for delivery. “Anyway, I was sittin' at the Rancho after the fights. Place is packed, of course. I get up to take a piss. Now me and Fred, we'd been flirtin' around with these chicks at the table next to us all night, you know, just bullshit stuff.”

Earl looked to Ed and commented, “You remember Fred?”

Ed gave Earl a puzzled look.

“Flouncin' Fred?” Earl asked.

An image flashed in Ed's swirling vision, the photograph of a face. It was a young man with frizzy hair and tinted bifocals. The photo was from Ed's high school yearbook. The visual recollection expanded to a long shot of the young man smiling and leaning against the red, yellow, and white surface of a homecoming float, surrounded by cheerleaders. The hip-looking guy was slyly smiling. Ed grinned at the thought.

“Oh yeah, I liked Fred,” he replied.

“Well,” Donny continued, “you should have seen him last night. He was off his ass. Grabbing on Trinity's titties and shit.”

Earl burst out laughing. “No shit! Trinity!?”

“Yeah,” chuckled Donny.

“Who's Trinity?” asked Ed.

“You remember Trinity,” Earl insisted. “She used to babysit the Rodey kids across the street?”

“Oh yeah. She was pretty hot. She always wore them tube tops,” Ed remembered.

“Yeah, well, she put on a few pounds since them tube top days.”

“Still got them big titties, though,” added Donny.

“She married Fat Frankie and started tendin' bar at the Rancho,” said Earl. “Fred better watch himself, Fat Frankie gets wind of that.”

“Yeah, well, ol' Fred didn't give a shit,” said Donny. “I tell you, he was off his ass. Anyway, I get up to go have a piss, and this gal from that table follows me into the shitter. I say, ‘You come to give me a hand or what?' She says, ‘I've heard about you.'”

“Yeah, she heard about your big peter,” Earl interjected.

“That's what I say!” beamed Donny. “I says, ‘Darlin', I got more swingin' meat than any nigger in North Richmond!'”

“Sounds like something you'd say,” said Ed.