Lord of the Deep Page 8

  Mikey washed the wound with peroxide, scrunching up his face when it fizzed and foamed up yellow. He rubbed a large dab of antibiotic cream over it, then pinched the cut closed and gauzed and taped it.

  Bill opened and closed his hand, then nodded to Mikey. “Good as new,” he said, then went forward and put the boat in motion. A moment later he came back to reset the lines.

  Mikey got the bucket and scrub brush.

  CHAPTER 14

  THEY HAD LUNCH.

  It was one-forty-five, but they’d been busy.

  Mikey took his twice-used crumpled paper sack and Alison’s clean white box lunch up to the flying bridge. They sat side by side, facing a wake that rolled hypnotically away behind the boat.

  Mikey peeked at his lunch. “So,” he said. “That enough excitement for you?”

  Alison pulled a thick roast beef sandwich out of the box. She looked at it a moment, then put it back and took out an orange. She dug a thumb into it and started peeling.

  “Exciting, but brutal,” she said.

  Mikey nodded. “Yeah.”

  They said nothing for a while. Alison ate the orange, piece by piece. She put the peels back in the box.

  “You don’t like fishing, do you?” Mikey said.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s—it’s just that I don’t like how we are sometimes.”

  “We?”

  “Humans.

  “Oh.”

  Alison smiled. “But it was definitely the most beautiful fish I’ve ever seen, even prettier than trout.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think so, anyway.”

  She paused, then added, “I guess I just didn’t like the part where Bill hit it on the head.”

  Mikey nodded. It wasn’t his favorite part, either.

  They ate, and after they were done, Alison lay out in the sun on the flying bridge with her paperback book.

  “That a good book?” Mikey asked.

  Alison thought a moment. “Yeah, it’s okay. Kind of boring in places, but it’s about the greatest artist who ever lived. You ever seen La Pietà?”

  Mikey shook his head. He didn’t even know what that was.

  “Well, how about Michelangelo? Ever heard of him?”

  “No.”

  Alison frowned. “You’ve never heard of Michelangelo?”

  “Well . . . not really.”

  She closed the book over her finger and shoved her sketchbook toward Mikey. “Write your address in my drawing book. I’m going to send you a picture of La Pietà. It’s the most beautiful piece of art ever created. It’s a sculpture in the Vatican. That’s where the pope lives, in Rome.”

  Mikey wrote his address in the sketchbook. She must think he was an idiot.

  Alison grinned at him. “We’ve got to expand your world some, Mr. Donovan.”

  Mikey half smiled, not knowing what else to do or say.

  Alison went back to her book. Mikey slipped down to the cabin and sat for a while in the seat across from Bill.

  Alison, he thought. She was pretty amazing.

  “Have you ever heard of someone named Michelangelo?” Mikey said, looking off into the distance. Then he turned toward Bill.

  Bill grinned, as if surprised by such an unusual question coming from Mikey. “Sure,” he said, quickly regaining a more serious face. “Michelangelo was an Italian artist. Probably one of the best ever. He was an architect, too. What’s this all about?”

  Mikey shrugged. “Just curious.”

  “Well, he’s a good man to be curious about.”

  “Yeah.”

  They had five rigs working now, two long lines on the outriggers and three shorter flatlines in between.

  Cal and Ernie talked on and on about the bull mahimahi, about how it had fought with such fury, how it had tailwalked and scissor-jumped and changed directions so fast you doubted the truth of what you’d just seen with your own eyes.

  “That sumbuck was a holy terror,” Cal said. “Good Lord a’mighty!”

  “Was even more’n that,” Ernie added. “Just ask my aching back.”

  “I think you ought to get it mounted, is what I think. Take it home. Or better yet, hang it in your office.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  “Oh yeah,” Cal said. “One that big. Gotta be a record, wouldn’t you think?”

  “Maybe we could take it home on ice. But that might ruin it. What you think the chances are they got a decent taxidermist around here?”

  “Be a stretch,” Cal said. “What do you think, Billyboy? Know of any taxidermists worth their salt?”

  “I’d say we have some of the best in the world, actually,” Bill said.

  Cal shook his head. “Maybe. Maybe.”

  Ernie smirked. “Kind a like asking a used-car salesman if he has any decent cars, don’t you think?”

  Cal laughed. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  Bill turned away.

  Mikey watched him out of the corner of his eye. What was going through his mind?

  “Hey, boy,” Ernie said. “Get us a couple of beers, would you now? Make yourself useful.”

  Mikey got the beers and wiped them dry.

  Pried off the caps.

  Set the bottles on the table.

  He sat again in the seat across from Bill.

  Idiots.

  Mikey tried to think about other things. What about Bill’s arm? Was it throbbing? It had to be. Jeez. Or was he immune to pain, too? Mikey wondered if fish felt pain. Or did they just get mad when they got hooked and feel nothing?

  Later, Alison came down from the flying bridge but stayed out in the sun-filled stern cockpit. She sat in the fighting chair, still reading her book.

  Mikey went aft and sat near her on the port gunnel.

  “I can’t even imagine it,” Alison said, suddenly looking up. “I mean, getting a hook that big in my arm.”

  Mikey nodded.

  “There’s a fisherman here a while back who lost a finger,” he said. “Got it tangled up in a wire leader while he was gaffing a yellowfin. The tuna decided to run and took his finger clean off.”

  “Okay, let’s change the subject.”

  Mikey nodded.

  But he wanted to finish. “He just wrapped up the stub and went on fishing,” he said.

  “Mikey!”

  “Right.”

  He watched the lures. He was feeling better now, not thinking so much about losing the marlin. The water looked cool and clean. Alison was nearby. Sun was all over the boat and ocean. Supreme fishing day. It could hardly get better than this.

  Alison marked the paperback and took up her sketchbook. Mikey watched her work on a drawing of a fish leaping out of the sea. Definitely the mahimahi.

  A few minutes passed.

  Mikey got up and went in to see how Bill was doing.

  “Get me a bottle of water, would you, Mikey?” Bill said.

  “Sure thing.”

  Mikey got it and brought it back.

  Alison came in with him. “Don’t you think we should go back? What if your arm gets infected?”

  Bill glanced at the bandage. “It won’t. Mikey doctored it up pretty good.” He smiled at her. “But thanks.”

  Cal and Ernie were playing blackjack now.

  Mikey and Alison watched.

  When Bill told them he had a set of poker chips, they got them out and used them, threatening that they were going to change them into real money at the end of the day. Cal lost almost every hand.

  “Where’s my luck gone to? You’d think I’d never played this game.”

  “Forget money,” Ernie said, all smiles. “You can pay me in bourbon.”

  Cal humphed. “You underestimate my ability to make a comeback, little brother.”

  Alison glanced at Mikey and rolled her eyes.

  Mikey laughed.

  Neither Cal nor Ernie even once asked Bill about his arm. They could at least have wondered how it felt, or something. Anything.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Cal
said, turning to Alison. “Come sit up here and help your old dad teach this weasel a lesson, would you?”

  Alison gave him a look that said You have got to be kidding.

  Cal said to Mikey, “She’s the luckiest or smartest blackjack player I’ve ever known, boy. I’m not kidding.”

  “Luckiest,” Ernie said. “What do you get if you line ten blondes up ear to ear?”

  Cal didn’t answer this one.

  “A wind tunnel,” Ernie said, and laughed at his own joke.

  Alison glared at him.

  “What?” he said, opening his hands.

  “I’m trying to imagine you with a heart.”

  “What’d I do? It was a joke.”

  Alison shook her head and handed Mikey her sketchbook. “Hold this while I show this redneck what a wind tunnel can do.”

  Cal slid over and made room.

  “Show no mercy, Ali. None a-tall.”

  Ernie grinned and dealt two cards to Alison and two to himself, his second card face up. Eight of hearts.

  Alison peeked at her cards and tapped the table.

  Ernie gave her a card.

  Mikey didn’t know this game, but Alison sure seemed to.

  She tapped again, and Ernie gave her another card, grinning. She took it and wagged a finger, telling Ernie that was all the cards she wanted.

  Ernie peeked at his own hand and dealt a card to himself. He grinned.

  “Set her down, sweetheart,” he said.

  Alison spread her cards on the table. “Twenty,” she said.

  Ernie tossed his cards on hers and swept them all up.

  “Ha!” Cal cheered, slapping Alison on the back. “I love you, love you, love you! Do it again.”

  Alison beat Ernie eight times straight.

  “Okay, we’re even,” Ernie finally said to Cal. “Get her outta here.”

  “Sure, sure, no problem, heh-heh.” Cal kissed Alison’s forehead. “That’s my girl.”

  Alison gave Cal a hug, then hopped back down to the bunk. She looked at Mikey and flexed her arm.

  CHAPTER 15

  THEY CONTINUED TROLLING.

  Two more hours before they’d head back to the harbor.

  “This place is dead,” Cal finally said.

  How could he say that, Mikey thought? They’d hooked a marlin, and a monster at that. They’d boarded two fish, maybe one of them close to record size.

  “Yep,” Ernie added. “Might as well go on in and see what the dolphinfish weighs.”

  “All right,” Bill said. “If that’s what you want. Tell the truth, I’d like to know that myself.”

  He got on the ship-to-shore and called ahead to let them know that the Crystal-C was coming in with what just might be a world-record mahimahi, so roll out the official scale. “And while you’re at it, Jimmy,” Bill added, “double-check the record for mahimahi. Whisky Bravo one-six-nine-three, the Crystal-C, over and out.”

  “You got it. Over and out.”

  Bill started to put the transmitter back on its hook, then stopped. He called home. Mom was there.

  “We’re coming in early,” Bill said. “How’s Billy-Jay doing? Over.”

  The radio spat static. Mikey leaned closer.

  “He’s better. Don’t worry, he’s fine. Why you coming in early? Over.”

  “Bring Billy-Jay down to the pier and see. We might have a record mahi on board. Over.”

  “We’ll be there. Out.”

  Bill hung up the transmitter and turned down the static. He gazed at the island.

  She’d said Billy-Jay was fine. Mikey studied Bill’s profile, wondering if he believed it.

  They headed toward the harbor, the bow of the Crystal-C rising and falling, knifing through the choppy silver afternoon sea. It wasn’t so calm now.

  Bill wanted to troll on the way in, maybe hook another ono. But Ernie and Cal would have none of it. “Just get us back to shore,” Ernie said.

  Bill shrugged. “Your money.”

  CHAPTER 16

  SOON THE RADIO STARTED crackling with calls from other boats. Listening in, as always. Trying to judge where the action was.

  “Where’d you hook the mahi?”

  “Billy, I think the record is eighty-five pounds, something like that.”

  “Were you off Keahole, or what?”

  “We ran into birds off Keauhou, but no action. Where was you at? North end, or what?”

  “North of the harbor.” Bill gave them that much.

  Secrets.

  Mikey grinned.

  Alison lay on the bunk across from Cal, her eyes and the sketchbook closed.

  Mikey pulled his feet up and sat cross-legged in the seat across from Bill.

  Bill glanced back at Cal and Ernie. “It’s too bad, you know. If this fish does turn out to be a world record, it won’t count. It could have made you famous, Ernie.”

  Bill shook his head and winked at Mikey.

  Mikey grinned.

  Bill sat sideways in the pilot’s seat, one hand loose on the wheel.

  Mikey knew he wasn’t joking. If it was a world record it would make Ernie famous. And the Crystal-C. But Mikey also knew it wouldn’t count. Ernie didn’t strike it. An angler had to fight his own fish start to finish for it to count.

  “What do you mean, it won’t count?” Cal said, turning around to face Bill.

  “Well, the rules are strict,” Bill said.

  He thought before going on, as if sensing that he should choose just the right words.

  “A fish can’t be considered an official world record unless you handle it yourself, all the way. Nobody else can touch any part of the rod, reel, or line during the fight. Ernie let Mikey strike it for him. So that would disqualify him. Don’t get me wrong, it can still be a record fish. It’s just not going down in the books.”

  Cal turned back and sat staring at Ernie, elbows on the table, fingers laced together.

  “Be like making history,” Ernie said. “Your name in the fishing Hall of Fame.”

  No one spoke for a moment.

  The engines droned.

  Still staring at Ernie, Cal said, “So who’s to know?” Alison opened her eyes.

  “Who’s to know what?” Bill said.

  “Who’s to know Ernie didn’t strike it?”

  Bill grinned, shook his head, and looked away, looked out toward the wake behind the boat, where the sun turned the ocean into winking jewels. “Well, I guess we’d know, Cal.”

  “Well, what if you didn’t tell?” Ernie said.

  Bill chuckled.

  Mikey laughed, too. Was he kidding?

  Bill coughed weakly, a closed fist to his mouth.

  “I think you’d better cut back on the beer,” Bill said, grinning.

  Ernie glared at Bill. “Har-dee-har. That wasn’t a joke.”

  Bill’s grin vanished. He narrowed his eyes, as if in thought. He ran his hand over his mouth. “Well, listen, guys, in the first place I don’t work that way. But even if I did, and I got caught hiding something like that, I wouldn’t be able to get a job pumping boat fuel, let alone continue on skippering. My reputation would be shot. And if I lost that, I’d lose everything.”

  Ernie huffed, saying, “Who’s ever going to tell? Not us, that’s for sure. Not your kid. Right, kid?”

  Mikey looked down.

  “Anyway, who’s paying for the damn boat here?”

  Bill studied Ernie, saying nothing more. He curved his fingers into his chest and scratched, his eyes squinty, as if he’d had about enough of these bozos.

  Mikey leaned forward. At last, he thought. Bill’s going to let them have it. These jokers have crossed the line, big-time. They didn’t know one thing about Bill Monks, not one thing. And anyway, who did they think they were? Some kind of kings or something?

  Alison sat up, brushed her hair out of her face.

  “Ernie’s right,” Cal said, turning around. “This is our charter, we paid for it, it’s our fish to do with what we like.
When we get in there and this turns out to be some kind of record fish, then Ernie caught it, and he caught it alone. That’s the end of it. This picture coming into focus?”

  Cal glared at Bill.

  Then Mikey.

  He didn’t look at Alison.

  Mikey felt as if he’d been slapped in the face.

  Cal grinned and added, “You so worried about your reputation, well, think about this. Maybe we say you struck the fish without asking us, huh? Rumor like that could do some damage, wouldn’t you say?”

  Mikey felt his jaw drop. Is he serious?

  Alison turned toward Mikey, her mouth open. She looked away the second their eyes met.

  Bill’s gaze locked on Cal. Neither of them flinched. Bill’s going to lose it right about now, Mikey thought. And it’s about time.

  Mikey waited, afraid to even blink.

  “Now, now, Cal,” Ernie said, putting up his hands.

  “No need to go in that direction. How about we just throw in some extra cash? Say we triple the full three-day fee? Make the payoff worth the risk, so to speak? I mean, this could make all of us famous, not just me. What do you say, Billyboy?”

  Mikey looked at Bill.

  Bill glared harder. He clenched a fist and turned away, ever so slightly, his eyes burning holes in everything they rested on.

  Mikey stopped breathing.

  “A triple fee,” Ernie said again. “Ain’t nothing to spit at.”

  Bill started to say something, then mashed his lips into a tight, thin line and turned away.

  “Not to mention how much business we could throw your way,” Ernie added. “And look what it would do to your reputation, huh?”

  Bill put his hand over the bandage on his arm and shifted in the seat. He looked out the window at the sea.

  A long, silent moment passed.

  “All right,” he whispered.

  Mikey’s jaw dropped.

  Something lurched in his stomach, some weird, awful new thing.

  No, Bill—

  Wait, Mikey thought. Don’t jump to conclusions.

  Just wait.

  Bill has something up his sleeve.

  Ernie smiled, cold and flat. “Deal,” he said, wagging his eyebrows.

  Cal humphed.

  Bill turned his back on them.

  Mikey waited a moment longer, as long as he could stand it. Staring at Bill.