Lord of the Deep Page 9

  Finally, he got up and went out into the sun. He didn’t look at Cal or Ernie or even Alison. He felt dizzy. Stunned. These were idiots on this boat. He hoped the fish wasn’t a record at all. But what if it was? Would Bill really keep silent? Had he meant what he’d said, really meant it? If he had, and if Mikey didn’t go along with it, then Bill would be caught in an unforgivable lie and he could kiss his charter boat business goodbye.

  Mikey would have to go along, he’d have no choice.

  He wiped his sweaty hands on his shorts. A triple fee was good money, but . . .

  Bill had to have something up his sleeve.

  Of course he did.

  Of course.

  CHAPTER 1

  BILL THROTTLED BACK as they approached the harbor.

  Mikey stood on the bow with the mooring line coiled in his hands. There was a big crowd on the pier, and more people were streaming over from the village, heading out toward where the Crystal-C would dock.

  Bill circled into the bay. Two fish flags fluttered high on the outriggers—orange and white for ono, yellow and blue for mahimahi.

  The sky was a shield of high white clouds, and the water reflected a grayish green in the shallows, the sandy bottom clearly visible twenty feet below.

  The slow, smooth motion of the boat easing up to the pier felt right in Mikey’s body, in his legs and knees. As it always did.

  But that was all that felt right.

  His spirits brightened some when he saw his mom and Billy-Jay on the pier. Mom waved, then leaned down and spoke to Billy-Jay, and he, too, waved.

  Mikey lifted his chin.

  Bill reversed the engines just as the bow was about to touch the truck-tire bumpers on the pier. Mikey jumped off the boat and secured the bow line.

  Perfect.

  Another small, right-feeling thing, a knot so clean and tight. He ran back along the pier.

  Bill, with his bandaged arm, made his way aft and tossed up the stern line and Mikey hitched that off, too.

  “Mikey!”

  He turned.

  Mom struggled through the milling mass of chatting, rubbernecking people, Billy-Jay in tow. “Wow,” she said. “Can you believe this crowd? What’d you bring home, Moby Dick?” She hugged him, then waved a hand in front of her face. “Eew, you smell like fish.”

  “Yeah.”

  She stood back, squinted at him. “What’s wrong? You should be leaping with excitement.”

  Mikey shrugged.

  Mom frowned.

  Mikey squatted down in front of Billy-Jay. “Hey, bud. We brought you a really, really big mahimahi today.”

  Billy-Jay grinned and reached out to find Mikey.

  Mikey took his hand and held it. He seemed fine now. Not coughing or breathing funny. “Yeah,” Mikey said. “A giant. Want to touch it?”

  “Uh-huh. Where is it?”

  “You just hang on a minute, okay? We got to get it off the boat.”

  Billy-Jay grabbed hold of Mikey’s T-shirt, as if not wanting him to leave. Mikey felt like tossing him up on his shoulders and carrying him on board. Sometimes he did that. Bill did, too. But there was still work to be done.

  Besides, Bill had something planned that Mikey didn’t want to miss.

  Cal and Ernie were out in the stern cockpit gazing up at the crowd massing on the pier. They looked like completely different men now, both standing taller. Alison stayed in the cabin, her arms folded, the sketchbook, pencil pouch, and paperback book tucked under them.

  Mikey jumped back down onto the Crystal-C.

  He took up the stern line and snugged the boat up against the bumpers. Ernie, then Cal, climbed off the boat.

  “Ali?” Cal said, looking back.

  “In a minute,” she said.

  Cal studied her. He pursed his lips, then raised his eyebrows in resignation. “Well, don’t take too long, honey. We’re gonna take some photos and I want you in them, all right?”

  Alison shrugged.

  Cal lingered a moment longer, then turned to follow Ernie over to the fish scale.

  Mikey and Bill hauled the mahimahi out of the fish box. A hush fell over the crowd. Bill had hold of the tail. Mikey gripped it by its gills, and together they hefted it up onto the pier. Bill grimaced, and Mikey wondered if it was because of the wound, or if he was just now starting to add up all the problems this particular fish could bring to the Crystal-C.

  On the pier Bill’s friend Jimmy picked up the mahimahi’s tail. He threw a short length of rope around it, looped it over the scale hook, and pulleyed the fish up off the concrete, the scale chain clinking and rattling.

  Bill tossed the ono up onto the pier. It slid dead-eyed to a stop near the fish scale. No one even glanced at it.

  The arm of the scale wagged forward and back, forward and back. It jiggled and slowed and stopped.

  “Ho!” Jimmy said, his white teeth lined in gold. “Ninety-one pounds and six ounces. You da man, Billy Monks. You broke the record. You caught Bigfoot.”

  The crowd erupted in applause.

  Bill got off the boat. He took his T-shirt out of his back pocket and pulled it over his head.

  “Who’s the lucky angler?” Jimmy shouted.

  “That’d be me,” Ernie called, waving a hand. He pushed closer. The noisy crowd made way, clapping.

  Mikey looked down and studied the floorboards. A trail of watery blood ran from the fish box to the gunnel. One of Alison’s white shoes had specks of red on it.

  “Well, hang on, then,” Jimmy said. “I got an official IGFA application form in the truck. We can fill it in now.” He whistled, adding, “Man, I gotta call a reporter.”

  Flash cameras went off as people surged in around the hanging fish.

  Cal and Ernie flanked the mahimahi, grinning and waving, bloated as puffer fish.

  Come on, Bill. Say something. Do something.

  He’s waiting for the right moment, Mikey thought. Maybe he’s waiting for the reporter, to say it then, say it’s a great fish, probably the greatest mahimahi ever caught, but too bad it’s not official because . . .

  Yeah. He’ll do it like that.

  Mikey wiped his clammy palms on his T-shirt. His heart thumped in his ears.

  “Give me a hand up?” Alison said.

  Mikey jumped. “Oh . . . sure.” He’d almost forgotten she was there. “Sorry.”

  Mikey grabbed the stern line and pulled the boat closer. He took her hand. She stepped up onto the gunnel, then the pier. His spirits sank even lower when she let go and looked back down on him. It felt as if something were slipping away. He didn’t know what. Something like a friend, leaving for good.

  Alison smiled. “Coming?”

  Mikey shook his head. “I don’t want any part . . . I don’t like to have my picture taken.”

  “Come on, in this crowd they’ll never find us.”

  Mikey hesitated, then dropped the stern line and jumped up onto the pier.

  The photographer’s rattletrap old Buick lurched to a stop inches from the back of the crowd. He jumped out, his huge belly leading. “Out of the way, out of the way. Press!” he shouted, shoving through.

  “Press!”

  Hidden back in the crowd, and with Alison peeking around from behind him, Mikey watched Cal and Ernie pose. The happy fishermen with their glorious bounty, Ernie’s loud shirt open to his stomach, the rod and reel—everything was in the picture.

  Cal dragged Bill in for a shot, and Bill went right along, posing beside them.

  How could he do that?

  They’re cheats, Mikey thought. They’re liars.

  “Disgusting, isn’t it?” Alison said.

  Mikey’s stomach felt like knotted rope. “What?”

  Alison grabbed his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Mikey followed her, squeezing through the crowd. He felt dizzy, as if he weren’t even in the same town. It was weird. The whole day had gone from great to shocking to weird and downright strange.

  They
pushed their way out.

  “Where’s your brother?” Alison said. “Is he here?”

  Mikey looked at their hands, clasped in a tight knot.

  Alison let go. “Sorry. I just couldn’t stand it anymore.”

  “Mikey!” Mom called. “Over here!”

  She was standing by Bill’s jeep, waving.

  They walked over.

  “Wow,” Alison whispered. “Your mom’s beautiful.”

  Mikey felt embarrassed. Had his mom seen him holding hands with Alison? She had a grin on her face that made Mikey frown.

  “Well,” Mom said.

  “This is Alison,” Mikey said, before she could add to the “well.” “She was on the boat with us today.”

  Alison smiled and reached out to shake hands. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

  “You must be very proud of your father,” Mom said, turning toward the crowd.

  “My uncle caught it.”

  “Well, we should all be proud of this.”

  Alison smiled, then looked down at Billy-Jay. She knelt. “And you couldn’t be anyone but Billy-Jay,” she said. “You look just like your father.”

  “Who’s that, Mikey?” Billy-Jay said.

  Mikey dropped down next to Alison, one knee cocked forward. “This is Alison, Billy-Jay. She’s my friend.”

  Alison stuck out a hand, then pulled it back, glancing at Mikey.

  Mikey dipped his head toward Billy-Jay, mouthing “Go ahead.”

  Alison took Billy-Jay’s hand in hers and shook it. “Mikey’s told me all about you. But you’re bigger than I thought you were.”

  Billy-Jay grinned.

  Mikey stood and glanced toward the Crystal-C. Bill was back on board. Cal and Ernie were talking to strangers, acting as if they’d known them for years.

  The crowd was starting to disperse. Some people stayed to take pictures of the mahimahi. Some leaned against each other. Honeymooners. With no idea they were admiring a couple of cheaters.

  “Can we go to the big fish now?” Billy-Jay said.

  Mikey turned back. “You bet, bud.”

  He and Alison each took one of Billy-Jay’s hands and walked him over to the hanging fish, now faded to the color of lead pipe.

  Mikey bent over, hands on his knees. “It’s right in front of you.”

  Billy-Jay reached out and touched it with his fingertips, then his whole hand. “Big,” he said.

  “Bill says we’ll probably never see another one like this in our lifetime.” Mikey glanced up at Alison. “I believe it.”

  Mikey showed Billy-Jay the ono, too, and Billy-Jay explored every inch of it, including the eyes, gills, and spiky teeth.

  Alison sat down on her heels and wrapped her arms around her knees. She studied Billy-Jay, watching his face register reactions to the fish, the little smiles and moments of thought. Her eyes seemed so kind, Mikey thought, watching Billy-Jay like that. What was she thinking? Mikey became aware of the fact that this was the first time in his life he’d ever gotten this close to a girl. She was older than he was, sure, but that didn’t seem to matter.

  Jimmy returned with the IGFA application form on a clipboard. Cal, Ernie, Bill, and the crowd that remained gathered around him.

  Mikey stayed crouched down with Alison and Billy-Jay, hoping he wouldn’t be seen.

  Now, Bill. Do it now.

  Tell.

  Since you missed your chance with the reporter.

  That wasn’t fair, Mikey thought. The reporter never showed up. Unless the photographer was also the reporter.

  “Okay, gentlemens,” Jimmy said. “Let’s have the facts.”

  “Mikey,” Bill said, suddenly noticing him. “Come. We need you.”

  CHAPTER 2

  MIKEY STOOD AND LOOKED AT BILLY-JAY.

  “I’ll watch him,” Alison said.

  Their eyes locked.

  Alison smiled, so warm.

  Mikey blinked, then walked over to Bill, and Alison followed, holding Billy-Jay’s hand.

  Mikey was a member of the crew, he had to be there. Whether he wanted to or not. He felt even dizzier. Confusion swirled in his brain.

  “Let’s start with the skipper,” Jimmy said.

  Bill dictated the necessary information—kind of fish, weight, length, tackle, boat, time of day, skipper, angler.

  Come on, Bill. Tell Jimmy what they’re trying to get away with.

  Jimmy shook his head. “You men are going to be famous. You’ll probably have this record for years before it gets broke. Here, sign this and let’s send it in, get her in the books.”

  Cal and Ernie beamed like five-year-olds with Popsicles.

  Mikey glared at Bill.

  Cal signed and handed the clipboard to Ernie.

  Ernie signed in bold strokes.

  He grinned and handed the form to Bill.

  Now, Bill. Now . . .

  Bill took the form and checked it over. He held the clipboard in one hand, as if not wanting to taint both hands. He read the entries.

  Ernie held out the pen.

  Mikey’s eyes riveted on it.

  Bill took the pen, tapped the clipboard twice, then signed his name.

  Something escaped from Mikey’s body.

  He felt weak.

  Bill held out the clipboard and the pen to Mikey.

  Never. Never ever ever.

  It’s not right.

  But if I don’t sign, it will ruin Bill.

  “Mikey?” Bill said.

  Mikey took the pen.

  Then the clipboard.

  He waited.

  Cal and Ernie scowled at him.

  “You need to sign the form, Mikey,” Jimmy said. “It’s the rules.”

  Mikey ground his teeth and quickly scribbled his name. His hand trembled and his signature was nearly unreadable. Mikey handed the pen and the clipboard to Jimmy and turned away. He felt hot. Anger burned across his face and rose up into his scalp. He could actually feel it. A swelling all over his body.

  Cal waved Alison over.

  Mikey took Billy-Jay.

  Ernie grinned and clapped a fat hand on Alison’s shoulder. “So what do you think, Ali? Not bad for an old man like your uncle, huh?”

  Alison slipped out from under his hand, looking as if she’d just swallowed a spoonful of diesel fuel. “What I think, Uncle Ernie, is that it scares me to think I’m related to either of you.”

  Ernie’s grin vanished.

  Cal scowled.

  Jimmy looked confused.

  Mikey backed away. Get out of here, he thought.

  Alison took Billy-Jay’s hand from Mikey and walked over to Mom at the jeep.

  Mikey followed, glancing back at Bill, who was now studying the concrete at his feet, Cal and Ernie flanking him, cold eyes glaring at Alison. Or maybe at him. Maybe they thought what she said was his fault.

  Mikey turned away.

  Alison became suddenly cheery, approaching Mom.

  “Billy-Jay sure likes the fish,” she said.

  Mikey gazed at them. Listened to them talk, not hearing what they said. His vision was fuzzy. He rubbed his eyes and turned away, then strode over to the Crystal-C and jumped down on deck. He got a hose from the forward hatch and dragged it aft. He reached up and hooked it to a spigot on the pier and turned the water on full blast and started hosing salt off the boat.

  He worked fast and sloppily at first, then more forcefully. He shut off the nozzle and took a hard hand brush and got down on his hands and knees and scrubbed the floorboards, working and reworking the bloody spots, the bloody trail, the leftover slime. He never once looked up toward the pier.

  “Mikey,” Bill called.

  Mikey stopped and looked up. Bill stood with Cal and Ernie.

  “I need you here.”

  Mikey set the brush on the gunnel and climbed off the boat. He ripped off his T-shirt and dried his hands on it, swiped it over his face, then jammed a corner of it into his back pocket.

  He stood, waiting for Bil
l to say something. Chew him out for not sticking around, or for making Jimmy think there was something going on that he should know about.

  But Bill said nothing.

  In fact, Jimmy seemed satisfied with everything. Maybe they’d told him Alison had a bad day, got seasick or something.

  Probably.

  Cal clapped a hand on Bill’s shoulder, all happy again. “The triple fee is yours on Friday, Billyboy, but for today . . .” Cal smiled and handed Bill a crisp, new hundred-dollar bill.

  Bill took it, moved it quickly into his pocket. “Thanks, men. That’s very generous.”

  Ernie held a folded ten-dollar bill out to Mikey. Had it stuck between his first and second fingers. “This day turned out to be a bonanza for all of us, now, didn’t it, boy?”

  Mikey looked at the ten. He didn’t want it, but he took it anyway. He didn’t care anymore. What was left to care about?

  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  “There’s more where that came from,” Cal said, tapping Mikey’s shoulder. “If we can do this again tomorrow, maybe we’ll even triple that.”

  Cal and Ernie left.

  Mikey looked at the ten-dollar bill. He’d give it to Bill, since he wanted money so much. But later, not now. He’d leave it somewhere for Bill to stumble on. Maybe under his pillow so he could think about it all night.

  Mikey stuck it in his pocket.

  Bill went over to lower the mahimahi into the back of Jimmy’s truck.

  Mikey jumped down onto the boat and continued scrubbing—get it cleaner, get the salt off, clean the seats and the rods and the reels, scrub the slime, scrub it away.

  “Mr. Fisherman,” someone called.

  Mikey glanced up.

  Alison smiled down on him, hands on her hips.

  “Aren’t you even going to say goodbye?”

  Mikey stood, wiped his wet hands on his shorts. “Sure.”

  He tossed the brush into the bucket and climbed up off the boat.

  “It’s not the end of the world,” she said.

  Mikey frowned.

  “Besides,” she added, “what can we do?”

  Alison studied his face. She reached out, hesitated a moment, then brushed her fingertips down his cheek. They were soft and warm. Mikey smelled suntan lotion. He saw tenderness in her eyes, or understanding, something wise in the pale, pale blue. Her touch fired off a lightning bolt that shot through his body. The feeling grew and gathered in his throat.