Catch of a Lifetime

by Andrew Grey

  “Have you taken him to watch the submarine races?” Ryan deadpanned.

  “God. I’ve seen him around a few times. And he’s gorgeous, with these eyes that seem to have… I don’t know. It’s hard to say what’s going on.” Arty stammered as the intensity, and maybe fear, in the guy’s eyes filled Arty’s mind. It was hard for him to let that haunted expression go. He kept pondering it. How a stranger he had only seen but never spoken to could get to him that way was beyond him.

  “Dude….” Ryan drew out the word, and Arty knew exactly what he meant. It was weird that a guy who was a complete stranger could so completely get under his skin.

  THE FOLLOWING morning, Arty got up and went into the kitchen to have something to drink before heading out to the White Pelican to see if anyone had answered his fliers. His father wasn’t up yet. Arty wouldn’t have even been sure he had come out of his room at all—if it hadn’t been for the signed paper on the table giving him permission to use the IFQ, and a list of GPS coordinates. There was nothing else, and Arty wasn’t going to try to figure out what had changed in his father’s mind. Maybe he’d gotten drunk and written out what Arty wanted. Who knew? He took the pages and placed them in a file he needed to take on board.

  He went down to his father’s room, but the door was closed. Arty thought of knocking, but stopped, listening instead. He heard nothing at all. He sighed and turned away, heading out to take care of business.

  Ten minutes later, Arty once again sat at the White Pelican, wearing sunglasses because the sky and water were so bright, the glare was nearly blinding. He had put up notices all over the area, and he hoped he’d caught someone’s interest.

  “Looks like you got a live one,” Milton said, tilting his head toward a man who rolled and crushed a ball cap in his hand.

  “You have to be kidding,” Arty said. “That kid looks to be about twelve.” He was exaggerating, of course, but he had to say something. This was the guy he had been seeing around for the past few days, the one he also kept seeing when he closed his eyes at night. Jesus. He wanted to fan himself—this was almost like a fantasy come to life. Arty licked his lips and took a second to calm down. He had a job to do, and that was where he needed to keep his attention, not on the hottie who was already on his way over.

  “Maybe, but he’s big enough to do the job.” Milton stepped away and went over to speak to the man before leading him to the table. Arty had a few seconds to clear his head before standing and introducing himself.

  “Jamie Wilson.” The younger man held Arty’s hand firmly and met his gaze. That, at least, said something about him, as did the way he didn’t look away. Many people would have. “I saw your advertisement and I’m looking for work.” His voice was as warm as melted butter.

  “Have you ever worked on a boat before?” Arty asked.

  “No. But I spent a lot of years shoveling shit out of barns and hauling everything you can think of on my dad’s farm. I can do whatever work you need.” He was obviously strong, and damned good to look at. Not that it mattered. Arty pushed that notion out of his mind. He wasn’t here to make friends or meet people. He had a job to do that would help get his dad back on his feet, both literally and figuratively. Then he could go home. No detours.

  “Is farming the only thing you’ve done?” Arty was curious, but figured if the guy had spent his life on the farm, he wasn’t afraid of hard work, or smelling bad. That was one point in his favor.

  “I guess. But I did just about everything on the farm—from planting, harvesting, and breeding the animals.” Jamie blushed beet red, and Arty wondered how green and innocent this guy was. “That didn’t sound right.” A little additional color rose in his cheeks.

  “Are you squeamish about cutting fish and baiting hooks? Because you’ll be doing a lot of that,” Arty said.

  Jamie grinned. “Are you squeamish about birthing cows, horses, and pigs? I’ve seen them and had my hands inside a horse to help a foal.” He cocked his eyebrows, and Arty was glad to see that the shy kid he’d thought had come to him was a misconception. Jamie may have been nervous, but he wasn’t shy.

  “Okay, then. You’re obviously strong enough to be able to help us. We’ll be out to sea for eight to fourteen days, and there will be four of us in close quarters. As pay, you’ll get a 10 percent share of the proceeds of the catch. We work from sunup to sundown, with not much to do in between but prep, clean the boat, and sleep.” Fishing was damned hard work.

  “I understand” was all Jamie said.

  “What else can you do?”

  “I can fix any engine. I kept the tractor and cars running on the farm.”

  Arty nodded. This was almost too good to be true. “What are you doing here? You have skills that will put you in good stead a lot of places. Why this?”

  Jamie shrugged. “I need the work and saw the ad.” It was a simple answer, and Arty didn’t need to know the man’s life story to work with him. Still, the urgency and desperation in his voice called to him. He knew what it was like to be down to your last bit of luck. He’d been there once, and meeting Ryan, a stranger then, had been his salvation. Maybe he could pay that kindness forward and take a chance on Jamie. God, he hoped his gut was leading him in the right direction. He hoped it was his gut… and not the little head between his legs.

  “Okay,” Arty said. He wished he had time for some of the formalities. But it didn’t look like there was anyone else on their way to come to his rescue. Thankfully, Reginald came in with Beck, and Arty introduced everyone to Jamie. They all settled at the table for breakfast, with Jamie and Beck talking easily, as if they were old friends. Reginald and Arty listened and shared a look. They needed the help, and experience or not, Jamie was the only one who had shown up, and he seemed more than capable. So, after filling their bellies, Reginald went over the way things worked so they were all in agreement, including everyone’s share of the haul. Then they each signed the page that laid it all out so there would be no misunderstandings.

  “Who sells the catch when we get back?” Jamie asked.

  “That will be Arty’s job as captain. And since we aren’t borrowing money for this run, we can sell it wherever we get the best price,” Reginald said, obviously tickled. Arty was pretty pleased about it as well.

  “So, what’s next?” Jamie asked eagerly. Arty liked his energy, even if he was a little unsure of his decision. Jamie seemed to have drive and was motivated. That could go a long way in the job ahead. But spending two weeks on a small boat wasn’t the same as being on a farm with wide-open spaces. Granted, at sea there was plenty of space, but all of it was out of your immediate reach.

  “Be here on the dock at 3:00 a.m. the day after tomorrow. I want to get loaded, then head out and be on the Gulf as quickly as we can. I got Dad’s numbers, and I’ll make a plan to get us there as fast as we can.” Arty still needed to figure out the best way to go about making the spots that his dad used, and he figured he and Reginald would sit down and plan it out. “Tomorrow we’ll firm everything up, and then we’ll leave well before sunrise the next day. Be ready to work, and feel free to bring something special for food if you want.”

  “But no bananas,” Reginald cautioned. “They’re bad luck. And remember—we throw nothing overboard, so don’t pack anything that is going to make huge amounts of trash, because we have to store it.”

  “Bananas are bad luck?” Jamie asked and then snickered. “Okay. No bananas.” He leaned over the table. “But you should see what I can do with a banana. No splits, then.” Beck and Reginald were already talking food, so they didn’t seem to hear, but Arty nearly swallowed his tongue, wondering if Jamie even realized how that sounded. “What else?”

  Arty got his mind out of the gutter and off Jamie’s full lips and the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “Nothing that I can think of.”

  Jamie nodded. “So, I have the job, like, officially?” he asked, hope springing into his expression.

  “Well, you’ll be part of the team
, yes,” Arty explained. “Look, you need to know. This isn’t pay by the hour. If we don’t find any fish, then none of us makes a dime.” And the thought chilled him to the bone. “Fishing is risky; it always has been.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Sometimes I wonder why anyone does it at all.”

  “Because it’s our life,” Reginald supplied and turned toward the water. “I don’t think I could imagine a life where I didn’t spend part of it out there on the water in the sun and salt air.” He sighed, and Arty followed his gaze. So did Jamie.

  “What are we looking for?” Jamie asked.

  Arty snickered. “I think the meaning of life is supposed to be out there somewhere. But I never found it.” Not on the sea, or land, as far as that went. He turned to Jamie. “Maybe you will.”

  Reginald stood, and Beck did the same. “We’ll be ready to shove off on time,” Reginald said.

  “Good. We can meet tomorrow to go over the route plan.”

  Reginald shook his head. “That isn’t my expertise. Your father was always the one who had the gift for finding the fish. That was his real talent. You get whatever you can from him, and then we’ll go from there.” Reginald and Beck extended their hands, and Arty shook them. Then they left the restaurant, and Arty sat back down.

  “You really want to do this?” he asked Jamie, and for the first time, saw doubt flash in his eyes.

  “They seem like good people, and I asked around about you after I saw the flier.” The corners of his lips turned upward. “They said you were doing this to help your dad. That this wasn’t your life. Everyone talked about you as though you were a saint or something.”

  Arty scoffed. “Nope. God knows I’m no saint.”

  “Me either,” Jamie said. “But I’d never do for my dad what you’re doing for yours.” His gaze shifted slightly, looking out over Arty’s shoulder. “I need to make some money, and I want to see what it’s like out there.”

  A notion occurred to Arty. “Have you ever been on a boat?” God, he should have asked that before. What if Jamie got seasick? Good Lord, just what he needed—a landlubber who spent the entire trip puking over the side.

  “Yes. On Lake Michigan with my uncle a few times. But that’s not the same as it is down here. I like being outdoors. I tried working in a restaurant for a while, but got stir-crazy always being inside. Hot or cold, even when it rains, it’s best to be outside where you can see it coming.” There was something so serious in Jamie’s voice that it made Arty wonder just what he was saying. It was as if Jamie didn’t have anyone to watch his back, and that maybe the threat was coming from close to home.

  “Okay, then,” Arty said, watching Jamie’s faraway expression. There was more to this man than muscles and a baby face. There was pain behind those eyes, tinged with desperation, both of which Arty was well acquainted with.

  “Is there anything else?” Jamie asked, and Arty shook his head. Jamie thanked him and stood to leave the covered seating area of the restaurant. Arty found he couldn’t look away as Jamie strode across the parking area before disappearing behind a stand of palm trees.

  Arty realized his heart beat faster and he was sweating under his T-shirt, though it wasn’t that warm. Good God, those eyes were nearly as blue as the clear sky. He had a type, Arty knew that, and Jamie ticked every single one of the boxes. Of course, he had no idea if Jamie was gay or even interested, but that banana joke had sure as hell been suggestive. Arty finished his coffee. He needed to get his mind away from that subject and keep it on what was important. He was here to help his dad, not get involved with guys or form any ties. His life was back in New York, and once this little adventure was over, he was returning back to his life and career… such as they were.

  “Something… or someone interesting?” Milton asked as he began clearing the table. When Arty lifted his gaze, Milton winked. “I’ve seen him around a few times, and he’s a real nice guy. I think you did a good thing. And who knows? Sometimes nice guys do get rewarded.”

  Arty didn’t quite know what to make of that, but he nodded and paid the bill. He had work to do, and he needed to get the last of what he needed from his father. Then he needed rest, because once they set sail, it was going to be all work. At least that was his intention. But his mind niggled him, and he knew that if he ignored the warning bells going off in his head, he could definitely have some fun with Jamie.

  Chapter 4

  IT WAS still very dark, with few people around, as Jamie walked down the street toward the docks, following the sounds of the water and boats. There was just enough light that he managed to miss the puddle of brackish water in front of him and make it to the dock with his shoes and bag dry. He followed Arty’s voice to the boat. “Permission to come aboard?” he asked like they did in the movies, and Arty smiled. Jamie took his first steps onto the deck and into what he hoped would be the beginning of true independence.

  “Come on and go below. Beck will show you your berth and where to stow your gear.” Arty motioned, and Jamie surveyed what was going to be his home for the next two weeks. To say he was a little nervous would be a lie. Arty opened the hatch, and Jamie went below into the cabin area, which barely had enough room for him and Beck, let alone the others.

  “I don’t have a lot of space, as you can see, but put your things in here.” Beck opened a hatch under one of the seat cushions, and Jamie put his bag inside. “Did you bring anything else?”

  “Just this. I thought I’d contribute some food.” Jamie held up the reusable grocery bag, and Beck got to putting things away.

  “Almost everything in here performs double duty,” Beck explained. “The table will fold down into a bed for me, and the storage bench with your stuff is your bed. The two up front will be for Dad and Arty.”

  Jamie looked around. “There’s more room on the bench. Doesn’t Reginald want it?” Jamie had learned to sleep just about anywhere. Not that he was particularly proud of that fact, because it made him seem desperate.

  “You don’t mind?” Beck asked. “We assigned them by lot, well, except for Arty. He’s the captain, so that’s his bed.” Beck began moving around his bag and another, and soon Jamie’s things were up front. Hopefully he had made a friend, or two.

  “You ready?” Arty called down, and he and Beck answered that they were. Reginald cast off the lines, and Arty glided them out of the berth and onto the dark water. Jamie went on deck and sat off to the side.

  “What do we do?” Jamie asked.

  “My suggestion is that everyone rest. We’re going to be hours going out to the first location. I have the wheel and the numbers.” Everyone gathered as they passed under the bridge and moved into the open Gulf. Once out into open water, Arty opened up the engines, and Jamie sat on a bench under the protection of the cabin as they skimmed over the waves, leaving the lights of Longboat Key behind them.

  Beck and Reginald were below, and Arty dimmed the lights, checking his screens. Jamie watched him. “What are the screens?”

  “This one is a GPS. I plotted a course to our first location, and it’s guiding me there. It’s going to take three or four hours, providing we can find good bottom, which is what that does,” Arty said, indicating the other instrument. “It’s off right now because we don’t need it at the moment.” Arty yawned, and Jamie leaned back in the seat.

  “Have you been doing this a long time?” He tried to stifle his own yawn and failed.

  “I used to go out with my dad all the time, but for the last few years, I’ve been in New York. Dad got hurt and needed some help, so here I am.” Arty didn’t sound too thrilled and turned back to his instruments. “If you want to rest, I suggest you go below. Sometimes water will splash up, and you don’t want to get wet. I have things here for a while, and we can’t do much until daybreak.”

  Jamie thought about it, but sat back and closed his eyes, the rocking of the boat and the hum of the engine lulling him easily to sleep. When he woke, it was to near silence. The engines were much quieter, an
d Arty was nowhere to be seen. He blinked and sat upright, wondering if something was wrong. Arty came up from below and revved the engines once again. “We’ll be at our first stop in about two hours. Go get something to eat if you want, and then Reginald will get you started and give you an orientation of what you can expect.”

  “Thanks.” Jamie really hoped he did a good job. He had no doubt he would work hard. That had been drilled into him since he could walk. It was a matter of actually doing the work so others wouldn’t need to pick up the slack.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” Arty gave him a smile, and Jamie went below.

  Beck had set out a cold breakfast with some bread, cheese, fruit, and meat. The amount was a little startling. “Eat plenty. You’re going to work it off.” Beck passed him a full plate, and he took a second one up top for Arty.

  “Thanks.” Arty dug right in, and Jamie sat in the other seat, facing forward, looking out through the front windows, seeing nothing but water sparkling in the sun.

  “It’s humbling and I suppose dangerous. My dad always said to respect the land and the animals. I suppose that goes out here too, for the sea.” Jamie was just talking, probably because he was a little nervous.

  “It does, indeed. The water, the fish, the equipment, all of it needs to be respected. The water will drown you, the fish can bite or cut you, the equipment can get tangled either in itself or in you. Out here, everything seems to be able to hurt you, and we can be many hours, or even days, away from shore. So yes, respect the water, but don’t fear it. And if you need help, be sure to ask. We all have plenty of experience, and we’ve all been injured, so we know what to do.”

  Jamie sighed. “I know. I’d hate to be the reason this enterprise fails.” God, he knew that feeling far too well. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, but he was here and it was too late to turn back. All he could do now was make the very most of it. Jamie was no stranger to hard work, and he figured that any of his shortcomings could be rectified if he more than pulled his weight.