“Sports fisherman now, Mase.” Beau winked. “Although I indulge in the occasional charter for walking-around money. I’ll give you some pointers on that angle tomorrow. You could supplement your writing income with some of that, and I mean handsomely.”
Hector rolled his eyes. “Bait, cast, reel ’em in. How hard can it be?”
Beau shook his head. “Holy Jesus. I’m still teachin’ you.”
***
Miguel checked his pocket watch. Midnight. He figured Consuelo and the old man had decided to room in town. Probably some joint with air conditioning, because it was still very hot on the boat. They probably wouldn’t return before tomorrow Miguel decided, but when they did, it would probably be quite early. They seemed prepared for a fishing excursion. They’d want to leave with the dawn, if that was true.
Miguel stretched again, uncramping his leg muscles from the confinement of his hiding place in the engine compartment.
He figured if he returned by four a.m., he’d still be in plenty of time to resume hiding in order to position himself to strike at Consuelo and her geezer suitor after sunset tomorrow.
Settled on his plan, Miguel put back on his priest’s collar and went trolling on Duval.
51
“At least now we can be as reckless as we want to be for a few months,” Brinke said, crossing her ankles behind his waist.
Hector had one hand wrapped around the back of Brinke’s neck and the other hand pressed to her tailbone.
“Can I ask one thing of you, Hector? Frankly, it’s a big one.”
Skittish, Hector narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?”
“You’re clearly worried something might happen with me like this, that something might go wrong,” she said. “It’s always in your eyes now, your concern. Of course, it’s a possibility something could happen. You said it had to be my choice to try and have this baby, and it is my choice and I’m prepared to live with consequences. I know there were women before me, other women you had. If the world turns certain ways, there may be women after me, Hec. But I’ve always heard for every man, there’s really only one woman. One great love. Do you think I might be yours? And if I am, are you prepared to tell me that now, while it would really mean something to me?”
“I’m not having this morbid conversation,” Hector said, truly appalled. “I’m not going to invite bad luck mulling such prospects. I’m just not prepared to do it.”
“Guess that means you can’t say it.”
Hector couldn’t read her expression He couldn’t tell if Brinke meant that, or if she was teasing him, playing some childish game. Though such games were admittedly not Brinke’s style.
“I’ve married you, darlin’,” Hector said. “I haven’t done that before, not ever. Haven’t even contemplated it with anyone else. So you can make of that what you will. I intend to stay married to you until they plant me, be that tomorrow or a hundred years from now. Unless of course you divorce me for some other man.”
“Never going to happen.” She smiled and bumped foreheads with him. “So, am I the one, Hector? Am I your one true woman? The great love of your life?”
“Now you’re just being churlish. I’m never going to answer that one now.”
“I mean it, Hec. I really need to know.” Something funny there in her voice that reached him.
“But I mean it too, my love. Please don’t jinx us with this stuff.” Her desperate edge really made it feel like bad luck to Hector to answer.
Brinke’s voice changed. “Something could happen. There is a medical risk.”
“Hush,” Hector said. “Really, just hush. Please. Don’t borrow trouble. You’re going to be fine, I know it.”
“We’re going to revisit this,” Brinke said, moving with more urgency under him. “We’re not finished with this topic. I will have my answer. I’m not going to let it drop.”
“I’m sure that’s too true,” Hector said. If felt like bad luck to surrender and there was no wood close by to tap a knuckle on.
On the other hand, it happened to be the truth. “You’re the one of course, Brinke,” he said. “How could you even need to ask it of me?”
***
Miguel dabbed at his coat with a cloth dipped in whiskey. Thank “God” black didn’t show much blood at night.
He took a last look up at the moon, stretched, then took a couple of deep breaths. He touched his toes ten times, then went below to his cramped hiding place.
Miguel hoped to hell he wouldn’t suffocate as he tried to sleep through the day’s July heat. But it he weathered that hot little hold?
If he didn’t suffocate in there?
Well, come sundown, Miguel figured he would have himself quite the time.
52
Beau said, “Morning sickness. I’d forgotten.”
Hector tossed his cigarette butt aside. He said, “Morning sickness. I’m just learning.”
“The first of many strange lessons I’m afraid, my boy,” Beau said. “Best just try and enjoy the rocky ride.”
Brinke and Consuelo were several paces ahead on Duval, window-shopping twenty minutes after both running to a lady’s room to be sick. The quartet had gotten a late start and they were slowly making their way to Mallory Dock.
Beau said, “You two are moving rather quickly with this baby thing, aren’t you? Figured you kids would want a year or two together before a decade of distraction.”
Hector said, “Brinke’s a shade older than me. She feels time isn’t on her side.”
Beau smiled. “How much older?”
“Five years.”
“I’d never have guessed,” he said. “Or maybe you’re just aging like a dog.”
“Christ. Thanks, Gramps.”
“Don’t mean to depress you, Mase, but Brinke does look at least five years younger than you.”
“Be sure to slip that in sometime in the next couple of days at sea. Not that you already haven’t won her over ten ways from Tuesday.” Hector lit another cigarette. “Brinke views time as a kind of predator.”
“I’d say I understand the feeling,” Beau said, “but I mean to live forever. I’m willing myself to never, ever die. Longevity runs my side of the family, as you know. Nearly all of us see at least a hundred. I mean to go even farther.”
“I’m all for it.” Hector held out his pack of cigarettes. “Want a smoke, Beau?”
The old man held up a hand, warding off the pack. “Christ no, those things will kill you deader than anything.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigar. He slipped off the cellophane sleeve and then leaned into Hector’s offered match.
“This retirement business,” Hector said, “I’m not really buying it. How many marks have you stung since I last saw you?”
“Merely minor scores,” Beau said. “Wee little hits for mad money. Walking around money. Hate to touch my principal from the great Buena Stella boondoggle and its attendant side stings. Hell, I hate to touch my interest from that score.”
Hector squeezed the back of his grandfather’s bronzed neck. “I knew you couldn’t do nothing for long.”
***
Brinke was looking at the chair bolted to the deck of the ship, at the leather harnesses affixed to the chair. They were about ten miles out. She said, “No offense, Beau, but you worried about falling out of your chair?”
Beau passed the wheel to Hector and said to Brinke, “Sit down in that.” She did that. He fastened Brinke into the chair, then picked up one of the deep-sea poles and fitted its butt into the brass cup positioned between Brinke’s bronzed thighs. He rested a hand on her shoulder and said, “What you have to imagine, darlin’, is five-hundred or maybe even a thousand pounds of pure muscle on the end of that line, darting, diving. Makin’ runs and sheerin’ off at charging angles from the boat. If you weren’t strapped into that chair, and if that pole wasn’t secured in that retainer there, well, honey, it’d be like you were lassoed to the back of an outbound train with its hammer down. You�
�d be ripped off the back of this craft quicker than you can blink. We use the boat engines to wear ’em down. We run those big fish tired and bloody.”
“And you really catch these monsters?”
“All the time. Hope to today.”
Brinke thought about that. “And the meat? You can’t eat anything that big.”
“Not just the four of us,” Beau agreed. “No, depending on which is closer, we’d run it back to Key West or over to Havana and sell it there. If we can beat the sharks. They’ve cost me a marlin and a tuna these past two weeks. Stripped ’em down to bone before I could make port. The Great Blue River is thick with sharks now for some reason.”
Brinke quizzically repeated, “The Great Blue River?”
“What some call the Gulf Stream,” Beau said.
Consuelo came out from the cabin with a couple of drinks she’d mixed for Hector and Beau. She said, “Next time to port, I think we need to buy some traps, Beauregard.”
He sipped his drink. “Oh? What kind of traps? Why?”
“I heard some funny noises below,” Consuelo said. “I fear we must have mice.”
***
The day passed quietly. There were no hits from the big fish, so Hector and Beau used smaller rigs to catch sea bass and other smallish game fish, saving a few for dinner and throwing the rest back. They retained a particular couple of fish for bait.
Hector cleaned the fish they meant to eat and Brinke and Consuelo eventually went inside the cabin to prepare it.
Hector and his grandfather stood at the back of the boat, not anchored and just allowing her to be pulled along by the strong tug of the Gulf Stream. It was three in the afternoon and the sun was already getting low on the horizon, slowly sliding toward the curve of the sea.
Brinke made a face as Hector hefted the fish he had caught while Beau threaded a hook through the top of the fish’s eye socket. “What is that?”
“Bait,” Hector said. “But to what I take is your real question, it’s a bonito.”
“It’s big,” Brinke said. “If it’s bait, what are we hunting for?”
“We’re fishing for blue marlin,” Beau said. “They can go ten to twelve feet and weigh five- or six-hundred pounds. They’re strong as hell. If fishing for these monsters was another kind of sport, it’d probably be bull fighting. Men die in those fighting chairs sometimes, trying to haul in those monsters.”
“This doesn’t sound like a good idea,” Brinke said. “If Hector can be hurt…”
Beau waved that away. “Me? I’d maybe be at some risk if I hooked a really big one, but Mase is a tough young buck. It’s good sport. Don’t fret for him.”
Brinke still looked dubious. “I feel sorry for that bonito with that hook through its head. “Shouldn’t you kill it before you put the hook in like that?”
Hector shook his head. “Huh-uh,” he said, lowering the fish over the side. It squirmed in his hands, moving faster as it sensed the water close. “This thing will be alive for hours, still able to swim. Great bait for big fish.”
“Seems cruel,” Brinke said.
“It’s a fish,” Beau said. “Like the man said, never get too attached to animals other than dogs, horses and cats. Never name anything you might have to eat.”
The bonito in the water, Hector took a seat in the chair. He said to Beau, “Sure you want me to be the one if we get a bite?”
“Hell, yes,” Beau said. “Still somethin’ I can school you on,” he said. “Now let’s get that harness on to spare your back and shoulders.”
Hector belted into the leather harness. Brinke said, “Fetch you a beer, Hec?”
“No, gotta stay in the chair, maybe for some time, if we get one on the hook,” Hector said. “There’ll be no time for restroom breaks.”
Brinke considered that. “How long a time?”
“Hours, sometimes,” Beau said. He checked his watch. “Day’s getting on—be good to get something soon while we will have light to fight ’em by. You stand by to pour water on Mase’s arms and wrists as needed. They’ll get sore sitting in that position waiting for a strike.”
Beau moved around to where Hector could see him better. “Mase, you know what to do if you get a strike?”
Hector had been researching a bit. But before he could answer, Brinke said, “Hit him hard to set the hook, yes?” She smiled at Beau and said, “Hector’s been giving me fishing lessons.”
Beau smiled back. “This isn’t like fishing off a pier. In this case, you give the fish some line and set the drag on, just a little. When he’s on his first run, no line or rod or man on earth can contain that force. You haul back hard on the strike and you’ll snap the line, lose the rod or help the fish throw the hook. Probably all three.”
Hector wet his lips, said, “Slack and a little drag, right?”
“Right,” Beau said, tousling Hector’s sun-faded hair. “We chase him with the boat, let him sound, then start getting back line. Wear him out and break him. If he doesn’t do that to you first.”
53
Thirty minutes later, there was high-pitched squeal as the line began running out. Hector whipped the butt of the pole into the chair socket, gave slack, then pulled back hard on the pole, setting the hook.
Beau was at his side, a hand on Hector’s shoulder. “Good, that’s real good, Mase. But not too much drag or you’ll break the line or lose the pole. And maybe your arms, with it. That thing out there can wrench your arms clean from their sockets if you give it too much drag.”
“That kind of talk isn’t making me feel better about any of this,” Brinke said.
Then the fish broke water, riding its tail and whipping its head side-to-side, trying to throw the hook.
“My God,” Brinke said. The fish was dark in the sun, the fins darkest of all. The marlin’s belly was a translucent white, its nose a gleaming sword. Brinke watched the big fish whip itself across the water on its tail two more times in an effort to throw the hook as Hector took in line. “What is it?”
Beau smiled at the changed tenor of Brinke’s voice. He said, “It’s a blue marlin, if it’s anything. Easily five hundred pounds. At least ten-feet long. A real beauty, huh?”
“He’s magnificent!” Brinke put her hand on Hector’s shoulder, feeling the muscles taught there as he pulled back on the pole again, hitting the big fish again and slightly increasing the drag on the fishing line. Stroking and then massaging Hector’s damp shoulders more slowly, sensually now, she said, “What happens next?”
Beau wrapped an arm around Brinke’s waist. “Now those two duke it out. They try and break one another.”
The marlin was out of the water again, whipping along on its tail, still trying to shake loose the hook. “Oh my God,” Brinke said. “Look at him!” She squeezed Hector’s shoulder harder. “God, he’s beautiful.”
There was a scream from below. Hector turned as much as his harness would allow. Consuelo was backing out of the cabin, sobbing. She ran to Beau’s arms, pointing back at the cabin.
Hector scowled: a sweat-soaked, wild-eyed priest was in the cabin, clothes sweated through and collar askew. The priest was waving a gun and looking close to collapsing from heat stroke.
Brinke said, “My God, it’s Miguel, Consuelo’s crazy ex-boyfriend!”
Hector nodded, furious. “I remember his face. We have met, however briefly.”
The marlin made another run then and Hector said quietly, “Hell of a time for this! We need to find out if Beau has a gun. I left mine at home, goddamn it.” Hector jerked back on the pole again and took up some more line.
Consuelo said, “Miguel, I’m begging you to put down that gun. We’ll turn around and head back in. We’ll get you the help you need.”
“You shut up, puta,” Miguel said. “You just shut your lying mouth!” He squinted against the sun, aiming at the sound of her voice. He could hardly see in the harsh July sun glinting hard off the water.
Miguel pressed his free hand to his forehead. His hair
was wet and there was a terrible throbbing behind his eyes. He had intended to wait until sunset to strike, but he couldn’t stay in that hot little compartment any longer. It was hot enough all on its own, but when the twin engines had started up hard, the nearly unbearable space had become impossible to remain inside.
Looking back and fourth between the marlin and Miguel, Hector said, “What the hell’s wrong with him? He looks ill.” The marlin made another turn and Hector swiveled in the chair to compensate, increasing the drag a hair to slow the line going out. He braced his feet against the stern rail and jerked back on the pole, hitting the fish again. He gave it a second hard, backward pull, then loosened the drag a bit and gave the marlin some more line as it sounded.
Hector figured that soon someone would have to take the helm. Someone would have to maneuver the boat so the line wasn’t cut as the fish swam under and maybe in front of them. Most importantly, the fishing line needed to be kept clear of the propellers. Hector said, “I ask again, what’s ailing this son of a bitch?”
“The sun, the light,” Consuelo said. “Since he hurt his head last year, Miguel can’t stand light. It gives him terrible headaches. Pain he can’t endure.”
“I told you to shut up, Consuelo!” Miguel pressed his hand harder against the top of his head. “I don’t want to hear your goddamn voice, not ever again, you traitor. You filthy, puta!”
“I gave you a choice,” Consuelo said. “It wasn’t like that, me being a traitor. You scared me. I told you I was leaving if you didn’t get yourself real help, and you didn’t. I gave you every chance.”
Miguel fired at the sound of her voice. She and Beau both flinched as the bullet passed overhead.
Beau said, “What do you intend here, boy?”
Miguel snarled and took a step back, moving under the canopy of the boat into the negligible shade to be found there. He said, “I’m going to kill you, old man. I’m going to kill you and your wife. And I suppose, now, I’m going to have to kill these poor people with you.”
Miguel shaded his eyes again and looked at Brinke. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “You’re that snooty bitch from Christmas! The one who laughed at me in the bar. The one who made me go outside where I had my accident! You puta!”
Forever’s Just Pretend: A Hector Lassiter novel (Hector Lassiter series Book 2) Page 21