by Michael Cole
“Chief, this is ridiculous!” another called out. Sydney didn’t feel any guilt or intimidation, nor was he about to go back on his orders.
“Knock it off,” he said, hammering a fist into the podium. The loud cracking sound of wood silenced the room. “You guys think this is a game? Clock in, clock out, maybe bust a drunk here and there? We’ve got something serious going on here. I don’t know what, but I need you guys to help me keep it from getting any worse. Now, quit complaining and get to work.” He limped away, ignoring the murmuring of discontent from the officers.
********
Joel placed the dead largemouth bass on the counter before him. With a swift motion, he slid the six-inch Rapala knife behind the gill slit, under the pectoral fins, along both sides of the spine, then deeper behind the rib cage. With a little bit of trimming, both fillets were clear of the fish meat in thirty seconds.
“Skin on or off?” he asked of the customer, a man and his wife. Each stared for a moment, impressed by the speed and efficiency of the fish cleaning. The husband appeared almost embarrassed, feeling less manly for not cleaning his own fish.
“Uhh…it can stay on,” he said. Joel placed the fillets in a bag, along with the bluegill nuggets he cleaned for them as well.
“Here you go,” he said, handing the bag to them. “Have a nice day.”
“You too,” the wife said. As they walked off, Joel could hear the husband mumble, “I could do that, you know. It’s just that…we have a lot of other things to do and…”
“Uh-huh,” he heard the wife say. Joel cracked a small grin and cleared away the fish guts. The morning had been busier than normal. Once the mayor released the announcement that the lake was open again, the vacationers at Birchwood Lodge all seemed to hit the water, as if in fear the chief would close it again.
The closing of the lake already was the talk of the town. Unhappy residents were questioning Morgan Sydney’s suitability as chief of police. One of the loudest voices was Birchwood Lodge’s owner, Mr. Tindell. As Joel arrived for work, he had to listen to his boss complain about how he had to instruct all of his tenants to stay off the lake. Several of them demanded refunds, and one customer even went as far as to write a negative review online, even though they knew it had been a police order and not the Lodge’s choice.
Joel himself wasn’t sure what to think of Sydney’s decision to close the lake. On the one hand, it seemed like a drastic move based on a lot of uncertainty. On the other hand, however, he knew Sydney had a keen sense of a threat, and was not the type to make decisions he didn’t fully believe in. In addition, in all of his years of hunting and being hunted, Joel developed something of a sixth sense when an unforeseeable danger lurked. He hadn’t felt that feeling in years, up until recently, and it strengthened whenever he looked at that water.
He looked out the large window toward the large beach area. It was almost 10:00, and already the sand was covered in tourists. Kids played volleyball and soccer games; women in bikinis were sunning themselves, while others were busy doing yoga. Naturally, the single men out there were eyeballing them, hoping to get the attention of an attractive female. Of course, the lake was filled with people enjoying the warm water. Joel glanced out the other window, which gave view to the dock. Most of the boats were already way out into the lake, and a few fishermen were loading into the boats that remained.
He recognized a certain duo that hobbled out to the dock. It was Jeff and Richie, the rude, overweight boozers that had checked in a couple nights prior. Joel quickly noticed the twelve pack carried by Richie, and one of the bottles was already open in Jeff’s hand. They cackled obscene jokes to one another as they boarded the twelve-foot boat. Joel couldn’t hear what they were saying, but seeing the offended expressions from some women nearby, he knew it wasn’t of good taste.
Two other hefty individuals met up with Jeff and Richie, Brook and Diesel. Both were sporting full, untrimmed beards and ball caps. Diesel was much fatter than Brook, and the sight of his stomach nearly poking out from under his shirt was enough to rid Joel of any appetite he had. They started cracking jokes with Jeff and Richie while piling into the next boat. Joel winced as one of them bent down to lower a tackle box. Those pants he wore barely held together as his waist stretched the fabric.
It’ll be a miracle if that boat doesn’t sink.
Tindell’s voice carried from the front desk. The enthusiasm it contained likely meant he was renting out a boat. Because of the busy hours, almost all the boats had been rented out, leaving one remaining. Usually, two-thirds at most would be rented out at one time, meaning Tindell was making a pretty penny. With the sudden high demand, he had strongly considered upping the price to increase profits. However, Joel managed to talk him out of it. Tindell’s voice drew nearer as he led the customer through the lodge. The customer carried with him two poles, a bucket, live-basket, and tackle box.
“Yes, sir,” he said as he brought him through the fish cleaning station, “it’s your lucky day. We have one last boat, at least until 1:00 p.m. when some are scheduled to return. Typical twelve-footer with oars and anchor. Fifty dollars for four hours out, ninety for eight hours. We can also rent out a trawling motor for ten bucks.” Joel saw the customer struggling to keep up with Tindell while trying to hang on to all of his items.
“Here, sir, I can help you carry those out,” he said. The customer sighed with relief.
“Oh thanks, I appreciate it,” he said.
“Not a problem,” Joel said. He took the bucket and tackle box off his hands and got the door, shooting a disapproved look at his boss while getting the door. Yeah, you preach customer service to us, he thought. The three of them walked outside to the last boat.
“Alright,” the customer said, “I think four hours is all I’ll need for now. Can I pay in cash right here, or…?”
“That’s just fine,” Tindell said. The customer reached into his back jeans pocket for his wallet. He stopped and looked toward the front of the lodge, alerted by the sight of a man running toward them.
“Hey, hey, hey!” the man exclaimed. Dressed in a grey shirt and tan cargo pants, he hustled down the small hill, carrying two large boxes under his arms. “You got any more boats for rent! It’s really important that I get—YAHH!!” He tripped over his own feet, flinging his boxes forward as he fell face first. “Shit!”
“You alright?” Joel questioned as he rushed toward him.
“I’m good!” the man said. He sprang to his feet and grabbed his boxes, stacking them on top of each other. He held out his hand to shake Joel’s. “Hi! Dr. Mike Wilkow. Nice mustache! Are you the owner of this place?” Joel wasn’t sure what to say, and he couldn’t help staring at Wilkow as if he was a lunatic. He reluctantly shook Wilkow’s hand.
“Over there,” he pointed at Tindell. “That’s the owner. I don’t think we have any more bo—” Wilkow brushed passed him and walked over to Tindell.
“Hi!” he said. “I’m Doctor Wilkow. I know you’re having some unexpected busy hours, but I was hoping you had any boats available for rent.”
“Oh, I’m sorry sir,” Tindell said. “I literally just rented out the last one to this gentleman here. However, we’ll have a couple coming in at 1:00 this afternoon. Fifty bucks for four hours, ninety for eight.”
“I happened to notice that this guy hadn’t paid you yet,” Wilkow said.
“Well, he’s just about to. Like I said, there’ll be another boat available at—”
“Tell you what…I’ll pay you four hundred bucks for eight hours,” Wilkow interrupted. Tindell stared flabbergasted.
Damn! He must really want to go fishing!
“Well, I…uh…” he looked to the other customer and back at Wilkow, as if unable to make up his mind. Joel could sense the gears turning in his head. The shit-eating grin was unmistakable, and Joel felt as if he could see dollar signs in boss’s eyes.
“Hey, man, I was here first,” the customer said, speaking to Wilkow.
&nbs
p; “What’s the big hurry?” Joel interrupted.
“Shut up, Joel!” Tindell barked. “Well, sir…perhaps we can work something out. If you could wait…”
“Let me cut in,” Wilkow said. “Hey, bud, if you let me have the boat, I’ll pay for yours.” He whipped out his credit card; rather, the college’s. The customer appeared angry, initially. As he rolled the thought around in his mind, he visibly became more at ease.
“Make it eight hours, and you have a deal,” he said.
“Cha-Ching!” Wilkow said. He looked to Tindell, who barely contained his giddiness. A good business day had gotten even better. “Let’s ring this in. By the way, do you have any bathymetry charts for this lake?”
“Yes, sir!” He pointed the way to the building for the professor. Tindell’s voice trailed after his new favorite customer like a puppy dog after its owner. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Soda? Anything?”
Joel returned to the cleaning station and began to organize his counter. “I’ll be darned if the guy doesn’t try charging triple for the pop,” he mumbled to himself.
CHAPTER
19
“Is there pressure up around the eyes?” Meya asked. Her patient, a twenty-five-year-old male with a red face and droopy eyes, nodded while sitting on the exam table. She jotted down notes on a sheet in her clipboard. “Mucinex isn’t working at home?”
“Nothing’s been helping with this,” the patient said. His voice sounded as drained as he appeared. He turned and blew his nose into a tissue. Meya pulled out her prescription pad.
“Needless to say, you have a sinus infection,” she said. “I’m gonna write you a prescription for Amoxicillin. Take one pill three times a day.” She scribbled her signature and tore off the sheet. “You’re all set to go.”
“Thank you,” the patient said. He took the prescription and left. Meya stayed behind and jotted a few more notes before calling for the next patient. Life seemed to have gone back to normal. Rather, her new normal: a near stress-free environment in which each case was a generic one. She grabbed the file for the next person, and picked up the phone to call the check-in desk. The nurse at the desk answered on the first ring.
“Front desk. This is Angela speaking.”
“Hey,” Meya said. “You can send in the next one.”
“Oh, your eleven o’clock cancelled. So did your eleven-thirty. So far, nobody else has arrived.”
“They cancelled to go to the lake,” Meya said, more to herself than the nurse. “I guess they weren’t really that sick. Okay, thanks.” She hung up the phone, quickly realizing she had at least an hour to kill. She figured it was a good time to go to her office for some administrative duties.
The break lounge was on her way to her office. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled her nostrils. It was hard to resist, being as she lived on nearly six cups a day for eighteen years. She entered the lobby and noticed two nurses seated at a break table. One was reading the local newspaper, chuckling at the front page.
“Wow,” she began. “It says here he didn’t even consult Mayor Greene.” Meya glanced toward her table while filling her cup. She caught a glimpse of the newspaper, and the bold letters printed on top. She couldn’t read the whole title, but the words Police Chief and Lake caught her eye, and it told her enough.
“I just can’t believe he actually tried to close the whole lake,” the other said. “What a shmuck. What do you think, Doc?” Meya realized she was now being spoken to.
“I’m sorry?”
“You hear about Ridgeway Lake, and our idiot police chief?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think he’s an idiot. I think maybe…perhaps he’s just…” her voice trailed off as she thought of Sydney. She felt a bit of regret for their sour interaction the previous day.
“He’s just what?” the nurse asked.
“Just stressed,” she answered. She left the lounge and went to her office, ignoring the nurses as they continued to verbally bash the chief. She shut the door behind her and sat down. She paused unintentionally before she could start her work. Her mind was fixated on Sydney, specifically the troubles he was going through. Her thoughts then went to some good times in their past, particularly by the lighthouse.
As if punishing herself for thinking of him, she lightly tapped herself on the cheek to focus back into reality. She logged onto her computer and began pulling up documents, forcefully keeping her ex-husband out of mind.
********
Wilkow dropped an anchor after reaching his next location. He tied the rope taut and looked at his bathymetry chart once more. It unrolled like a roadmap, showing the large shape of Ridgeway Lake. It was marked with green, blue, and red markings, almost appearing like the radar screen on the Weather Channel. The green blobs were indicative of areas deeper than two hundred feet. He was about a mile and a half south from the Lodge, and already checked three “deep zones” between there and his current location. So far, every sonar reading appeared to match the layout of what was on the chart.
He set up his sonar screen for the fourth time, and got the fish finder ready to send a ping toward the lake bottom. He paused for a minute after seeing a large speedboat starting to pass by, towing two cheering people on water skies. Swells of water rippled his way, bobbing his boat up and down several times until they settled down. The boat continued down the lake for an unknown distance, where it would eventually circle back.
“I haven’t done that in a while,” he said to himself. “I think I have a field trip in mind for class!” Technically, I’d still be giving a lesson on water displacement and vibrations and stuff. With that thought, he felt his skin beginning to burn. He’d been out on the water for nearly two hours, without any luck on finding any recent formation in the lake bottom. Hopefully, I’ll remember sunscreen next time.
His fish finder fired a few pings, and the monitor lit up with green and blue colors. The screen was split into two images; the left showed an overhead map-like view of the area and marked depths. The right half of the screen showed a view of the basic shape of the lake floor. Everything seemed to match the information on his chart. Once again, no signs of crests or rifts along the bottom.
“Damn,” he said. He looked at his chart for the next location. Everything around him seemed too shallow, with the nearest deep zone being across the lake in a southerly direction. He could only hope he could find some sort of anomaly, which would somewhat justify him stealing funds from the college. Either way, he knew he was in for an energetic conversation with Dr. Nevers.
He secured the monitor once again and started pulling up the anchor. He tugged upward, and the large, heavy cement block tumbled over the stern, dripping wet and covered in seaweed. Wilkow started the motor and steered the boat to the next testing area.
********
With the wind in his face, Aaron steered the speedboat. He kept his eye on a mirror, watching his two friends, Jordan and Rachel, as they each clung to their ski handles. Their cheers were as loud as the boat engine.
At least this is a kind of fun I don’t have to accidentally walk in on, Aaron thought. He kept switching his view between the path ahead and the mirror, keeping track of his friends while monitoring his path. He sped by a fishing boat within which a man was flipping through multiple colored charts and fiddling with a fish finder. With all the boaters on the lake, maintaining a decent path was somewhat difficult. He would take the boat further along the side of the lake, and eventually turn around to do a pass in the opposite direction, then repeat until his friends decided they have had enough.
Knowing Rachel and Jordan, he’d likely be driving the speedboat all day.
********
Sydney pulled his Jeep up into one of the open parking spaces in the Lodge’s driveway. He switched off the engine and appeared to stare at the large brown building. In actuality, he was staring off into space, deep in thought. For the past couple days, those thoughts were flooded with concerns regarding
safety on the lake. The resistance he was receiving from the mayor, the sheriff, even his own officers, made things worse. It was as if the town believed they were in a safe bubble, and didn’t want to believe a danger possibly lurked near.
But now, he thought of Meya: specifically, their last unpleasant encounter. He understood what it was; lack of sleep and overwork had gotten to them again. But he recalled his behavior, and felt a heavy sense of regret. He looked at his phone again, remembering her number even though it had been deleted long ago. He considered giving her a phone call. He knew what he wanted to tell her; he was sorry, not just for yesterday but for all the years they argued like that. Sydney wanted to tell her that and much more, but he ran into the same problem as ever: he didn’t know how to say it. At least he thought he didn’t know how.
Hell, she probably doesn’t want to hear from me anyway, he thought. He put his phone away and stepped out of his Jeep. He walked over the grass and around the left of the building. The water came into view, as did the empty docks. All of the boats were gone, and further to the right was the beach. It was absolutely full, more than usual even for this time of year. There was so much splashing in the water, it almost looked like a human feeding frenzy. People drifted in inflatables, while others simply dove under and up. He looked further down the lake, seeing some of the cabins and lakefront houses further down shore. Their residents were also in the water, and his view of the lake was peppered with the sight of several boats of all kinds moving about. Jet skiers zoomed about, pontoon boats were full with loud music booming from them, and of course, several people were out fishing. It was as if the town and visitors were giving him the middle finger for trying to close the lake.
Joel did a quick fillet job on a customer’s bullhead catfish they had caught on the dock. After bagging the fillets and sending the customer on his way, he naturally glanced out the window. He did a double take, seeing Chief Sydney standing outside with his arms crossed, watching the beach. He quickly washed his hands, then opened the door to peek his head out.