Mount Misery

by Angelo Peluso

  The drive to Casa Mariachi took only about ten minutes. With one hand on the steering wheel, Rick held Katie’s hand with the other; their fingers interlocked. They listened to music but didn’t say much. Katie was a big fan of Jimmy Buffett and Rick loaded up the CD player with a few of his albums. Katie was tapping away to the beat of the music and singing along with words that evoked visions of cheeseburgers, tropical paradise, and forty-year-old pirates past their prime.

  Katie was really getting into the songs when the fish demons popped back into in her mind. Suddenly she removed her hand from Rick’s. Katie’s brief respite from the day’s ordeal was overshadowed by the omnipresent horror of the killings.

  Rick immediately sensed the change. “We’ll get through this, Katie. There has to be a solution. Trust me. We’ll figure this out.”

  Just as Jimmy B belted out the lyrics, it’s five o’clock somewhere, Rick pulled into the restaurant parking lot. Mama Lydia owned Casa Mariachi and greeted Katie and Rick with hugs and kisses as if they were family. Carlos, the head waiter, acknowledged the couple as Señor Rick and Señorita Katie, and said, “Your table is ready.” They had the nice corner booth in the back of the restaurant so that Katie and Rick would have privacy, that is, until the mariachi band showed up to play Rick’s favorite Mexican tunes. Carlos knew the drill and immediately arrived at the table with the house special Mariachi Margarita for Katie and a cold bottle of Negra Modello for Rick, a big bowl of chips and salsa between them.

  The mariachis belted out “Maria en la Playa” and Rick sang along. When the song ended‚ the band segued right into Katie’s favorite tune, “Caballitos,” and upon reaching the part where the little horses neigh, Katie whinnied along with the band. She was finally starting to relax from the day’s ordeal. Katie and Rick drank and talked and held hands. It was just like old times. Their conversation was mostly of the way things were and the way they could be. They both deftly avoided any mention of their current challenges, personal and professional. There was no mention at all of the fish. This was the mental escape Katie needed. It was also one of the best evenings they had had together in a very long time. Carlos brought them their favorite shared dessert, a bunuelo, filled with vanilla ice cream and topped with whipped cream, honey, and cinnamon. They devoured it and laughed at their excess consumption. Rick pushed the last bit of the dessert onto Katie’s side of the plate and as he did so, their eyes locked in intense magnetic attraction. They both leaned toward the middle of the table and kissed. The real dessert was soon to come once they arrived back at Rick’s place.

  As the couple made love, the fish killed again.

  CHAPTER 37

  Rick leaned over the bed and kissed Katie gently on the forehead. “Wake up. It’s time to get going.”

  Katie squinted with one eye and peeked at the alarm clock. “Jesus Christmas, it’s only four o’clock, Rick. Come back to bed.”

  “I’d love to, sweet pea, but the tournament begins at sunrise and we need to be on the water by six.”

  Rick nudged Katie and pulled the sheets back from the bed. Katie had slept naked and, for an instant, the invitation to rejoin her in bed pulled at him like a moon tide pulls and pushes water in and out of the surf. Rick hesitated for a moment. He would have liked nothing better than some early morning delight, but he knew what had to be done. This was going to be one hell of a day.

  “Let’s go, up and at it. Want breakfast? I’ll make my not-so-famous eggs McCord.”

  Grudgingly, Katie moved to the edge of the bed and sat up. It didn’t take long for the killer fish to take over her thoughts. She cupped her head in her hands. “I dread this day, Rick. I wish it was already over.”

  “Go take a shower and I’ll have coffee and eggs ready when you get out.”

  While Katie showered and Rick prepared breakfast, the mutant fish cruised the near-shore waters of the Long Island Sound in search of their morning victims. Dozens of pods of the savage killers had located a massive school of Atlantic menhaden swimming lazily beneath the surface. The fish tore through hapless mossbunker like buzz saws. It was another blood and guts massacre. The most violent attacks came from school’s lead alpha male. The fish was still pissed off at the dog. The canine had made a bull’s-eye bite that ripped open the fish’s right orbital eye socket, an injury that had robbed the alpha male of its right-side peripheral vision; a serious disadvantage for a predator, a potentially fatal flaw for the leader of the pack. Although the alpha male was weakened by this disability, he prevailed. While challenged for the leadership position of the entire school by a number of would-be successors, after killing two of his challengers, the rest of the ambitious and younger males had backed off. They would yet again defy their leader at the right moment, but for now they would be content to follow his lead. With the school of menhaden decimated, the voracious killers retreated to the offshore depths of the Sound until their next foray inshore.

  Katie emerged from the shower. A long towel wrapped around her breasts covered all but her legs. Rick had his back to her as she moved behind him. Katie embraced Rick from the rear with a bear-sized hug. Her head was turned sideways and rested in the middle of Rick’s back.

  “Those eggs smell yummy.” Katie was indeed hungry, but breakfast was the last thing on her mind. As Rick moved within Katie’s grasp, she eased up on the hug allowing him to turn fully toward her. Once Rick shifted completely around, the two were standing face to face. He knew that fighting against this moment would prove fruitless. The towel opened partially as Katie pushed herself closer to Rick, her genitals rubbing against his. Her nipples stood at attention. She could feel the moisture move between swollen lips. Rick felt himself getting hard and knew the eggs would have to wait. The intensity of the moment did not call for long lovemaking. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

  “I love quickies,” Katie quipped, “and I love your Huevos McCord.”

  Rick smiled but he sensed Katie was trying to divert attention away from the day’s primary task. Rick was now all business. He had a bad feeling about the tournament.

  “Katie, put the dishes in the washer, and I’ll go get my gear. We need to get a move on. We have a lot to do this morning.”

  Rick’s forceful tone brought Katie back to the reality of the moment.

  The ride to the marina was short and quick. There weren’t many other cars on the road at five-thirty on a Saturday morning. Those that were out and about were driven either by fishermen or night owls returning home from Friday night partying. Rick’s boat sat snugly tied in the slip. Fishermen were launching other boats at the ramp while a few early bird vessels sat out in the back end of the harbor awaiting the tournament director’s flare, signaling the start of the contest. Rick loaded his gear into the boat and then he and Katie walked toward the launch ramp. Katie detoured to The Fisherman’s Deli to get some sandwiches for lunch while Rich picked up a few buckets of chum at the bait shack.

  As Rick waited for Katie to exit the deli, he watched a thirty-two-foot long Yellowfin offshore center console back into the water. Rick did not recognize the guy driving the truck but he did recognize the voice on the dock that belted out a greeting. The voice turned his stomach.

  “Hey, sport. Been in a long time. Want to pick up where we left off?”

  All Rick could think of was: What the fuck is this guy doing here?

  “Lenny Kramer. Never expected seeing you here.”

  “Decided to splash my new ride in this tournament. I hear tell that there are some really big fish around. Like the boat? It cost a bundle.”

  Lenny’s tone suggested to Rick that the blowhard might know something about the killer fish. The guy was connected to many social circles and the killings had become a hot topic of cocktail hour conversation. Or perhaps he was bullshitting.

  Rick wanted to just walk away. This guy was trouble and he didn’t want Katie crossing paths with the asshole.

  “Nice boat you got there, Lenny. It’s rigged out to the
nines.”

  “Best of everything; three-hundred-grand worth of boat, motors, tackle, and toys. Even flew Captain Henry Reichert up from Key West for this. He’s the best. Know him?”

  The dig at Rick didn’t go unnoticed. Once a prick always a prick.

  Rick spotted Katie walking out of the deli and wanted to put an end to this chitchat with Lenny Kramer. If it continued much longer, nothing good would come of it.

  “Can’t say I know him. But that is a sweet rig you got there. Good luck in the tournament.”

  Lenny was never one to let up. “With this boat and captain, no luck needed. All skill.”

  Arrogant fucker, Rick thought. I hope Captain Marvelous forgot to put in the drain plug.

  “I’m sure you will do well,” Rick responded.

  Katie was now standing beside Rick. Lenny couldn’t resist that moment either.

  “Who’s the pretty chippy there, Captain Rick?”

  Rick ignored the question and motioned to Katie to head back to his boat. With a halfhearted wave, he bid Lenny Kramer farewell. He hoped never to see that bastard again.

  “See you at the weigh-in, Ricky boy. I’m going to win this thing, and then buy dinner for that sexy girlfriend of yours.”

  “Who is that guy?” Katie finally asked.

  “He’s the reason I’m not still guiding in Alaska.”

  Once back aboard Maya, Rick started up the engines and turned on the VHF to check in with the other captains. Each harbor along the north shore of Long Island hosted the tournament and Rick’s friends launched from several different locations. Captain Bassonet was the only one whose clients were registered in the tournament, so his day would be devoted totally to bluefish. The rest would go about their normal charters and, if bluefish presented an opportunity, they would seize the moment.

  Katie had fished with Rick enough to know the morning drill. The engines had warmed sufficiently and she detached the bow and mid-ship ropes from the cleats. Rick smiled. He loved having Katie on his boat. The tournament would officially begin at sunrise and most of the participating boats were sitting in the lower harbor. Just west of the ferry dock, Lenny’s boat sat at the head of the pack. With nine-hundred horsepower motors sitting on the transom, it wasn’t like he needed the extra advantage. It was sort of like bringing an Abrams Battle Tank to a bumper car ride. But that was Lenny: the guy had to control every situation. Rick counted thirty-seven boats awaiting the start flare. He added that number to all the ramps from the Throgs Neck Bridge in the Bronx out to Orient Point and said to Katie, “I bet there are at least a few hundred boats out there for this tournament, not counting the folks from the Connecticut side.”

  “It could get chaotic and dangerous out there,” Katie replied, “especially if our fish decide to play.”

  At the precise moment of sunrise, the starter’s flare cracked and illuminated the dawn sky. It sounded somewhat like a NASCAR race as boats flew out of the harbor along the outside edges of the channel. Lenny Kramer’s was the only boat in the restricted five-mile-an-hour zone running wide open at full throttle. Rick’s thought at seeing that was, what a dick head. Rick also thought there was no need to rush. He’d take his time getting out of the harbor and give some of the other captains a chance to get set up. Rick put his arm around Katie’s shoulder.

  Rick pushed the throttle forward and pointed Maya’s bow toward the harbor inlet. The events that would shape this tournament would haunt their thoughts for the rest of their lives.

  CHAPTER 38

  As Lenny Kramer’s boat, Semper Victoris, roared toward open water, Lenny tapped Captain Reichert on the shoulder and pointed to the middle of the Sound. While neither Lenny nor Reichert were familiar with the water of the central Long Island Sound, Lenny paid handsomely for current local knowledge. He had contacted a number of captains, paying them each a full day’s charter fare for the GPS coordinates of the largest bluefish. Having assembled quite a list of hot spots, Lenny had his sights set on a specific area west of the Middle Grounds, some of the deepest water in the Sound where the biggest bluefish had been caught recently. Semper Victoris’s nine-hundred-horsepower would have them out to their first fishing spot in less than ten minutes.

  Captain Reichert backed down on the throttle, they approached the waypoint numbers. Lenny patted the captain on the back. “Let’s get this done.” He then reached for one of the three bunker chum buckets. Lenny was eager to begin fishing. Working together, he and Captain Reichert placed the frozen menhaden in a chum bag, attached it to a gunwale cleat on the down current side of the boat, and tossed it overboard. The goal was to establish an inviting slick of defrosted bunker parts that would draw big bluefish up toward the boat to feed, and hopefully to eat one of the baited hooks. While they waited, Reichert rigged the fishing rods, setting three off the stern of the boat, two baited with chunks of bunker and one with mackerel, varying depths.

  Lenny was not a man of much patience. The computer-traded market in which he operated happened at speeds measured in micro and nanoseconds. Sitting and waiting for a fish to bite was not high on Lenny’s list of prime-time activities; he liked his fishing fast. Establishing a productive chum slick takes time. Bits and pieces of bunker and scent needed to permeate the water before fish could be attracted and stimulated to feed. It had only been about half an hour into the drift when Lenny got antsy.

  “Henry, cut up those mackerel and start tossing them overboard. And put some of that bunker oil overboard too,” Lenny barked.

  “Maybe we should give it some time Lenny. We don’t want to over-feed whatever may be beneath the slick.”

  “Bluefish never stop attacking and marauding. Just like me. Throw more shit overboard.”

  Reichert was not one to challenge his boss. He was being paid a ton of money for this tournament and he didn’t want to piss the guy off. Lenny had a short fuse.

  “Okay Lenny, you got it.”

  With that, Reichert cut several mackerel into small chunks and tossed them into the slick at a moderate pace. He also picked up a large squeeze bottle of bunker oil and sprayed a liberal amount in the water.

  “Spray more,” Lenny ordered. “Remember, when I win this thing, you get half the fifty Gs.”

  Reichert was indeed motivated by money to spray more oil in the water, regardless of contempt he may have held for his boss. But this time, Lenny may have been right. After only ten minute of tossing out the mackerel chunks, Reichert pointed to a commotion at the far end of the slick and said simply, “Bluefish.”

  They both watched as the fish moved up the slick and closer to the boat. As best as they could tell, these looked to be big fish. At once, the middle rod and the portside stern rod bounced to life. Lenny grabbed the rod closest to him and Reichert took hold of the portside rod. “Good one,” Lenny said. Reichert’s fish, although a respectable bluefish, was smaller, so he left it in the water and moved to net Lenny’s fish. The plan was to net fish rather than gaff them so as to avoid bleeding that would rob any fish of needed ounces at weigh-in.

  It was indeed a good fish that registered fifteen pounds, two ounces on the certified boat scale. “Solid fish,” Reichert said, but Lenny knew a winning bluefish would have to be bigger. The previous year’s first place weight was sixteen pound, seven ounces. Nonetheless, Lenny motioned to Reichert to put the fish in the fish box. “If we have to, we’ll use it as bait later on in the day. These fucking things are cannibals and love to eat their own kind.”

  As Lenny and Reichert discussed the fate of the first bluefish, they failed to notice that the other rod with a fish on took a violent bounce and shot back up with a limp line.

  “Pull in that other fish, Reichert. We’ll use that one too.”

  Reichert turned to reel in his bluefish but instantly realized something was amiss.

  “Looks like it got off.” Reeling in all the line, Reichert was even more astonished. “It bit through the hundred-pound wire leader.”

  “Not possible. You must ha
ve tied a shitty knot.”

  “No, Lenny. The knot didn’t slip. The fish bit right through the wire. But it wasn’t that big . . .”

  “Forget it,” Lenny said as he reached to grab the middle rod that was now doubled over. The bluefish was a carbon copy of the first and it too endured the same fate: tossed into the fish box. Over the next hour, Lenny and Reichert caught a half dozen more bluefish but none larger than the first. Lenny once again grew impatient and abusive.

  “Move this fucking boat, Henry. We need to find bigger fish, I’m paying you to find big fish; now get on with finding them.”

  Reichert wasn’t so convinced they needed to change locations. While he was fishing unfamiliar waters, he was a good captain with much fishing experience. In his opinion, they had done well so far. They caught good-sized fish and had a strong slick working in their favor. He would risk going against Lenny’s wishes.

  “You are also paying me for my advice and I think we should give this drift some more time. I’m feeling like we can draw some bigger fish up as the tide gets stronger.”

  “I paid for the advice of others too and I think we should move back over there by the lighthouse.” Reichert was prepared to dig in his heels on this. “I’m saying we stay. We move, it is a big mistake. You want to win this thing or not?”

  Lenny hated giving in but he grudgingly conceded to Reichert’s position.

  “Keep drifting. This better work, Henry.”

  “I’ll put out a new chum bucket and get some more mackerel chunks in the water. I feel good about this.”

  Semper Victoris had drifted a mile and a half since the day’s fishing began. The boat moved over deep water as the electronic fish finder marked big fish down near the bottom of the water column. Captain Reichert took notice.

  “Lenny, we have some large marks on the finder showing fish beneath the boat, down about one hundred feet. Let’s see if we can get those fish to come up.” Reichert re-baited each hook with fresh pieces of bunker and mackerel. He cut up some additional bunker and mackerel to seed the water with new scent. Lenny was invigorated by the mention of big fish. He stood at the ready to take hold of the first rod that showed signs of life. The wait wasn’t long; the rod with the bait set deepest went off first. Lenny was all over it and made sure the fish was on tight by setting the hook a second and a third time.