Jack removed the plastic-coated wire leader from between his teeth as he reached what he guessed to be about three hundred yards. He looked back toward the shore where his friend Perry waited with the rod. He could see him waving a flashlight, a small speck of light compared to the multitude of lights in the high-rise condos that loomed behind him. Jack took the leader, weight, and the bait, half a cow nose ray, and carefully dumped it into the water.
He felt so peaceful, he didn’t hurry back to shore. He leaned back in the kayak seat and opened a can of Coors. It was a difficult feeling to explain. Friends would ask him, “Aren’t you afraid out there? Dropping a bloody bait, aren’t you going to get attacked?” It didn’t work that way, at least so far. Once a shark had circled him, but that hadn’t bothered him. He was fatalistic out here. If he was going to go that way, then so be it. He had the big-game hunter mentality. Before heading out, he didn’t like the idea of dragging a bloody bait into shark-infested waters, but once on the water he seemed to forget his fear, and the thrill-engaged adrenalin took over. It wasn’t as easy to catch a shark as everyone thought. They weren’t the mindless, meat-eating beasts that most people believed them to be. They were actually quite skittish, and would only bite if conditions were right. A big, bloody piece of fish could be dropped out into the ocean and it might sit there for a day without as much as a nibble. Crabs would do a better job some nights. He’d dropped bait hundreds of times, it wasn’t a big deal and he was still alive. He feared the waves and the storms that circled southwest Florida in the summer more than he did the fish.
He finished his beer in one long gulp and ventured back to shore. As the bow touched, Perry helped him pull the kayak onto the sand. “Took your time, bro.”
“The summer wind off the Gulf is just gorgeous, and the sound of the waves lapping up against the side of the boat was too nice to pass up.”
“True enough, true enough. We got three baits soaking, let’s chill for a bit.”
He sat down in his beach chair and cracked open another Coors. Perry slumped into his chair. The two had bonded and formed a strong friendship through their deep love of fishing.
“Things okay over at the restaurant?”
“Same old. Pretty dead in the summer, but we’re keeping our heads above water. The boss has some pretty good specials going, and a lot of the locals like our shit. You?”
“Job’s going okay, don’t love it. I met this girl, works at the same place, a different office though.”
“C’mon, so?”
“Well, she’s different, but I think in a good way. She’s pretty cool.”
“Pretty cool? Bro, you must be serious. You usually say yeah, she’s a good fuck, or she’s stuck up, or it ain’t workin’. What the hell does pretty cool mean?”
“Um, we’ve only had a couple of dates, but I’m pretty sure I’d like to pursue it a bit more.”
“Two dates? Pursue? C’mon . . . ”
Click, click, click.
“Something’s nibblin’ on the twelve ought.”
ZZZZZZZ . . . Line started ripping off the huge Penn reel, a sound like no other. Then it stopped. Both men were on their feet staring at the rod. Perry reeled back a few feet. “Let ’em chew a bit. Jackson, I know you better. You are the slumdog football hero. Tell me more.” Both men fell back into their chairs.
“Well, we went for lunch the other day. I tell ya, I was so hot for this chick, Sarah. Anyway, halfway through lunch I thought I was gonna have to go whack off in the restroom. Then she mentions religion. Bam, there goes the hard-on. Thought she was a religious nut—we’ve both dated them, waste of time. But man, was I wrong. Well, it was all nicey-nicey and then she says she has to leave and get back to her job.
“Next week, she calls me up at work. I thought she’d forgotten about me. Comes and drags me out. Says she needs to talk to me. So I clear it with the supervisor and we go for a drive. We talk for a bit, and she says she’s a Satanist.”
“What the fuck, bro!” Perry stood up looking down at Jack.
“I have to say I was taken back. But then she explained that what she did wasn’t evil, that her religion was merely a point of view. Anyway, I’ll keep you briefed. I’m not terribly concerned.”
Perry looked at him, placing his hands on his hips. “Point of view, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Is it voodoo or something? You’re weirding me out now, bro. I wouldn’t touch that shit with your dick, I don’t care how hot the girl might be.”
Perry looked down at Jack, his face pulled tight. He didn’t do that very often unless it had to do with fishing. “Don’t fuck around with that shit, bro. I don’t want to lose my fishin’ buddy over some devil woman. I mean that in two ways. Those fuckers can warp your brain and shit. I’ve heard about it. Before you know it, you’re doing shit that you didn’t want to do. Second, you work for a state senator. They get wind of that shit and you’re toast. You won’t get a job on a shrimp boat after that. My advice is to dump her right away. The pussy don’t own you yet. You go in there and they own ya.”
Jack sat for a few minutes pondering Perry’s words, taking a long swig of his beer. “I’ve thought about all that. I promise to let you know what’s up. I’m just checking things out. You know how it is—sooner or later the blow jobs stop. As soon as things start to get weird, if they do at all, I promise I’m outta there.”
“Blow jobs? I’m not following.”
“Have you ever gotten a blow job from a chick after dating her for more than a year?”
“Good point.”
“So anyway, we drive for a bit and end up at Lovers Key. We park, and before you know it we’re going at it hard.”
“No, c’mon, in the minivan?”
“Yep, right in the front seat.”
ZZZZZZZ . . .
“That’s a solid run. Get your belt on.”
Jack strapped on a fighting belt and Perry handed him the screaming rod. He took it and started running backward towards a stand of mangrove. Once he had a head of steam up, he threw over the drag lever. Wham, the hook took hold and the fish was on, and none too happy. The line zinged off the reel at an alarming rate.
“Big one, Perry. Not a black tip. Either a hammer or a tiger—taking . . . too . . . much . . . line. Maybe a big bull?” He sat down in the sand and dug his heels in and began rocking forward and back, gaining a bit of line each time he moved forward. The fish calmed a bit and he added a little more drag. It began to take more line, but not as much as the first run. “Not a hammer, but she’s solid.”
Perry would not relent. “So you’re in the fucking minivan and she bangs you? Afternoon delight, I am so jealous, bro. How ya doin’? Can you gain some line?”
“She’s turning, I think.” Jack stood up and quickly ran toward the surf, reeling as he ran. Then he started walking backward toward the trees. “Memorable head, Perry, no sex. Fucking memorable head.” He started to gain some line. “She’s going right, need to keep it off that buoy out there.” Jack ran to the left and was rewarded with some slack. He added more drag and began reeling as hard as he could. “I’m sure that I want to bang her, but it’s scary what she can do with head, you know? I just want to see her again so that I can get some more. Crazy.”
“C’mon, it’s really that great?”
“Believe me Perry, it just fucking is.”
“You’re givin’ me wood, bro.”
“Well then, stay away.”
It took Jack another half hour to get the fish to the beach.
“Here she comes, Mr. ‘Memorable Head.’ Nice bull!” Perry ran into the surf and grabbed the leader. “Got it, grab the tail.”
Jack put the rod in the holder and calmly moved to the back of the thrashing bull shark. He waited until it calmed a bit and the tail stopped flapping back and forth. He quickly grabbed its tail and with one big heave, ran it up onto the beach as far as he could, which was only a few feet.
“Beauty, Perry. It must be eight-plus feet, and she’s
fat.”
The shark started to flip again; both men stepped back, respecting the strength of the animal. Finally, Perry stood over the top of the fish, his feet on the pectoral fins, and pulled its jaws open. Jack used pliers to pull the hook out of its mouth. The shark was tagged, measured, dragged back into the Gulf, and released with no harm done.
The two friends did a high-five and went straight to the beer cooler, their adrenalin still kicking in at high gear. It was a rush that neither of the two friends would ever tire of.
“You give me your word. You’re outta there the second things don’t add up, right?”
“Sure thing. Now let’s get another on the sand. Sorry I brought the whole thing up.”
“No, man, that’s what friends are for.”
****
Jack hesitantly agreed to pick up Sarah at one of her prayer meetings. He arrived at the low block building located five miles inland on Immokalee Road just as the sun began to set. There were twenty or so cars in the gravel parking lot—an odd assortment of vehicles ranging from a beat-up Hyundai to a black Bentley. It was a surprisingly cool night for late July, and the wind was strong. Jack stared at the dashboard, contemplating Perry’s words from the night before. Deep down, he knew that his friend was right. Why am I pursuing this girl? The physical attraction was strong and he liked being with her—a lot. Love? It could be, but there were things that needed to be sorted out, namely her association with the Brotherhood of Set. He pushed his forehead against the steering wheel. “Okay Jackie boy, promise yourself, if things get weird, you’re out.” He felt marginally better having said the words aloud. He stepped out of the car and slammed the door, hurrying to the front entrance of the building, not wanting to mess up his hair. There were no signs on the building and very few windows. Sarah had told him to come straight in.
He opened the door, trying to make as little noise as possible, and was immediately in the midst of at least forty people who were standing around, drinking tea and eating bite-sized sandwiches. The hum of conversation stopped as he entered the large, low-ceilinged room. The congregation turned to look at him and he could feel his face heating up. The details of the room captured his attention. It was like a legion hall, but without the banners and memorabilia. It was sterile and very bright. Fluorescent lights in the ceiling seemed to burn into his brain while he was being scrutinized by the perfectly quiet people staring directly at him. It was unnerving.
Sarah excused herself from a conversation with an older couple and moved toward Jack. She grabbed both of his hands and turned to the rest of the assembly.
“Everyone, this is my friend Jackson Walker.” She turned Jack, presenting him to the congregation. “I promised that we wouldn’t scare him away just yet. Please welcome him.”
To a person, they placed their cups and food down and clapped gently, nodding in his direction, almost as if it were scripted. Within moments, cups were picked up and the hum of conversation returned. Jack let out a long sigh of relief.
“That wasn’t so bad, now was it? I am so glad that you came. Come, I want you to meet some people.”
“Whoa. I didn’t agree to this.” His internal alarm sounded.
“Really now, they’re just ordinary people like myself, with similar beliefs. They won’t bite, nor will you go to Hell for talking to them.”
“I agreed to pick you up. I told you that this . . . this was to stay out of our relationship.”
“It will, I just wanted you to meet some of my friends. I promise to do the same with yours . . . come on, now.”
Reluctantly, Jack allowed himself to be pulled over to the older couple Sarah had been speaking with. He could hear Perry’s words clearly in his head: “I wouldn’t touch that with your dick.”
“Carly Henderson, Buck Henderson, let me introduce you to my friend Jack.”
Both looked to be in their early seventies and were very well-groomed. Carly had that permanent Florida tan with white-blonde hair so common to older ladies who lived in Naples. She was in a casual but impeccable dress. Buck was a large man, nearly the same height as Jack. He offered his hand and Jack could feel the strength in the handshake. “It’s a pleasure, Jack. I’m originally from Cincinnati. Too bad what happened with the Bengals. Personally, I think they made a mistake letting you go. They don’t know their asses from a hole in the ground— bad organization.”
Jack was used to this kind of quasi-plumping up, as he called it. People want to get close to you as a celebrity, so they try to commiserate and get your guard down so they can talk your ear off about stuff that really doesn’t interest you anymore. He’d been offered well-paying gigs to show up at functions so that people could say they hung out with him. He’d done it a few times, but felt somehow prostituted. He felt sorry for the ex-athletes who had no choice, the ones who had families and had blown all the cash.
He slipped into his scripted mode. “No, sir, I respect them totally. It’s a business, and I wasn’t performing. I had a good run at it, and I am not sorry that it is over. Not everyone is cut out for professional sport. What’s important is that I’ve met this lovely girl.” He gestured to Sarah. “She asked me to meet some of you folks.”
Sarah smiled for a brief moment and then stared at him, her brows scrunched down, her head tilted to the side.
“Son, I can see right through your armor,” Buck said, catching Jack off guard. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who you were. I’m a minority owner of the Atlanta Braves. I speak on a regular basis with higher-profile athletes than you ever were. I was padding your ass, Jack. What I’m interested in is who you are. Are you good enough for our Sarah?”
Jack was at a loss for words.
“I wouldn’t have chosen him if I didn’t think he was worthy,” Sarah said, clasping his hands harder.
Buck grinned. “This place drives me nuts. I feel like I’m in an incubator. Why don’t the four of us go out for a drink? We won’t be missed.”
Jack looked at Sarah, raising his shoulders in question. Do Satanists drink?
“We’d love to. Where are we going?”
“We’ll meet you at Handsome Henry’s, on Third.”
“I know the place, it’s . . . a bit old and karaoke?” Jack said, his face turned up in question.
“Well, we’re old, and we like karaoke.” He offered a hand to Jack.
“Okay, fair enough. Meet you there.”
****
Jack parked his rent-a-wreck car behind a black Ferrari and smiled as he got out of the jalopy. At one point not that long ago, he had envisioned a Ferrari, but now he laughed at the irony of the whole thing. Sarah poked him. “What you thinking?”
“Not a whole lot. Just thought one day I would have one of those.” He gestured to the sports car.
“I’m glad you don’t. I wouldn’t have had the chance to meet you. If you owned that, you’d be looking for a supermodel.”
Jack pulled her close and put his hand on the back of her head, looking her in the face. “You’re hotter than any supermodel. To me they all look like spindly-legged colts. You make something inside me go off, Sarah. From the moment I set eyes on you, I couldn’t get my mind off you.
“That’s a crazy thing for me to say. I’ve not been in a relationship since high school. I’ve been fucked up these past few years. I think fate has more to do with things than anything else. You could step across the street tomorrow and be struck dead by a car. Bullshit. I’ve tried to live in the present these past few years. I met you for whatever reason, and I’m happy.” He leaned down, pulling her mouth toward his and kissed her strongly. Once again, her smell engulfed him. Her mouth tasted like cherries. She pulled him in deeper with her hand.
Jack put his arm around Sarah’s shoulders and led her across the street toward the restaurant. Henry’s was hopping. Most of the diners had finished eating and were listening to a singer cover the golden oldies from the ’60s and ’70s. He was singing “Sweet Caroline” as they walked in.
The
place was focused around a large patio, with several palms covered in rope lights. The restaurant itself was an indoor-outdoor affair, covered by a roof but open to the elements, as was the bar.
Carly and Buck were sitting at the bar and gestured for Jack and Sarah to join them.
Once everyone had a drink in hand, paid for by Buck, they moved to comfy chairs beside the singer.
“This guy is great, we come to listen to him all the time. His name’s Reggie, originally from Jersey.”
Carly smiled, her eyebrows raised. “Yes, this is what it has come down to, listening to washed-up old singers once a week. Buck likes it, though, and if that makes him happy . . . ” She shrugged her shoulders. “Take some advice from an old woman. As marriage goes on, your perspective changes. I let him sit here and have a few drinks, then he leaves me alone when we get home. He’s a horny old bugger, you know, but he can’t get it up after a few rye and Cokes.”
Jack nearly choked on his Stella.
Sarah winked at him. “I won’t let that happen in any of my relationships. Any man of mine is going to have to keep up his stamina. Health drinks, exercise, whatever it takes.”
“I like your attitude, honey. Don’t get me wrong, we’re still romantically inclined; it just changes once you’re pushing seventy. Would you guess that I am seventy-six and Buck here is turning eighty in December? I think we’re doing pretty well for a couple of old-timers.”
Sarah raised her glass of wine. “Here’s to sex after eighty.”
Glasses were clinked and the conversation went on, topics ranging from Republican politics to the state of the US collegiate sports system and scholarships. Jack found himself liking the old couple. They were interesting and witty. He found it funny how Carly would interject, mostly with her wry sarcasm directed at Buck. The fondness between the two was obvious, and Buck enjoyed the challenges she presented. It was a long-practiced banter, and Jack hoped that he would be lucky enough to find such a soul mate.
Devil in the Grass Page 5