Page 37 of Blue-Eyed Jacks
It pissed me off.“Grab me a beer.”
He had to turn around to reach it.The little boat rocked with the motion.I mirrored the momentum with my body, becoming one with the boat.
“Hey, stop rocking.You’re going to tip us over.”He braced on the gunwales, turning fish belly pale.
I let the boat settle.“Switch places with me.I’m tired of rowing.”
“Fuck you.”
He forgot who he was talking to.
“Switch places.”It wasn’t a request.And I made certain he heard it wasn’t.
“Just use the motor.”
“You owe,” I reminded him.
His mouth worked.“You said the debt would be paid if I just hung out here and used that credit card you gave me.I showed my face around the town like you asked.”
“That wasmydebt.Now let’s talk about the one you have with Nonno.”
He glanced around, realizing maybe for the first time how isolated we were, and how far out we’d drifted.“You sure you want to do this?”
He was funny.“It ain’t likethat.We’re just talking.And fishing.Hand me a beer.”
Warily, he shifted positions again.
No sooner than his back was turned, I struck hard.The boat rocked but didn’t tip nearly far enough to dump us in.Which gave me time to cut off his life jacket and tie his leg to the duffle bag I’d put under the seat.
To drown a man, you needed two things.First and foremost was the will to kill.Second, a moonless night, a lake deep enough, and enough weight to sink the body.Oh, and a knife to open up the gut so gases in the stomach didn’t build up and push the body back to the surface.
If the water was deep and cold enough, at a certain point, the corpse would sink and never resurface.The density of the water overcame the buoyancy of the corpse.But most freshwater lakes simply didn’t have that perfect combination.This one did.
I shoved poor James’s body over the edge.He was likely still alive, but knocked out so hard, filleting his body didn’t even produce a scream.I turned on the little trolling motor and pulled back up to the dock.Blood coated the bottom of the boat, the cooler, the fishing poles, and my hands.I rinsed them off in the water and cracked the drain plug.Then, I rigged the trolling motor to drive straight toward the center of the lake.It veered after a few feet, barely making it to open water before the whole thing swamped.The tiny electric motor sparked out with barely a sputter.
In less than a thought, there was nothing.Not even a wake or the lapping of waves.The night had hit that sweet spot where the world held its breath as it waited for the dawn to get its ass in gear.An early bird cheeped twice.Soon, a bullfrog echoed it.Then another cheep from the treeline signaled the world was about to rev into gear.I showered in the cabin, cleaned the drain with the supplies under the cabin sink, and drove away from the dawn breaking over the horizon.
I hit a motel in Buffalo at eight.Slept for a good nine hours and then ate a hearty dinner at a local place where the waitresses dressed in skimpy little skirts and the owners were assholes like me.
Nonno joined me as I sipped a whiskey and admired the night’s opening act.
“You’re late.”
“He ran.”
Nonno frowned.“I thought you said you could take care of it.”
“I did.”I dug out one of those cheap digital cameras and showed Nonno the photo I’d snapped of the dearly departed “James Metfield,” otherwise known on the street as “Tercel Timmy.”He was a two-bit coke dealer with a bald patch and a big ass mouth.He’d flipped a dime on more than one dealer in his career and was rumored to have turned State’s evidence on the local Destroyers.
Of course, he claimed those stories weren’t true, and swore he’d make amends, but that didn’t matter anymore.
Because he was fish food.
“Huh.Better get rid of that.”
No shit.I tucked the device back into my pocket.
“Back in the day, your father was a good man.”
