River Kill by Ted Begnoche

Author:Ted Begnoche [Begnoche, Ted]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

"Well, if that don't beat it all," said Whitey. "A trip to the Cape Cod Canal without your fishing partner." He glanced over his shoulder for signs of Doris, who was bouncing around in the kitchen.

At 6:30 in the morning, Whitey looked as though he'd already put in a full day.

"I knew I'd catch hell for it, but I just had to get away." I slurped at some black coffee while Whitey glared at me. "Don't look at me like that. It sounds like you had better luck around here anyway."

"Thirty-six inches," said Whitey, "and about nineteen pounds worth. I caught him on a surface plug, with my light outfit. Took about fifteen minutes to land him."

"See," I said. "You're probably better off without me. Now stop gloating, and don't rub it in."

"Okay, okay. Let's hook up later on in the week. It's shaping up for a midnight high tide, with a full moon to boot. Nothing's better for a big striper."

Doris swung open the kitchen doors and strode toward us, waving an oversized spatula like a war club. Whitey rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Whitey!" she bellowed. "Do you think those eggs are going to cook themselves? These people don't want fish stories, they want omelets." She glared at me, and I held both hands up in surrender. She thrust the spatula into his shaking hands and guided him toward the kitchen. Whitey winked at me over one shoulder.

I devoured three eggs and a slab of ham, washing everything down with another two cups of coffee. By the time I headed for the door Whitey's was packed. A few old-timers were waiting for seats on the bench outside, smoking cigarettes and reading the Boston Herald.

There were no messages on my phone. I checked on the progress of my latest batch of beer, then pecked some notes into the computer, mostly concerning John Barcom and my impressions of StanMel Circuits. I called Billy to let him know I'd be there soon.

I thought about trying Heather, then chickened out.

On the way to Hull, the dark clouds that had thus far just been threatening began to fulfill their promise. By the time I got to the Carousel on Nantasket Beach, the mist had turned into full-fledged raindrops. I sat in a queue at the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru while my wipers spat water from side to side. I collected two cups of coffee and drove the rest of the way to Billy's.

Billy's lobster boat filled the driveway and spilled over into the backyard. I could see him in the pilothouse, fiddling with a piece of Plexiglas that had a crack running through the middle. I climbed the ladder and handed him a container of coffee.

"Better hurry up with this old tub," I said. "We may need it if it doesn't stop raining."

“Go get two of everything," he said. "And start with two beers." He pried the cover off his coffee and sipped tentatively, then replaced it. "I thought you were going to sleep all day.

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