Bonefish Blues by Steven Becker Page A

cooled down. He turned away from watching her as Cody walked quickly toward him, a drunken swagger in his step. Cody weaved past Sheryl, feigning to run into her, but kept going, and she took off in a run toward the parking lot. Will watched the lot, relieved when he saw headlights and a car pull out. Satisfied that she was safe, he turned and faced Cody.
    “What the hell was that all about? So I found your fishing spot. It’s not like I’m going to steal your numbers or anything.” He had decided on the ride in not to let on that they’d found the tanks. Cody had no way of knowing that they had been on the island. In his current state, he might not even realize that they followed the pipeline to his boat. Will looked at the two men approaching and realized he might have underestimated Cody.
    “Dude. If I was worried about you stealing my numbers … shit,” he slurred and moved out of the way as the men approached.
    “I gotta smack you again, you’re not gonna get up,” Scarface said. “You’re gonna forget everything you think you might have seen, and lose any interest in that island out there. Understand?”
    Will stood speechless, not knowing what to do. Cody must have called them on his way in. Suddenly Matt came up behind the men and interrupted, “Got anything I can do for you? Clean your fish or the boat?”
    The men turned to Matt, the heavy one putting an arm around his shoulder and leading him away. Scarface glared at Will again, then turned and followed. Will breathed out thankful that Matt had broken the tension and leaned against the console. He felt something brush against his leg. It was Sheryl’s messenger bag. The last thing he needed was for Cody or Scarface to discover the bag and find the map inside. That could make him the next occupant of the tank. He made motions like he was cleaning the boat and stashed the bag in the locking console below the helm. Looking around for an escape, he noticed an adjacent dock light out, the walkway dark. He moved toward it quietly, staying in the shadows until he reached the parking lot. Once out of sight, he ran to the bicycle, thankful he didn’t need to start an engine, and headed out of the lot. 
    As he was about to pedal onto the road, a car came barreling toward him. It stopped short, and a head popped out the open window. “Hey, is that you, Will?” Nicole asked.
    He pushed the bike toward her, shaking his head. “Not now. I gotta go. Cody’s down there drunk again. Sorry,” he added as he pushed hard on the pedal, moving the bike into the dark, not waiting for a response. He looked back once he was sure he couldn’t be seen and saw Nicole sitting there, head turned toward him. Hoping she’d get the message and move on before he was discovered, he turned and pedaled as fast as the bike would go.

Chapter 12
     
    The men were getting impatient as Will poled the boat toward the flat. He’d gone west today, the opposite direction from Flamingo Key, and the two anglers were drinking their first beers, eager to get their lines in the water when he reached the edge of the hole. This was the first meat charter that Ned had set up for him. Without the GPS numbers most charter captains relied on, he had only his memory. Catch and release fly fishing was more about tide and covering area, and seldom required anchoring and chumming. He was more adept at reading water and drifting with the current. Over the years, though, a few fixed spots had regularly produced food for his table, and he was heading for one now. Cody might have been right when he said that a little piece of him would die every time he ran one of these charters. 
    “We ‘bout there yet?” one of the men asked with a deep southern drawl.
    “Shortly,” Will responded.
    “You know there ain’t no fish on these flats. I been looking and ain’t seen nothing but grass for ten minutes.”
    “Just about there,” Will ignored the comment as he pulled the pole from the water, lifted it