South of the Pumphouse by Les Claypool Page B

see if it does. Ain’t been much this year so far. Okay,” the radio crackled.
    â€œThat’s what I’m hearin’.”
    â€œYeah, I think we’re about due for a hot bite. It’s been too damn long between. Okay.”
    â€œI sure hope so. I gotta get the skunk off my boat.”
    Red chuckled over the radio. “Yeah, I hear you. All right then, you get ’em. Over.”
    â€œYou too, Red. I’ll let you know if somethin’ comes up. I’m out.” Earl reached up to put the microphone back.
    â€œWell, that’s not too encouraging,” Ed observed.
    â€œEh, it’ll pick up.”
    â€œFuckin’ better,” Donny volunteered. “I’m gonna have to start goin’ out with Duane the Chink.”
    Donny was not a patient fisherman. In fact, to call him a fisherman at all would be a stretch. He was there on the boat, as he was most every place that he went, out of habit. Donny’s circle of friends hadn’t expanded much since he was a kid, and Earl had been his best pal as long as most folks could remember. Earl had been a likeable fellow, a bit mild mannered, but always likeable. Donny tended to be on the abrasive side, though not without a contagious sense of humor. When he was still very young, Donny had been dubbed a smart-ass by the boys’ father—and for good reason. Donny inevitably seemed to be at the center of any ill-guided mischief into which the boys might have fallen. Yet his devilish charm had somehow kept him from any real trouble. In spite of his tactlessness, Donny never had problems attracting women, and lots of them, though the caliber of the conquests had been greatly varied.
    â€œSo, Donny,” Earl said, “what about this wild woman you was braggin’ about?”
    Earl was fully accustomed to Donny’s exploits and the subsequent colorful tales that would follow a night of Vowdy debauchery. In this boat on these very waters, the stories of Donny’s conquests had frequently been told. Though some of Donny’s bragging seemed incredibly far-fetched, Earl rarely doubted the validity of Donny’s words. Donny was a vulgar, simple man, but he had a knack for seeing through bullshit and was known for rarely supplementing any of his own.
    â€œOh yeah, boy, let me tell you.” Donny sat up straight in his chair, readying himself for delivery. “Anyway, I was sittin’ at the Rancho after the fights. Place is packed, of course. I get up to take a piss. Now me and Fred, we’d been flirtin’ around with these chicks at the table next to us all night, you know, just bullshit stuff.”
    Earl looked to Ed and commented, “You remember Fred?”
    Ed gave Earl a puzzled look.
    â€œFlouncin’ Fred?” Earl asked.
    An image flashed in Ed’s swirling vision, the photograph of a face. It was a young man with frizzy hair and tinted bifocals. The photo was from Ed’s high school yearbook. The visual recollection expanded to a long shot of the young man smiling and leaning against the red, yellow, and white surface of a homecoming float, surrounded by cheerleaders. The hip-looking guy was slyly smiling. Ed grinned at the thought.
    â€œOh yeah, I liked Fred,” he replied.
    â€œWell,” Donny continued, “you should have seen him last night. He was off his ass. Grabbing on Trinity’s titties and shit.”
    Earl burst out laughing. “No shit! Trinity!?”
    â€œYeah,” chuckled Donny.
    â€œWho’s Trinity?” asked Ed.
    â€œYou remember Trinity,” Earl insisted. “She used to babysit the Rodey kids across the street?”
    â€œOh yeah. She was pretty hot. She always wore them tube tops,” Ed remembered.
    â€œYeah, well, she put on a few pounds since them tube top days.”
    â€œStill got them big titties, though,” added Donny.
    â€œShe married Fat Frankie and started tendin’ bar at the Rancho,”