Ed headed to the bow, dropped the video camera, and grabbed the snare out of the side pocket. Looking up, he saw Red's boat approaching and smiled. He waved the snare toward them, and then turned and noticed the bloody lump of Donny's body crumpled near the transom. The chill came suddenly.
“Earl! Earl! Cut the line!” shouted Ed. When Earl did not respond, Ed repeated, even louder: “Cut the line! Red's coming!”
“Yeah, so?”
“
Donny!
” exclaimed Ed in a harsh, violent whisper.
Earl's face dropped. He looked at Donny and then stared blankly out at the water where the line from his pole sliced into the murk. It was a long stare.
“Earl!” urged Ed.
Slowly but deliberately, Earl reached toward his belt, grabbed his folding Buck knife, and bent down, cutting the line. Meanwhile, Ed threw his and Earl's jackets over Donny's body. The pole went limp. Earl stood silent, staring out toward the horizon as Red's boat approached. Red throttled down and his bow settled into the water, pushing spray forward with a forceful rush.
“What happened?” hollered Red from about thirty yards off.
Holding his pole in his right hand and raising his left, Earl shrugged his shoulders and responded disconsolately, “Line broke.”
“Asshole, you had your drag too tight. I'll bet you a hundred, if I bet you a dollar.” Red always had a way with words.
“Maybe,” replied Earl, setting down his rod.
“Damn. I seen him splash. What was it, 'bout sixty pounds?”
“Shee-it! Six hundred pounds, more like it!” Earl barked in defense. “That was the biggest fish I've ever seen.”
Red laughed, knowing he'd hit Earl's button. “Yeah, right. Hey, I thought Donny was going with you today?”
Earl paused, once again shifting his thoughts from the fish to the problem at hand. He responded flatly, “Naw. Ain't seen him all week.”
“He's probably buried himself in some snatch.” Red and his fishing buddy both laughed.
“Hey, you remember my brother, don't ya, Red?” Earl said, pointing to Ed.
“Why, hell yes!” beamed Red. “How you doing there, Eddy? Damn, I ain't seen you in years. Look at you!”
“Hey, Red, good to see you again.”
“Yes sir, hell, seems like yesterday both you guys were just kids. Shit, I think last time I saw you, Ed, you were puking over the side of Vern Castor's boat while we were chasing salmon off Duxbury Reef,” Red cackled, and then continued in a stoic voice: “Hey, damn sorry about your pa. He was a good man. Damn good man.”
“Thanks, Red,” said Ed. “That's good of you to say.” He looked down at the mound on the deck, reckoning whether or not Red and his companion could see anything from that distance and angle. Fortunately, Red had approached them on the port side, which meant that Donny was well hidden by the side gunwale.
After a quiet moment between the boats, Red announced, “Well, we ain't got shit around here all day. We're heading up the channel markers. Maybe scare up a striper or two if we can't get a sturgeon.”
“Yep, that's probably as good a place as any,” agreed Earl.
“You gonna run up there?” asked Red.
“Naw, we'll stick it out here,” said Earl, glancing down toward the pile of jackets that covered the body of his best friend.
“Well, give 'em hell. Hey, maybe you'll get ahold of another one of them 600-pounders.” Red and his buddy laughed again, and then he added, “Shit, maybe you'll catch a couple!”
Still cackling away, Red throttled up. He waved in a comical manner that resembled a half-assed salute. The boat leapt up out of the hole and onto a plane. The two brothers watched as Red's boat thundered off into the distance.
E
arl powered up his boat and headed back toward the Pumphouse to retrieve the anchor they had abandoned at the onset of the sturgeon battle. After locating the float and pulling up the anchor line, the two brothers tied off and sat down in the back of the boat. They stared blankly at the crumpled pile in the corner. Ed spoke first.
“Bro, we're in some deep shit here. I mean DEEP SHIT!”
Earl remained silent, continuing to stare at Donny's covered body, until the words finally began to well out of him, uncontrollably. “Fuck that asshole. I can't believe that son of a bitch. You heard him. Braggin'. And Denise, that cunt, that slut bitch!” He paused after his initial outburst and then added flatly, “Motherfucker made me lose my fish.”
“What are you talking about, Earl? You think him and Deniseâ?”
“Are you kiddin' me?!” Earl cut him off. “You seen 'em.”
Ed looked confused.
“The tiny tunas!” Earl bellowed.
“The tiny tunas? You think because he had some sandwiches shaped like fish, that means he was assfucking your old lady last night?”
Earl's mind began to race as he recalled the things Donny had said. He was growing more and more angry. “YES!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Yes, I do! That MOTHERFUCKER!”
Earl lunged forward and jerked a beer out of the ice chest, slamming the lid shut. He cracked the beer and chugged it down. Ed watched him, still trying to get a grip on the reality of the situation. He felt the chill of panic rushing down the back of his neck, but he tried his best to pull himself together, realizing that this was not the place or the time for panic.
“Let me see if I understand what just happened here, bro,” Ed reasoned further. “You just realized that Don has been fucking around with Denise, so you smashed his head with the side of the gaff there?” He pointed toward the club-gaff that was still embedded between Donny's shoulder blades.
Earl said nothing. He continued to stare forward, wincing when Ed mentioned Denise.
“Then we hooked into the biggest sturgeon that either one of us has ever seen. Right?”
Earl remained silent.
“I mean, that was one big-ass fish, right? I didn't imagine that shit, right? That fucker was HUGE!”
Earl looked around the boat and saw the mushrooms spilled all around the deck. He turned back to Ed.
“That was a big-ass fucking fish,” Ed insisted with a nervous laugh.
“You gonna help me out here, aren't ya, bro?” asked Earl.
“What do you mean?”
“
That's
what I mean, bro.” Earl pointed toward Donny's body.
“Fuuck ⦔ Ed muttered, his expression changing as he looked down at Donny.
“You gonna help me out, bro?” Earl repeated.
“Oh man, this is bad.” Ed could feel the panic rising again.
Sensing his brother's reaction, Earl put his hand on Ed's shoulder and calmly yet sternly addressed him: “Ed, by the looks of ya, I'm gonna assume you ate some of them mushrooms I see scattered round the deck. Now I know that you're probably a bit out there right now, but I need to know if you're gonna help me here.”
Ed looked his brother in the eye and pulled himself together to the best of his ability. “I'll help you, bro. I'll tell them you were out of your mind. You flipped out. I can attest to that.”
“You don't have to
attest
to anything, Ed,” Earl stated.
“What do you mean?”
“I'd rather not go to jail, bro,” Earl said, staring Ed in the eye. “I say let's dump this mess over the side and play it cool.”
Ed was baffled by his brother's response. “Oh man, I don't know, Earl. We're talking about murder one here. You turn yourself in and it's manslaughter at worst. We dump a body and that's big-time hardball, bro.”
“C'mon, Ed, look,” Earl responded. “We already got Red to say Donny wasn't on the boat. We dump him in the bay and no one's the wiser.” He stopped and leaned in closely toward his brother. “We're talkin' about Don Vowdy. Nobody'll miss him. He has no family to speak of. I was his only regular friend. People will think he disappeared, ran off. Or better yet, they'll think he got taken out in some shady crank deal. You should see some of the pieces of shit he hangs out with. Scary fuckers. Hell, he got stabbed in the belly last Christmas cuz he stole this guy's CD player for some crank.”
“What about Denise?” asked Ed
“Denise won't say shit if there's no body. She'll think he chicken-shitted out of town so I wouldn't find out he fucked her.” Earl examined Ed for a moment, reading his concern. He leaned in closely again and added, “Look, bro. I don't want to get you in trouble, you havin' a family and all. If you can't handle it, I won't fault you none. But Ed, I know what I'm talkin' about. We can pull this off easier than you think.”
“I don't know, Earl,” Ed said, shaking his head halfheartedly. “That guy was a dick and all, but man, this is bad shit here. This is some BAD shit. I don't think I can. I mean ⦔
“All right, Ed,” Earl responded coolly.
“Sorry, bro,” said Ed, wincing.
Earl put his hand on Ed's shoulder once again. “Don't even think twice about it, bro. Don't even think twice.”
Earl got up, grabbed two beers out of the ice chest, and dug a small brownish duffel bag out from under one of the boat cushions. He handed one beer to Ed, then sat down and cracked the other, taking a big pull.
He sat pensively for a long moment and then took another pull, emptying the bottle. He reached into the duffel, pulled out a rather large pistol, and stated, “Here's what I wantcha to do, Ed.”
Ed, who had been looking out the back of the boat, turned toward Earl and was alarmed at the sight of the weapon. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
“I can't go to jail, Ed.”
“What the fuck are you going to do, Earl?!”
“I'm gonna blow my head off, bro.”
“No, wait,” Ed insisted, reaching for the gun.
Earl held the pistol out away from his brother. “Naw, listen, Ed. Just listen.”
“Calm down, Earl. Relax,” coaxed Ed, still reaching for the gun.
“I'm fine, Ed. I'm calm. Just listen.” Earl gently pushed his brother back in his seat. “I blow my head off. You drive the boat in and tell 'em the story. I killed Donny, and in my remorse, I killed myself.”
“I can't do that.”
“Well, then just call someone on the radio and they'll come out to you.”
“Earl, just a second now.”
“Ed, I can't go to jail. When you think on it, this is the best way.”
Ed sat and stared at his brother. He remembered certain qualities in him that, even when they were kids, were already so well defined. Earl was a person of conviction, and when he set his mind to something, his demeanor reflected the determination of a man not to be swayed. Ed recognized this attitude and knew that it was no bluff. His brother had never been a bluffer.
“I'm not gonna sit here and watch my big brother blow his brains out!”
Earl leaned forward, looked Ed in the eye, and summed up the whole situation: “Look, it makes sense. I killed my best friend. My wife's suckin' cocks in the Rancho men's toilet ⦠I lost the biggest fish I'm ever gonna catch.” He paused for a moment and then added, “It's been a bad day, bro.”
“Look, Earl, manslaughter. You were out of your mind. I'll testify. They'll give you six months, max.”
“No, they'll put me away for good.”
“Not you, not a first offender.”
“I ain't no first offender, Ed,” Earl said after a moment. “I been in before. Eighteen months.”
“What?”
“Yeah, it was while you were at college.”
“Nobody told me.”
“Well, I don't know. It's not something you brag about.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I was in Donny's old Challenger. Me and him had got drunk out at the Concord Sheridan one Friday night. He couldn't drive. I shouldn't've either, but I did. Anyways, we got pulled over on Castro Ranch Road cuz he had a headlight out. I was actually driving pretty good at that point. I'd sobered a bit.” Earl paused for no apparent reason and then went on. “But when the cop stepped up to look at the headlight, Donny was fuckin' around and popped it into gear. Pinned the cop between our bumper and his. Broke his leg. He was pissed, of course. Got me for assault with a deadly weapon and drivin' while under the influence, plus a couple of other things. Eighteen months seemed like eighteen years, bro. I ain't goin' back.” Earl shook his head and looked away. “They do fucked-up things to people in jail.”
Completely bewildered by what he just heard, Ed asked mechanically, “What happened to Don?”
“Nothin',” Earl stated flatly.
Dumfounded, Ed sat silent for a moment and then asked: “So my choice here is, help dispose of a body and become an accessory to murder or watch my only brother blow his brains out?!”
“Sorry, Ed. I wish it weren't like this.”
Ed leaned forward in his chair and put his hands to the sides of his head. The one and only thing he was sure of was his regret that, at this particular moment, his mind was scattered, swimming with imagery from the psychedelic mushrooms. “Are you sure that nobody will miss that son of a bitch?”
“I usually don't even know where he is, and I'm his best friend.”
“Well, can we just dump him over the side?”
“The average depth of the bay is somethin' like nine feet. With all these sturgeon fishermen this time of year and the shrimp and herring boats, we need to get him out to sea.” Earl paused to think. “First off, we ain't got enough gas to get that far, and second, it's sloppy as shit outside the âGate' today.”
“Any place we can get gas?”
“No place where they won't notice a dead body slumped on the deck.”
“Isn't it deep over by Angel Island or Alcatraz?”
“Yeah, but it's pretty crowded around there too. We'd have to be slick, lots of sailboats and ferryboats and shit. It would only take one of them fuckin' tourists with binoculars to spot us.”