Tom Simpson - Sink

Otis Sherman arranged the lure display for about the fifth time in three hours and frowned. Something’s wrong here, I can feel it in my bones. He looked down at Bart and smiled.

“What’s up boy? You look all jittery today. Usually you come back from your afternoon walk in the woods with a smirk on your face, like you had conquered every wild animal in the forest. Today, you come back like a bear tried to eat you. What gives boy?”

Otis reached over and scratched the brown and white dog behind the ears and continued his worrisome thoughts.

“You know Bart, animals have a special instinct that God didn’t think man needed. Well, I could sure use some of that instinct now. Everything seems wrong. The birds haven’t been singing like they usually do. The fish, sure the hell, haven’t been biting and now you act funny. I’m worried some kind of big time pal.”

Otis, his seventy year old back arched with osteoporosis, shuffled slowly over to the picture window that overlooked the azure blue water of the man-made lake and sat down gingerly in his cane back rocker, a birthday gift from the resort’s office staff, and stared with his icy blue eyes at puffy cumulus clouds drifting over the lake. He sadly shook his unruly shock of white hair and sighed. Otis shrugged his shoulders and reached over to the window sill and turned up the volume on the little portable radio he had brought into the office when it had first opened. He was somewhat soothed by the soft rock music coming out of the single speaker and his thoughts went back to the old days. The days when Bart was still a puppy. He had been living in an old ramshackle shack on the edge of the lazy river that bordered Walker’s Prairie, what they now call Forest Glen. Otis made his living with, trotlines strung up and down the river always catching the big river catfish that he sold in the village. He also cut the hearts out of the palms and sold the swamp cabbage to all the locals. Once in a while he would be hired out as a hunting or fishing guide. His big break came when that Jap fellow visited him one rainy, really hot sticky night. That Jap was cool and collected in his three-piece suit and Brooks Brothers’ raincoat and he offered Otis more money than he had ever seen if, he would come and run his marina for him. The foreigner told that he had a reputation of knowing everything there was to know about fishing in Florida waters and he wanted someone who could tell his guest how to catch fish in his brand new lake.

The well-dressed business man told Otis he was going to stock the lake with all types of native Florida sports fish and that it was going to be completely, computer controlled. Otis did not hesitate very long before he accepted the offer. A place, where there were plenty of fish and a new apartment with, God forbid, air-conditioning, and all Otis had to do was tell a bunch of Yankees how to bait a hook. YessirreBob, a dream come true. Otis knew he was getting on in years and a nice comfortable place to spend his twilight years sounded ideal.

His luck had really improved but now Otis had the feeling that everything was going to change. He didn’t know what was going to happen but he thought it would really be kind of nice to be back in his safe little shack on the bank of the lazy river.

The beach bar was still full of bikinis from the onslaught of sun worshippers who preferred the rum concocted drinks to the harsh rays of Florida sunshine in the middle of June. The bar had been packed since before eleven a.m. and now that the night shift of vacationers and local patrons began filling in, the bronzed day goddesses began to filter out to head for a cold shower and to get prepared for another Friday night of checking the meat factories for a suitable companion to impress their friends, for at least a couple of days.

One of the outnumbered males, his back leaning against the bar and a bottle of Heineken Dark resting lazily in his lap barely supported by his right hand, turned to his friend on the next stool and muttered in a low, slightly drunken voice.

“You know Jim. I really could dig this life style. There are some fine looking women that frequent this place. I’ve been in love at least a dozen times today.”

“Settle down Romeo.” His friend teased. “You know you have a so-called date tomorrow, even if it is a publicity stunt. Over half the men in America would love to be in your shoes on Saturday and you’re sitting here scoping out the local beach babes.”

’”Look Jim. You know what an airhead Tiffany is. I couldn’t spend a real night with her if my life depended on it. All she talks about is how good-looking she is, which is true, and how rich she is, which is true, and what a beautiful body she has, which is true. Oh dammit, I might talk my self into enjoying it, which I know I, won’t so let’s just stop talking about it. Okay?”

“Sure Brandon.” Jim Caldwell laughed. “I’m sure you’re really going to suffer. If it bothers you that much, why don’t you shave off your beard and take off those super dark glasses and let these girls see who you really are. I know you like traveling incognito until you make a public appearance but wouldn’t all these lovely ladies be really surprised to know they spent the afternoon in a beach bar with America’s heartthrob Brandon Miles.”

“Shut up man. You know I don’t want anybody to know I’m here. Especially my manager. He would have a fit if he knew I was out in the general public without a product endorsement or some other money making scam. I wish I could lead a normal life but oh well, that’s the cost of fame and fortune I guess. Come on, let’s get back to the motel so we can get some sleep. We have to be at the resort by noon. Just because you’re my best friend that doesn’t relieve you of what my manager is paying you for. To be the bodyguard for little old defensive me. Now come on and protect me from all these wild women.”

Paul Johanson, his long, thin, almost artistic fingers were again stroking the scruff of his blond goatee. This action, plus the fact he was growing any hair on his pink baby faced features was a constant annoyance to twice elected Sheriff Ralph Slocum. Sheriff Slocum, defender of all that was good and a tyrant to those unfortunate few who were unlucky enough to break a rule in his county, leaned precariously back in his worn red leather chair, a gift from the Hinkley estate when old man Hinkley bit the big one, sighed for perhaps the third time in ten minutes and asked again.

“Okay Paul. Just what are you trying to tell me for the umpteenth time? It’s after ten o’clock and I realize you just came on duty at six but I’ve been here since five thirty this morning and all I can think of is a nice cold shower and sitting back drinking about six brewskys and wondering who else will screw up tomorrow.”

“Well sheriff, as I was saying before, we need to deputize about ten more men and stake them out all around the new resort. We can issue them whatever guns we have and the rest they could volunteer because as you know every able-bodied man in this county owns a firearm or two since they all go hunting in the fall anyway. We would only need them for about twelve hours anyway because that’s when all the rich people will be at the resort. We would be prepared for, any idiot fool enough to try to rob the new place, and we would surely be heroes if anything happened.”

“Are you out of your fool mind, boy? Just, who in God’s name is suppose to pay for all this military deployment you have in mind and besides, the resort has its own security force plus, I hear it has the best computerized alarm system on the market. We would be the laughing stock of the county if we showed up with a bunch of rednecks pretending to be cops. I bet the resort wouldn’t even let us on the property, much less protect all those high society snobs they call important guests. Sometimes boy, I don’t know where you get all those big city ideas. Those two years at junior college must have really warped your mind.”