Tom Simpson - Sink

“You know boy, this is the life. A peaceful morning on a beautiful lake surrounded by miles and miles of dark green woods. The sounds of ducks flying overhead. This is almost heaven boy.”

Todd Finley, at seven years old, forty-six pounds, and a mop of bushy blonde hair was a sharp contrast to his balding dark haired overweight father. His sleep encrusted eyes were barely opened as he partially suppressed a yawn with the back of his fragile looking small hand and answered in a squeaky voice.

“I know dad but why do we have to start so early. Don’t the fish ever sleep in?”

“Come on son, where’s your sense of adventure? The early worm catches the biggest fish or something like that. You’d be up already watching those cartoons anyways, so you might as well learn about nature from an expert like myself.”

The disability checks that Jeff Finley had been receiving for the last five years supported quite well his retired type life style. His very caring wife’s paychecks from her job as an office manager for a large industrial firm paid the rent, utilities, groceries, and school clothes for their son. She didn’t mind if Jeff splurged his money on his hobbies and outdoor activities. Her theory was a happy man was a lot easier to live with and besides he took care of Todd whenever he wasn’t in school. Jeff was by far not a greedy man and he quite often tried to donate his income to help with the bills but she had repeatedly assured him that her paychecks covered the bills with plenty to spare and that he worked very hard until he got injured so he deserved this permanent vacation.

Jeff bought her flowers at least once a week and surprised her sporadically at other times with little gifts that she knew came from his heart.

Her only regret was the weight he had gained since the fallen crane boom at the construction site had pulverized his right leg into a mass of jigsaw type bone fragments and he would never walk without a leg brace and a cane. This lack of activity plus a combination of at least a case of beer a day and tons of snacks had turned him into a jolly rotund butterball with eyes that twinkled like Santa Claus. Jeff was in pain almost constantly but his family and friends had never heard one complaint or word of pity from him. He had a philosophy, whatever happens, happens for a reason and you might as well make the most of it.

“Well dad, how long are we going to stay out here? I promised I would go over to Billy’s house this afternoon to play his new Nintendo game he got for his birthday.’

“Don’t worry son, we’ll leave about one o’clock. We’ll have a boatload of fish by then and the sun will just start getting too hot to stay on the lake. You may not want to go in by that time though because you’ll be catching fish right and left. The speckled perch are really going to be biting this morning and you know how much fun they are to catch.”

“Ok dad, but promise me we’ll go in if we’re not catching anything.”

“I promise Todd, but I guarantee you will never forget this day. It’ll really be exciting, trust me!”

Dilford Bailey, at thirty-eight years old, was probably best described as a pompous ass. His pencil thin heavily waxed brown mustache set precisely one half inch above his tight always frowning thin upper lip gave the appearance of being painted rather than grown on. His wire rim glasses perched halfway down his long pointed nose brought back memories of a cranky schoolmaster even to those who never a had the misfortune of learning the three r’s from one. Bailey’s eloquent use of very long words brought not only a sense of boredom but also a feeling of being lectured on any subject he decided to pursue at any given moment. His employees all regarded the resort manager as a royal pain but they all groveled nevertheless in front of him because they had all heard the rumors about his past work history. The rumors, many of which were actually true, buzzed around the hotel whenever a new employee started work.

“Did you hear old Bailey once fired an eight-month pregnant desk clerk because she was five minutes late because of false labor pains?”

“Or did you hear about the time the bell hop left one piece of luggage at the front desk and old Dill baby tripped over it and fell flat on his face? That poor guy was fired before the elevator door was fully shut.”

’”How about the time the French chef at the Palisades put too many blueberries in the soufflé, Bailey ranted and raved for two whole hours about how the price of fresh fruit was bankrupting the entire operation.”

Dilford Bailey was definitely not one to tangle with. His strictness and adherence to the rules had pleased many a rich hotel owner and he could pick his choice of prestigious hotels to manage. That was why he now was the chief honcho of this new elaborate state of the arts resort. His six months of meticulous planning and attention to detail, including the exact placement of the tremendous floral displays decorating the enormous lobby was now coming to a head. The grand opening was at noon today with more than one thousand guests and visitors expecting to overflow the ballroom and adjacent well-manicured grounds. Bailey had hand picked his staff from a large turn out of applicants, each one pre-qualified over an extensive six month search of all the great hotels and resorts in the country. Ads were placed in newspapers in all the major cities promising top pay, excellent benefits, free room and board and the promise of being on the staff of the newest, best designed, computer controlled resort in the world. The criteria of the job published in the newspapers was the applicant had to be well-educated, very experienced, good work history and impeccable credentials. What wasn’t stated and was kept away from all but the people in the know was the applicants had to be attractive, intelligent and young. Definite qualifications for a discrimination suit. Dilford Bailey wanted only the best for his resort.

The misty swirls of early morning fog shrouded the pale green saucer-size leaves of the many lily pads that lined the dew soaked shore of the man-made lake. The bright stalks of the aquatic flowers stood at attention in the stillness of the day’s beginning. The cawing of distant crows, flying a predetermined course for their early morning meal, echoed faintly over the quiet of the peaceful terrain. The many forest animals, some returning from their nightly forage for food and others just starting on their daily treks for survival, felt safe in their environment. The opossums and deer, the raccoons and rabbits, the squirrels and armadillos, all found relative peace now that the big earthmovers and draglines, pickup trucks and work crews had left their forest. No longer would the early morning quiet be shattered by the screeching fan belts and the earthy roar of the large diesel engines. Peace had returned to the woods and only the sounds of nature and the subdued voices of nature lovers interrupted the relative quiet of the area.

Jack Backlin, his carrot red hair glinting in the early morning rays of the sun, bent over the well formed bank of the lake and thrust his make shift spear into the azure blue water. Quietly, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the early morning, he pointed his stubby index finger at the still vibrating palmetto stalk and whispered to his friend.

“Hey Billy, I think I got one. Those bass on the bed make really easy targets but the water is so deep I think the water deflects my spear every time. I felt something hard when I pushed down but I don’t see anything but a big swirl of sandy water. Do you think the fish will swim off and die or do you think we could wade in and try to find it?”