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〃Hey； chief；〃 said Thomas Curl； 〃nice pajamas。〃 He swayed in and crashed down into an armchair。
〃Uh； Tom…〃
〃'What's the matter； chief？〃
Gault stared numbly。 What could he say？ Curl looked like death on a bad day。 His eyes were swollen slits； his face streaked with purple。 Sweat glistened on his gray forehead and a chowder…white ooze flecked the corners of his lips。
〃What happened to you； Tom？〃
〃Mrs。 Decker's safe in the trunk； don't worry。〃 Curl wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket。 〃Say； chief； those the shiniest damn pajamas I ever saw。〃
Dennis Gault's gaze fixed on Curl's right arm。 〃What 。。。 what the fuck is that？〃 he stammered。
〃Lucas is his name；〃 Curl said。 〃He good boy。〃
〃Oh； Christ。〃 Now Gault realized where the buzzing sound had e from。 From the flies swarming around the dog head。
〃I's raised around puppies；〃 Curl said； 〃mostly mutts。〃
Gault said； 〃It's not good for you to be here。〃
〃But I got a few hours to kill。〃
〃Before you meet Decker？〃
〃Yep。〃 Curl spotted a decanter of brandy on a sideboard。 Mechanically Gault handed it to him。 Curl drew three hard swallows from the bottle。 His eyes glowed after he put it down。 〃I'll need a bass boat；〃 he said； smacking his lips。
Gault scribbled a phone number on a napkin。 〃Here； this guy's got a Starcraft。〃
〃Anything'll do。〃
〃You all right？〃 Gault asked。
〃I'll be fine。 Clear this shit up once and for all。〃 Curl noticed Gault's fishing gear laid out meticulously on the carpet。 〃Nice tackle； chief。 Looks straight out of the catalog。〃
〃Tom； you'd better go。 I've got to be up early tomorrow。〃
〃I ain't been sleepin much； myself。 Lucas； he always wants to play。〃
Dennis Gault could scarcely breathe； the stink was so vile。 〃Call me day after tomorrow。 I'll have a little something for you。〃
〃Real good。〃
〃One more thing； Tom； it's very important： everything's set for tonight； right？ With Decker； I mean。〃
〃Don't you worry。〃
Gault said； 〃You can handle it alone？〃
〃It's my rightful obligation。〃
At the door； Thomas Curl drunkenly thrust out his right hand。 〃Put her there； chief。〃 Gault shook the rotted thing without daring to look。
〃Well； tight lines！〃 said Curl； with a sloppy but spirited sailor's salute。
〃Thank you； Tom；〃 said Dennis Gault。 He closed the door； dumped the brandy； then bolted into a scalding shower。
The phone calls started as soon as they turned in。
When Al Garcia answered； the voice on the other end said： 〃Why don't you go back to Miami； spic…face？〃
When Jim Tile answered； the message was： 〃Don't show your lips on the lake； nigger。〃
After the fourth call； Garcia turned on the light and sat up in bed。 〃It's bad enough they give us the worst damn room in the place； and now this。〃
〃Nice view of the dumpster； though；〃 Jim Tile said。 When he swung his bare brown legs out from under the covers； Garcia noticed the bandage over Culver Rundell's bullet hole。
〃It's nothing； just a through…and…through；〃 the trooper said。
〃One of these bass nuts？〃
Jim Tile nodded。
〃Well； shit；〃 Garcia said； 〃maybe we oughta take the phone calls more seriously。〃
〃They're just trying to scare us。〃
The phone started ringing again。 Jim Tile watched it for a full minute before picking up。
〃You're gator bait； spook；〃 the caller drawled。
The trooper hung up。 His jaw was set and his eyes were hard。 〃I'm beginning to take this personally。〃
〃You and me both。〃 Garcia grabbed his pants off the chair and dug around for the cigarette lighter。 When the phone rang again； the detective said； 〃My turn。〃
Another Southern voice： 〃Lucky for you； grease floats。〃
Garcia slammed down the receiver and said； 〃You'd think one of us would have the brains to pull the plug out of the wall。〃
〃No；〃 said Jim Tile。 He was worried about Skink； and Decker。 One of them might need to get through。
〃I can't imagine these jerks are actually worried about us winning； not after seeing the boat；〃 Garcia said。 〃Wonder what they're so damn scared of。〃
〃The sight of us；〃 Jim Tile said。 He lay back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling。 Garcia lit a cigarette and thumbed through a Lunker Lakes sales brochure that some lady had given him at the barbecue。
It was half…past two when somebody outside fired a rifle through their window and ran。
Angrily Jim Tile picked up the phone and started dialing。
As he shook the broken glass out of his blanket； Al Garcia asked； 〃So who you calling； chico； the Fish and Game？〃
〃I think it's important to make an impression；〃 the trooper said。 〃Don't you？〃
To get on the dike； Eddie Spurling had to drive to the west end of Road 84； then zig north up U。S。 27 to the Sawgrass Fish Camp。 Here the dike was accessible； but wide enough for only one vehicle； at three in the morning Eddie didn't anticipate oning traffic。 He drove the Wagoneer at a crawl through a crystal darkness； insects whorling out of the swamp to cloud the headlights。 Every so often he had to brake as the high…beams froze some animal； ruby…eyed； on the rutted track…rabbits； raccoons； foxes； bobcats； even a fat old female otter。 Eddie marveled at so much wildlife； so close to the big city。
It took an hour to make the full circuit back to where the flood levee abutted Lunker Lake Number Seven。 When he reached the designated spot； Eddie Spurling turned off the engine； killed the lights； rolled down his window； and gazed off to the west。 The Everglades night was glorious and immense； the sweep of the sky unlike anything he'd seen anywhere in the South； here the galaxy seemed to spill straight into the shimmering swamp。
When Eddie looked east he saw blocked and broken landscape；mthe harsh aura of downtown lights； the pale linear scar of the nascent superhighway and its three interchanges； built especially for Charlie Weeb's development。 There was nothing beautiful about it； and Eddie turned away。 He put on his cap； snapped his down vest； and stepped out of the truck into the gentle hum of the marsh。
Water glistened on both sides of the dike。 Under a thin fog； Lunker Lake Number Seven lay as flat and dead as a cistern； by contrast； the small pool on the Everglades side was dimpled with darting minnows and waterbugs。 The pocket was lushly fringed with cattails and sawgrass and crisp round lily pads as big as pizzas。 Something else floated in the pool…a plastic Clorox bottle； tied to a rope。
Eddie Spurling noticed how out of place it looked； obscene； really； like litter。 The whole idea of it made him mad…Weeb and his damn Alabama imports。 Eddie carefully made his way down the slope of the dike； his boots sliding in the loose dirt。 At the edge of the pool he found a long stick； which he used to snag the floating bleach bottle。
He got hold of the rope and pulled it hand over hand。 The fish trap was unexpectedly heavy； leaden almost。 Must've got tangled in the hydrilla weed； Eddie thought。
When the cage finally broke the surface； he dropped the stick and grabbed the mesh with his fingers。 Then he pulled it to shore。
Eddie shone his flashlight in the cage and said； 〃My God！〃 He couldn't believe the size of it…a coppery…black bass of grotesque proportions； so huge it could've been