Double Whammy

"There! Look now, pay attention!" Gault said. Excitedly he shuffled on bare knees across the floor to the television screen, one of those custom five-foot monsters that eats up the whole wall. "There, Decker, look. This fish is a ringer!"

"How can you tell?"

"See here, the eyes are flat. Not cloudy yet, but flat as tile. And the color's washed out of the flanks. No vertical stripes, not a one. Muck is the color of this fish."

"It doesn't look too healthy," Decker agreed.

"Healthy? Man, this fish is DOA. Check the dorsal. The guy is fanning the fins for the camera. Why? 'Cause they'd fold up otherwise. This fish is de-fucking-ceased."

"But they just showed the fisherman reeling it in," Decker said.

"Wrong. Now watch." Gault backed up the tape and replayed the fight. The rod was bent, the water around the boat boiled and splashed—but the angles and the editing of the video made it impossible to see the actual size of the bass. Until the fisherman lifted it for the camera.

"That rookie caught a fish," Gault said, "but not thisfish." He hit a button and rewound the tape. "Want to watch another one?"

"That won't be necessary," Decker said.

"You see how easy it is to cheat."

"For a TV show, sure."

"It's even easier in a tournament," Gault said, "especially when your partner's in on it. And the weighmaster too. Not to mention the goddamn sponsors." He went to the kitchen and came back with a beer for Decker and a fresh vodka-tonic for himself.

"Tell me about what happened in Harney," he said.

"Met a guy named Skink," Decker said.

Gault whistled and arched his eyebrows. "A real fruitbar. I fished with him once on the St. John's."

"He's going to help me catch Lockhart."

"Not on my nickel!" Gault protested.

"I need him."

"He's a maniac."

"I don't think so."

"He eats dead animals off the road!"

"Waste not, want not," Decker said. "He's the only one up there I'd trust. Without him I quit the case."

Gault folded his hands. Decker drank his beer.

"All right," Gault said, "but be careful. That guy's got Texas Tower written all over him, and neither of us wants to be there if he ever reaches the top."

What Gault meant was: If there's trouble, don't drag my name into it.

"What else did you do?" he asked Decker.

"Went to a funeral."

Gault licked his lower lip nervously.

"Robert Clinch," Decker said, "late of your hire. Nice of you to tell me."

Gault toyed with the stack of fishing videotapes, pretending to organize them. Without looking up, he asked, "Do they know what exactly happened?"

"The coroner says it was accidental."

Gault smiled thinly. "We know that's horseshit, don't we? The only question in my mind is: How'd they do it?"

Decker said, "My question is: Who?"

"Who? Dickie Lockhart, that's who!" Gault said. "Don't be stupid, man. Dickie knew I was closing in and he knew Bobby was working for me. What do you mean—who?'

"You're probably right," Decker said, "but I'd like to be sure."

"Haven't you been listening? Christ, don't tell me I've hired a complete moron."

"I met your sister," Decker said. He liked to save the best for last.

"Elaine?" Gault said. He looked most uncomfortable, just as Decker had expected. It was worth the wait.

"We had a nice chat," Decker said. He wanted Gault to be the one who finished the conversation. He didn't want to be the one to take it any further, but he had to. He needed to find out if Gault knew everything.

"You didn't tell me a couple important things. You didn't tell me about Clinch and you didn't tell me you had a sister up in Harney." Decker's voice had the slightest sting of irritation.

"She gets around, my sister." Gault drained his glass. His face was getting red.

Stubborn bastard, Decker thought, have it your way.

"You knew she was having an affair with Bobby Clinch," he said evenly.

"Says who?" Gault snapped. The red became deeper.

"Lanie."

"Lanie?"

"That's what they call her."

"Oh, is it now?"

"Personally, I don't care if she's screwing the entire American Legion post," Decker said, "but I need to know what you know."

"You better shut your mouth, ace!" Gault's face was actually purple now.

Decker thought: We really hit a nerve here. But from the murderous looks he was getting, he figured now wasn't the time to pursue it. He got up and headed for the door but Gault grabbed his arm and snarled, "Wait just a minute." Decker shook free and—rather gently, he thought—guided Gault backward until his butt hit the sofa.

"Good-bye now," Decker said.

But Gault had lost it. He lunged and got Decker by the throat. Gagging, Decker felt manicured fingernails digging into the meat of his neck. He stared up the length of Gault's brown arms and saw every vein and tendon swollen. The man's cheeks were flushed but his lips twitched like bloodless worms.