Double Whammy

"No, but I know who you are," Catherine said. "You're one of the Fish People, aren't you?"

Jim Tile's patrol car passed Garcia on Route 222 and led them into town, which was as dark as a mortuary. The trooper took them directly to the house of an old black doctor, who packed and dressed, Skink's seeping eye wound. Silently Decker and Garcia watched the old man dance a penlight in front of Skink's haggard face and peer into the other eye for quite a long time. "He needs a neurologist right away," the doctor said finally. "Gainesville's your best bet."

Skink himself said nothing. When they got back to the cabin, he curled up on a mattress and went to sleep. Jim Tile got the campfire going. Al Garcia selected an oak stump of suitable width and sat down close to the flames. "Now what?" he said. "We tell ghost stories?"

R. J. Decker said, "This is where he lives."

"Unbelievable," the detective muttered.

Jim Tile went to the car and came back with two black-and-white photographs, eight-by-tens. "From our friends in the bayou," he said, handing the pictures to R. J. Decker.

"Christ," Decker mumbled. They were the caught-in-the-act shots of the bass cheaters in the reeds at Lake Maurepas—except that Dickie Lockhart's head had been supered onto one of the other men's bodies. Decker recognized the mug of Dickie from the bunch he'd shot at the Cajun Classic weigh-in. Looking at the doctored photographs made him feel angry and, in a way, violated.

"Somebody swiped my film and had some fun in the darkroom," he said to Jim Tile. "I've seen better phonies."

"Sure fooled New Orleans homicide."

"It's still bush," Decker snapped. "I can find a half-dozen expert witnesses to say these are tricked."

Al Garcia took the prints from Decker and studied them. "Nifty," he said. "That's how they do it, huh?"

"In cages, yeah."

"And how long will those fish stay alive?"

Decker shrugged. "Couple days, I guess."

Jim Tile said, "There's some other things you ought to know." He told them about his conversation with Ozzie Rundell, and Ozzie's version of Ott Pickney's murder.

"He also says Lockhart didn't kill Robert Clinch."

"You believe that?" Decker asked.

Jim Tile nodded.

Garcia said, "Had to be Gault."

"That's my guess too," the trooper agreed, "but I'm not sure why he'd do it."

R. J. Decker thought about it. Why would Dennis Gault order the murder of a man he had recruited to work for him? Lanie might know; she might even be part of the reason.

Jim Tile said, "There's a guy named Thomas Curl, a real shitkicker. He and his brother killed your friend Ott. My bet is they did Bobby Clinch too."

"The Louisiana boys," Decker said.

Jim Tile said, "It just so happens that Lemus Curl is missing. Family says he fell into Lake Okeechobee."

Garcia looked curiously at Decker, who tried not to react.

"But the other Curl," Jim Tile went on, "Thomas Curl, is in Miami."

"Fuck me," said Al Garcia.

Decker said, "Let me guess: Curl is looking for me."

"Most likely," Jim Tile said. "By phone I tracked him to some ritzy hotel in the Grove, but then he took off."

"What's the connection to Gault?"

"He paid for Curl's room," Jim Tile said.

He took a piece of paper from his left breast pocket, unfolded it carefully and handed it to Decker. "Meanwhile," Jim Tile said, "Mr. Gault is going fishing."

It was a promotional flier for the Dickie Lockhart Memorial Bass Blasters Classic. In the firelight Garcia read it aloud over Decker's shoulder: 'The richest tournament in history. Entry fee is only three thousand dollars, but hurry—the field will be limited to fifty boats."

Decker couldn't believe it, the ballsiness of these guys. "Three thousand bucks," he said.

"It is amazing," Jim Tile remarked. Long ago he had given up trying to understand the cracker mentality. He wondered if the Cuban cop would have the same difficulty.

Garcia said, "Dennis Gault I can figure out. He's a greedy little egomaniac who wants trophies for his penthouse. But what's the rest of the shit with this tournament?"

Decker explained the Outdoor Christian Network and its vast stake in the Lunker Lakes development. 'They're going to use the TV fish hype to sell townhouses. Everybody does it these days. Mazda has golf, Lipton has tennis, OCN has bass. The demographics match up nicely."

Al Garcia looked extremely amused. "You're telling me," he said, "that grown men will sit down for hours in front of a television set and watch other men go fishing."

"Millions," Decker said, "every weekend."

"I don't ever want to hear you talk about crazy Cubans," Garcia said, "never again."

A flicker of a smile crossed Jim Tile's face, and then he grew serious. "Gault is the big problem," he said. "He's the one who can put Decker in prison."

"He'd rather have him dead," Garcia noted.