Free South of the Pumphouse by Les Claypool

nothin’. I’ve always got ’em on grass shrimp.”
    â€œWell, why haven’t you got shit this year?”
    â€œToday’s the day. Today’s the day. We got lucky bro here,” announced Earl, patting Ed on the shoulder.
    â€œShee-it! I been out with you damn near every weekend for the past two months, and we ain’t caught shit on grass shrimp,” countered Donny, reaching for another shrimp.
    â€œMud shrimp are the shits—messy, nasty, smelly bastards. You gotta wrap ’em with string and shit. No thanks.”
    â€œPus. What’s wrong with a little stink on your finger?” Donny laughed. “Shit, you should smell my peter right now.”
    Donny and Earl laughed out loud, as Ed chuckled halfheartedly. Donny finished baiting his hooks, cast his line, and plopped down in his chair. He then reached into the ice chest for a beer.
    â€œYep, damn near wore it smooth last night.”
    â€œYeah? I thought you looked a little more weathered than usual this morning.”
    â€œShit, if you shot as much protein out the end of your pecker as I did last night, you’d be tired too,” roared Donny. “It was wild.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œW-I-L-D, wild.”
    â€œReally?” said Earl, showing both surprise and interest. “That’s saying something, coming from you.”
    â€œHey, they don’t call me the El Sobrante Slammer for nothin’. Swingin’ meat, that’s me!”
    Earl and Donny laughed.
    â€œMeat-head, don’t you mean?” muttered Ed.
    â€œWhoa!” Earl cackled.
    Donny eyed Ed for a moment and then took a swig of beer. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro 100’s. Putting the pack to his mouth, he drew a cigarette between his lips and lit it, exhaling a large plume of bluish smoke.
    â€œEddy boy,” Earl continued, “you’d be surprised at the tales I’ve heard out here on this bay. Ol’ Donny here pulls these gals left and right, believe it or not. I’ll be damned if I know why.”
    â€œCharm, boy, I keep tellin’ ya. It’s all about the charm,” Donny asserted, flicking his ash.
    Earl and Ed eyed at each other with slight grins.
    â€œYa see,” continued Donny, “sure, I’m an obnoxious prick. We all agree on that. But women love that shit. Tell it like it is, that’s what I say. If I got me a boner goin’, I say so. If I think some gal has got a nice round ass, I let her know it. Hell, you can’t hit the ball if you don’t swing the bat, and I been swingin’ my bat around this town for long time now!”
    Donny and Earl both laughed.
    â€œWell,” Ed piped in, “I hope you’re putting condoms, on that ‘bat,’ cause I’d hate to imagine you breeding.”
    â€œOooh, good one there, Pee Wee,” Donny responded, taking a drag from his cigarette, followed by a pull from his beer. He then let loose a loud, wet, smoke-filled belch.
    The sound resonated through Ed. He leaned back, smiled, and looked out across the water.

Chapter 18
    W HO Y OU L AUGHING A T ?
    T hey were fishing relatively close to the Pumphouse, probably less than fifty yards by Earl’s reckoning. He usually didn’t like to fish too close to any type of structure. There was always the possibility that they would hook into a hog, as they called the larger sturgeon, and Earl didn’t like to chance the fish wrapping the line around a piling on a long run. Today, however, he decided to fish in tight to allow his brother to get a good sense of being at the Pumphouse.
    Earl had learned over the years how to read the water. Any seasoned fishermen could use the elements at hand to make a calculated decision on where and when to fish. In making his calculations, Earl knew how to figure in the tide, the temperature, the depth and color of the water, whether or not it had recently rained, the