Free Killing The Blood Cleaner by Davis Hewitt

Leaning on the rail he could see the river and marsh which separated Sea Island from St. Simons. It was low tide and scores of sandpipers were busily poking into the slick and muddy banks of the river in search of their dinner. Jack waved to an elderly black fisherman on the opposite bank. The man waved back and proudly pulled a string of fish from the river, showing off his catch. Jack raised his glass in salute to his neighbor’s fishing prowess. Another fisherman in a motorboat cruised slowly past, being careful to keep in the center of the river to avoid any sandbars that had popped up during low tide.
    Jack thought of the many times he had fished on that river, thinking back to one particularly good catch of ten large sea trout off an oyster bed right around the river’s next bend. He had been twenty and was still a student at Vanderbilt and he well remembered the trout and his willowy companion that day in her red bikini.
    He walked back into the room and picked up the telephone. In a few seconds the hotel operator had connected him to Dr. Clayton.
    “Howie, let’s head over to St. Simons for some dinner. We need to scout up a wild woman for you. I’m worried that you might be headed for erectile dysfunction from lack of use,” he said.
    “What about Annabelle? I’m surprised she doesn’t have something big planned for you tonight,” Dr. Clayton replied.
    “Annabelle and I are done. Seems like BT has won her heart and her vagina. She went out with him the night we had lunch. You remember her talking to him that day at Capital City. Apparently that evening was a major erotic bonding for the two of them. He invited her to a big house party at his place at Lake Rabun this weekend. Her touching goodbye call lasted all of a minute. So I am now history. But I had already paid for our room down here so I just came on down,” Jack said.
    “Good man. As bizarre and mean as she was, I really don’t think she was the girl for you. I’m glad you came on down, anyway,” Dr. Clayton replied. “I was a little concerned about the potential genetic combination of Annabelle and yourself. Such couplings should be prohibited under international law,” he continued.
    “I think I need to get out and celebrate my close brush with matrimony. Maybe I can round up some loose hide over on St. Simons. Why don’t we meet at the Coast Cabin at eight?” Jack asked.
    “Agreed,” was Dr. Clayton’s quick response. Jack hung up the phone and settled on the bed with his bourbon for a quick nap prior to getting ready for the evening. The girl in the red bikini with the trout kept running through his head as it touched the crisp down pillow and he dozed off to sleep.

TEN
    The Coast Cabin restaurant had been a fixture just off Frederica Road in St. Simons for many years. It was famous for local seafood and good steaks. As expected, the Coast Cabin was a huge, log structure with a broad green door and high beamed ceilings. The longtime waiters wore white coats and were quick with a serious drink. In the winter there was always a fire in the huge fireplace accelerated by sputtering pine fatwood piled high around the hardwood logs.
    In recent years the Coast Cabin had added a dance club in a large room to the side of the restaurant. It was a favorite of the locals throughout Glynn County and the unreconstructed countryside beyond. Ladies drinks were usually a dollar on Friday nights and this greatly increased the crowd. The music was provided by a disc jockey who played favorites from the 70s and 80s along with some South Carolina beach music classics. Most evenings ended with an enthusiastic beach medley after which the house lights were switched on brightly and all exit doors opened wide.
    Jack walked through the wide, front entrance door and saw Dr. Clayton seated in an overstuffed leather arm chair near a window overlooking the marsh. He was a little surprised that his friend was engaged in a lively conversation with two attractive