Free Bonefish Blues by Steven Becker Page A

down and followed the footsteps. It looked like there were two sets with the distinct image next to them that the bag would have made being dragged through the sand . He emerged on the beach the Grady-White had been stranded on yesterday. They went back to one of the tanks, and saw a crowbar to the side of the lid. 
    “This isn’t good. Maybe we ought to go back.”
    “No way. This was my idea.” She picked up the crowbar and started to pry at the tank lid.
    “You sure?” He watched her struggle, finally going over and offering help. She surrendered the bar and he went to work on the lid, walking the crowbar around the opening, the lid rising an inch or two each turn. She came toward him to help as the bottom of the lid became visible, and he handed her the crowbar to hold the heavy lid up while he bent over and flipped it over. 
    The stench was overpowering, and he looked into the black void, suspicious of what it was. He went for the tank lid and wrestled it back in place. They quickly moved to the edge of the clearing, upwind of the tanks. “This is bad. Do you think?” He stopped.
    “What?” she asked.
    “I had a run-in with Braken and Scarface here the other day. They had one of those fish bags the tournament fishermen use to keep their catch hydrated. It was big enough to hold a man.” They looked at each other, “I’ve seen enough. Let’s get out of here.” 
    They made their way along the path to the beach, where Will picked up the anchor and carried it back to the boat. Sheryl followed and dove into the water, trying to release the stench from her pores. Back on the boat, they looked at each other, not sure what to do or say. 
    “Sorry, no towels,” was all Will could come up with. 
    “It’s all right, let’s get out of here.” She started to shiver. “That was creepy.”
    The boat idled away from the island. “There’s a rain jacket in the side compartment. Grab that while I check something out.” He watched her as she bent over to get the jacket, wet clothes clinging to her body. 
    He looked away as she rose. “See them,” He pointed to the fishing boat that was still anchored off the point. It was still loud, rods bent over and fish going in the box. There’s no reason for them to be there, no structure just flat bottom, and they’re catching fish. It’s almost like something is bringing them to that spot. Can I see the map again?” The puzzle was coming together in his mind. Intrigued about Cody’s fishing spot he overcame his usual timidness and focussed on his theory.
    “Sure, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “Just a hunch,” he took the hand drawn map and oriented it. “See, it shows a pipeline coming through there from the water tanks. That was going to be the pipeline feeding the island from the mainland. Let’s check it out.”
    “I don’t know Will. I think I’ve seen enough. Maybe we should just go to the police with this, get cleaned up and then get some dinner.”
    “It’ll just take a minute. Can you grab that spotlight?” He idled the boat around to where he thought the pipe should be and shone the light in the water. “Look, there’s a pipe coming out of the sand there.” He pointed.
    She followed the shape of the pipe, partly buried in the sand, with the spotlight as they moved away from the island and toward the mainland. 
    The light was fading, the pipeline invisible now, but he followed the direction the pipeline had been heading. Cody’s boat was directly in the path of the pipeline and the mainland. 
    “What the hell Will. I’m on this spot,” Cody yelled as they approached his boat. “The other anglers chimed in with him.”
    “No problem, just having a look around,” Will called back not wanting any conflict with or without Sheryl. He turned the boat and pushed down the throttle. 
    “We’ve got limits,” Will heard Cody yell to his charter, “What do you say we have some fun.”

Chapter 11
     
    The engine