Free Suder by Percival Everett Page B

Sid. “Look at that sucker go.”
    The line stops feeding out and Sid pulls up on the rod and starts reeling him in. The line becomes really taut again and Sid points the tip of the rod at the fish once more. “You gotta play him right, boy.” He pulls his face across his shoulder. “Do me a favor, Craig, and wipe the sweat off my head.”
    I am looking for something to wipe his head with. “What do you want me to use?”
    â€œTake the rag out of my back pocket.” He starts reeling the fish in again. “The sweat’s real annoying.”
    I pull the rag across that shiny dome of his. “There you go.”
    A half hour passes with me periodically wiping the sweat off his top. He’s letting the fish run again and he looks up at me.
    â€œBoy, I’m tired,” Sid says. “Take this thing while he’s running. He’s weakening, I can tell.”
    I take the rod and reel and his seat and he takes to wiping perspiration from his face and head. “Play him, boy,” he says as I start reeling. He ducks down into the cabin and comes up with a bottle of bourbon. “Play him, Craig.” He moves behind me. “That’s it, bring him in.”
    I continue to reel him in.
    â€œThat line’s looking mighty hard. Maybe you should let him out some.” I push the button and point the rod down and the fish takes off. “My hands are getting real sweaty,” I says to Sid.
    He doesn’t answer.
    I start reeling again. “My hands,” I says.
    â€œThat’s it, reel him in.” He takes a swig from the bottle. “Let him out again.”
    I forget to push the button and I point the tip of the rod at the fish and the whole works is ripped right out of my hands. I close my eyes.
    â€œDamn shame,” says Sid and he walks away and down into the cabin.
    I sit there for a long while, just looking at the ocean.
    We’re starting to lose daylight as we pull into the dock. I hop out of the boat and tie it up. Sid is standing on deck, taking a swig from his bottle of bourbon.
    â€œI’ve got something I want you to hear,” I says.
    â€œYeah?” He screws the cap onto his bottle. “What is it?”
    â€œI’ll get it. Hold on.” I go down into the cabin and come up with my phonograph and my record. I’m looking around for an outlet and then I look at Sid.
    Sid points to the base of a lamp on the pier.
    I jump off the boat and plug in the machine and play the record.
    â€œThat’s real pretty,” Sid says. “Who is it?”
    â€œThis is Charlie Parker.” I smile.
    â€œYeah, that’s real pretty.” He looks at the lights around. “What do you say we go scout out some women?”
    I pick the needle up off the record and I’m really pleased that he likes it. “Where do you want to go?”
    â€œThere’re a couple of bars around here.”
    â€œSure. Let me get my horn.” I run into the cabin and grab my saxophone. I pick up my phonograph and record and we walk away from the boat.
    â€œYou need to carry all that shit?” Sid wants to know.
    â€œYeah.”
    We walk along the waterfront until we come to this little tavern. There ain’t many people inside and we grab a couple of stools. I put my things on the bar and the bartender tells me I have to move it all. I put my phonograph and record on the floor and I hold my horn in my lap. We down a couple of beers and the place starts to fill up.
    This guy hops on a stool in the middle of the floor and he’s holding a guitar. He starts to playing and singing, but what he’s playing ain’t nothing like Charlie Parker.
    â€œCraig,” Sid says, “if you just gonna keep that horn in your lap, it’s about as useful as tits on a boar hog.” He pauses. “If you ask me.”
    I don’t say anything. I just look back at the fella singing. I pick my saxophone up out of my lap