Page 8 of On the Line

Static squawked from the handheld VHF radio on the seat next to me, breaking the quiet of the moonlit night. Waylan’s voice followed. “The fishing out here is crap tonight. I hope you guys are doing better than I am here.”

I chuckled at my buddy’s alert story. Technically, we were fishing for square grouper. Waylan had seen something at hispost, something likely to change the plan. To what, was anyone’s guess at that point.

Holding my breath, I listened, straining to hear any sounds around me. Nothing but tree frogs, the occasional croak of a crocodile, and the splash of a tarpon rolling on the surface. No one else responded over the radio, either. That meant it might still be coming my way. I watched and waited, my eyes searching the dark for any sign of another boat.

Nothing.

Then a low hum reached my ears, steadily growing louder and louder. I searched the night sky, seeing only the bright white moon and a few scattered stars. The hum intensified until it sounded like a lawnmower about to run me over.

The low flying single-prop Cessna Stationaire shot directly overhead, its high wings silhouetted against the moon like the outstretched arms of a bird of prey. The rectangular shape of the wings was unmistakable, tapering slightly at the edges, creating a sharp, angular outline against the night sky.

If I could be anything other than a fisherman, it would be a pilot. I’d studied designs in my dad’s military magazines since I was a kid. But flying planes seemed too lofty a goal, so I decided to go with what I knew and stick to boats. I’d abandoned my pilot dreams halfway through high school, but I still got the thrill when I thought about flying.

Over the engine sound, I strained my ears, waiting. When I heard the distinctivesplash, I could finally exhale. The drop was done.

Planting the pole to steady the skiff against the kicked up waves, my feet spread wide, I reached for the radio.

“Big bite tonight on Flamingo.” I released the push-to-talk button, waiting for someone to acknowledge that I had seen the drop.

Mateo responded, “Good to hear, buddy. See you back on dry land.”

“I’m heading in, too, nothing biting here tonight,” Waylan chimed in.

I sighed with relief, another job done. Too bad I was thirty miles further from home than I'd planned to be. I poled into deeper water and started the motor, checking the time again, 3:40 AM. I only had a couple hours before the sun came up to meet Mateo and get myself back home before anyone, including Ellie, started asking questions.

Late as it was, a quiet night on the water was still a pretty easy night’s work. Once one of us spotted the drop, we alerted the rest, and our work was done. A half dozen of us spread out across the Everglades and near shore waters at pre-assigned locations. If it stayed quiet, so did we. If we spotted anything suspicious, like Waylan did, we let everyone know on the VHF, sending the pilot off that drop site as surreptitiously as possible. If we saw the drop, we’d comment that all was good.A fast boat would swoop in to pick it up.

For a night like this, I’d make $1000– easy money for a kid fresh out of high school. And I was pocketing it all for that 28-foot Mako center console I had my eye on.

The outboard on my trusty little skiff purred, and the ride back through the mangroves was nice and smooth. I made it to Little Rabbit Key as the horizon lit up in oranges and pinks.

Mateo was grinning like a Cheshire cat from his boat, still tied to the dock, when I puttered up just as the night turned to day. “Took you long enough, Slick.”

“My 40 horses can’t keep up with your 90.” I patted my Gale before I killed the motor.

I floated up next to his boat, the rub rails squeaking. “Sounded like a big one they caught tonight, by the splash.”

“It was a nice catch for all of us.” He opened the forward fish locker, reaching inside and tossing me a small paper-wrapped brick. “Let’s do it again next week?”

“You know you can count on me.” I glanced at my watch again. My guilt at not meeting up with Ellie ate at me. “But I gotta go.”

“Yep,” he waved me off. “I gotta go deal with tonight’s square grouper before the sun gets high.”

“Pretty good pun there,” I chuckled. But then I realized it wasn’t intentional when Mateo squinted at me, confused. “Later, man,” I said, reaching for the pull cord. The Gale started with one pull, and I peeled off back toward home. The skiff had barely come to a stop when I hopped out onto the dock and tied it off to the cleats. Shoving the cash into my pocket, I hotfooted it to my truck.

After I parked in Ellie’s aunt’s driveway, I reached under the front seat, feeling around until I felt the slit in the fabric and shoved all but $100 into the cavern.

I could see a light burning in the kitchen.

TAP TAP TAP, my knuckles rapped on the weathered wood on the side door of the house.

“Spencer?” A bleary eyed Ellie greeted me. Her blonde hair tousled, and not a speck of makeup on her unblemished face. “Where have you been? I thought you were going to call me last night, and drop off the trays.”

“Sorry, I meant to. But Mateo and Waylan and I were night fishing and ended up way out in the flats.” The lie came easy. I’d been rehearsing it for the last hour. “The fish were hitting and before we knew it, the sun was coming up.”

“Just give me the trays,” she huffed, pushing a golden wave of hair back off her face.“I’ve got to eat breakfast and finish getting ready before class.”

“Why don’t I take you to breakfast to make it up to you?” I said quickly. “I’m buying.” I needed to make this right, even if Ellie looked cute as a button annoyed with me.

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