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Ott Pickney carefully fitted the bronze scale back in its pouch。 He returned the pouch to Bobby Clinch's tacklebox and closed the latches。
Clarisse sat down on the concrete steps in the garage and stared sadly at the bushel of orphaned fishing poles。 She said； 〃This is what Bobby's life was all about； Mr。 Pickney。 Not me or the kids or the job at the phone pany 。。。 just this。 He wasn't happy unless he was out on the lake。〃
Finally a decent quote； Ott thought； and scribbled feverishly in his notebook。 He wasn't happy unless he was fishing on the lake。 Close enough。
It wasn't until later； as Ott Pickney was driving back to the newspaper office； that it hit him like a fist in the gut： R。 J。 Decker was right。 Something odd was going on。
If Bobby Clinch had taken the tacklebox on his fateful trip； it surely would have been lost in the boat accident。
So why had he gone to Lake Jesup without it？
Skink's boat was a bare twelve…foot skiff with peeling oars and splinters on the seat planks。
〃Get in；〃 he told R。 J。 Decker。
Decker sat in the prow and Skink shoved off。 It was a chilly night under a muffled sky； an unbroken mat of high gray clouds； pushed south by a cold breeze。 Skink set a Coleman lantern in the center of the skiff； next to Decker's weatherproof camera bag。
〃No bugs；〃 Skink remarked。 〃Not with this wind。〃
He had brought two fishing rods that looked like flea…market specials。 The fiberglass was brown and faded； the reels tarnished and dull。 The outfits bore no resemblance to the sparkling masterpiece that Decker had seen displayed so reverently in Bobby Clinch's casket。
Skink rowed effortlessly； wavelets kissed at the bow as the little boat crossed Lake Jesup。 Decker enjoyed the quiet ride in the cool night。 He was still slightly uneasy around Skink； but he was beginning to like the guy； even if he was a head case。 Decker had met a few like Skink； eccentric hoary loners。 Some were hiding； some were running； some just waiting for something； or someone； to catch up。 That was Skink； waiting。 Decker would give him plenty of room。
〃Looks like no one else is out tonight；〃 he said to Skink。
〃Ha； they're everywhere；〃 Skink said。 He rowed with his back to Decker。 Decker wished he'd take off the damn shower cap； but couldn't figure a way to broach the subject。
〃How do you know which way to go？〃 he asked。
〃There's a trailer park due northwest。 Lights shine through the trees；〃 Skink said。 〃They leave 'em on all night； too。 Old folks who live there； they're scared if the lights go off。 Wild noises tend to get loud in the darkness…you ever noticed that； Miami？ Pay attention now： the boat is the face of a clock； and you're sittin' at midnight。 The trailer park lights are ten o'clock…〃
〃I see。〃
〃Good。 Now look around about two…thirty； see there？ More lights。 That's a Zippy Mart on Route 222。〃 Skink described all this without once turning around。 〃Which way we headed from camp； Miami？〃
〃Looks like due north。〃
〃Good；〃 Skink said。 〃Got myself a fuckin' Eagle Scout in the boat。〃
Decker didn't know what this giant fruitcake was up to； but a boat ride sure beat hell out of an all…night divorce surveillance。
Skink stopped rowing after twenty minutes。 He set the lantern on the seat plank and picked up one of the fishing rods。 From the prow Decker watched him fiddling with the line； and heard him curse under his breath。
Finally Skink pivoted on the seat and handed Decker the spinning rod。 Tied to the end of the line was a long purple rubber lure。 Decker figured it was supposed to be an eel； a snake； or a worm with thyroid。 Skink's knot was hardly the tightest that Decker had ever seen。
〃Let's see you cast；〃 Skink said。
Decker held the rod in his right hand。 He took it back over his shoulder and made a motion like he was throwing a baseball。 The rubber lure landed with a slap four feet from the boat。
〃That sucks；〃 Skink said。 〃Try opening the bail。〃
He showed Decker how to open the face of the reel； and how to control the line with the tip of his forefinger。 He demonstrated how the wrist； not the arm； supplied the power for the cast。 After a half…dozen tries； Decker was winging the purple eel sixty…five feet。
〃All right；〃 Skink said。 He turned off the Coleman lantern。
The boat drifted at the mouth of a small cove； where the water lay as flat as a smoky mirror。 Even on a starless night the lake gave off its own gray light。 Decker could make out an apron of pines along the shore； around the boat were thick…stemmed lily pads； cypress nubs； patches of tall reeds。
〃Go to it；〃 said Skink。
〃Where？〃 Decker said。 〃Won't I get snagged on all these lilies？〃
〃That's a weedless hook on the end of your line。 Cast just like you were doing before； then think like a nightcrawler。 Make it dance like a goddamn worm that knows it's about to get eaten。〃
Decker made a good cast。 The lure plopped into the pads。 As he retrieved it； he waggled the rod in a lame attempt to make the plastic bait slither。
〃Jesus Christ； it's not a fucking breadstick； it's a snake。〃 Skink snatched the outfit from Decker's hands and made a tremendous cast。 The lure made a distant plop as it landed close to the shoreline。 〃Now watch the tip of the rod；〃 Skink instructed。 〃Watch my wrists。〃
The snake…eel…worm skipped across the lily pads and wriggled across the plane of the water。 Decker had to admit it looked alive。
When the lure was five feet from the boat； it seemed to explode。 Or something exploded beneath it。 Skink yanked back； hard； but the eel flew out of the water and thwacked into his shower cap。
Decker's chest pounded in a spot right under his throat。 Only bubbles and foam floated in the water where the thing had been。
〃What the hell was that？〃 he stammered。
〃Hawg；〃 Skink said。 〃Good one； too。〃 He unhooked the fake eel from his cap and handed the fishing rod back to Decker。 〃You try。 Quick now； while he's still hot in the belly。〃
Decker made a cast in the same direction。 His fingers trembled as he jigged the rubber creature across the surface of the cove。
〃Water's nervous；〃 Skink said； drying his beard。 〃Slow it down a tad。〃
〃Like this？〃 Decker whispered。
〃Yeah。〃
Decker heard it before he felt it。 A jarring concussion； as if somebody had thrown a cinderblock in the water near the boat。 Instantly something nearly pulled the rod from his hands。 On instinct Decker yanked back。 The line screeched off the old reel in short bursts； bending the rod into an inverse U。 The fish circled and broke the surface on the starboard side； toward the stern。 Its back was banded in greenish black； its shoulders bronze； and its fat belly as pale as ice。 The gills rattled like dice when the bass shook its huge mouth。
〃Damn！〃 Decker grunted。
〃She's a big girl；〃 Skink said； just watching。
The fish went deep； tugged some； sat some； then dug for the roots of the lilies。 Awestruck； Decker more or less hung on。 Skink knew what would happen； and it did。 The fish cleverly wrapped the line in the weeds and broke off with a loud crack。 The battle had lasted but three minutes。
〃Shit；〃 Decker said。 He turned on the lantern and studied the broken end of the monofilament。
〃Ten…pounder；〃 Skink said。 〃Easy。〃 He swung his legs over the plank； braced his boots on the transom； and started to row。
Decker asked； 〃You got another one of those eels？〃
〃We're going in；〃 Skink said。
〃One more shot； captain…I'll do better next time。〃
〃You did fine； Miami。 You got what you needed； a jolt of the ballbuster fever。 Save me from listening to a lot of stupid questions down the road。〃 Skink picked up the pace with the oars。
Decker said； 〃I've got to admit； it was fun。〃
〃That's what they say。〃
During the trip back to shore； Decker couldn't stop thinking about the big bass； the tensile shock of its strength against his own muscles。 Maybe there was something mystical to Bobby Clinch's obsession。 The experience； Decker admitted to himself； had been exhilarating and pure； the solitude and darkness of the lake shattered by a brute from the deep。 It was nothing like fishing on the drift boats； or dropping shrimp off the bridges in the Keys。 This was different。 Decker felt like a little kid； all wired up。
〃I want to try this again；〃 he told Skink。
〃Maybe someday； after the dirty work is over。 You want to hear my theory？〃
〃Sure。〃 Decker had been waiting all damn night。
Skink said： 〃Robert Clinch found out about the cheating。 He knew who and he knew how。 I think he was after the proof when they caught him on the bog。〃
〃Who caught him？ Dickie Lockhart？〃
Skink said； 〃Dickie wasn't in the other boat I saw。 He's not that stupid。〃
〃But he sent somebody to kill Bobby Clinch。〃
〃I'm not sure of that； Miami。 Maybe it was a trap； or maybe Clinch just turned up in the worst place at the worst time。〃
〃What was Bobby looking for？〃 Decker asked。
Skink made three swipes of the oars before answering。 〃A fish；〃 he said。 〃A particular fish。〃
That was Skink's theory； or what he intended to share of it。 Twice Decker asked Skink what he meant； what particular fish； but Skink never replied。 He rowed mechanically。 The only sounds on the lake were his husky breaths and the rhythmic sq