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There was no tournament that weekend； so Dickie Lockhart was taping a show。 He was shooting on Lake Kissimmee； not far from Disney World。 The title of this particular episode was 〃Hawg Hunting。〃 Dickie needed a bass over ten pounds； anything less wasn't a hawg。
As always； he used two boats； one to fish from； one for the film crew。 Like most TV fishing…show hosts； Dickie Lockhart used videotapes because they were cheaper than sixteen…millimeter； and reusable。 Film was unthinkable for a bass show because you might go two or three days shooting nothing but men casting their lures and spitting tobacco； but no fish。 With the video； a bad day didn't blow the whole budget because you just backed it up and shot again。
Dickie Lockhart had been catching bass all morning； little two…and three…pounders。 He could guess the weight as soon as he hooked up； then furiously skitter the poor fish across the surface into the boat。 〃Goddammit；〃 he would shout； 〃rewind that sucker and let's try again。〃
During lulls in the action； Dickie would grow tense and foul…mouthed。 〃e on； you bucket…mouthed bastards；〃 he'd growl as he cast at the shoreline； 〃hit this thing or I'm bringing dynamite tomorrow； y'hear？〃
Midmorning the wind kicked up； mussing Dickie Lockhart's shiny black hair。 〃Goddammit；〃 he shouted； 〃stop the tape。〃 After he got a b from his tacklebox and slicked himself down； he ordered the cameraman to crank it up again。
〃How do I look？〃 Dickie asked。
〃Like a champ；〃 the cameraman said thinly。 The cameraman dreamed of the day when Dickie Lockhart would get shitfaced drunk and drop his drawers to moon his little ole fishing pals all across America。 Then Dickie would fall out of the boat； as he often did after drinking。 Afterward the cameraman would pretend to rewind the videotape and erase this sloppy moment； but of course he wouldn't。 He'd save it and； when the time was right； threaten to send it to the sports…and…religion network that syndicated Dickie Lockhart's fishing show。 Dickie would suddenly bee a generous fellow； and the cameraman would finally be able to afford to take his wife to the Virgin Islands。
Now； with the tape rolling； Dickie Lockhart was talking man…to…man with the serious bass angler back home。 Dickie's TV accent was much thicker and gooier than his real…life accent； an exaggeration that was necessary to meet the demographic of the show； which was basically male Deep Southern grit…suckers。 As he cast his lure and reeled it in； Dickie Lockhart would confide exactly what brand of crankbait he was using； what pound line was on the reel； what kind of sunglasses （amber or green） worked better on a bright day。 The patter carried an air of informality and friendliness； when in fact the point was to shill as many of Dickie Lockhart's sponsors' products as possible in twenty…four minutes of live tape。 The crankbait was made by Bagley； the line by Du Pont； the reel by Shimano； the sunglasses by Polaroid； and so on。 Somehow； when Dickie stared into the camera and dropped these bald…faced plugs； it didn't seem so cheap。
At about noon a third bass boat raced up to the fishing spot； and Dickie started hollering like a madman。 〃Goddammit； stop the tape！ Stop the tape！〃 He hopped up and down on the bow and shook his fist at the man in the other boat。 〃Hey； can't you see we're filming a goddamn TV show here？ You got the whole frigging lake but you gotta stop here and wreck the tape！〃 Then he saw that the other angler was Ozzie Rundell； Culver's brother； so Dickie stopped shouting。 He didn't apologize； but he did pipe down。
〃Didn't mean to interrupt；〃 Ozzie said。 He was a mumbler。 Dickie Lockhart told him to speak up。
〃Didn't mean to interrupt！〃 Ozzie said； a bit louder。 In his entire life he had never boated a bass over four pounds； and was in awe of Dickie Lockhart。
〃Well？〃 Dickie said。
〃I thought you'd want to know。〃
Dickie shook his head。 He kicked a button on the bow and used the trolling motor to steer his boat closer to Ozzie's。 When the two were side by side； Dickie said impatiently； 〃Now start over。〃
〃I thought you'd want to know。 They found Bobby Clinch。〃
〃Where？〃
〃Dead。〃
Ozzie would get around to answering the questions； but not in the order he was asked。 His mind worked that way。
〃How？〃 Dickie said。
〃In Lake Harney。〃
〃When？〃
〃Flipped his boat and drowned；〃 Ozzie said。
〃Goddamn；〃 said Dickie Lockhart。 〃I'm sorry。〃
〃Yesterday；〃 Ozzie said in conclusion。
Dickie turned to the cameraman and said； 〃Well； that's it for the day。〃
Ozzie seemed thrilled just to be able to touch the deck of the champion's boat。 He gazed at Dickie Lockhart's fishing gear the way a Little Leaguer might stare at Ted Williams' bat。 〃Well； sorry to interrupt；〃 he mumbled。
〃Don't worry about it；〃 Dickie Lockhart said。 〃They stopped biting two hours ago。〃
〃What plug you usin'？〃 Ozzie inquired。
〃My special baby；〃 Dickie said； 〃the Double Whammy。〃
The Double Whammy was the hottest lure on the pro bass circuit； thanks in large measure to Dickie Lockhart。 For the last eight tournaments he'd won； Dickie had declared it was the amazing Double Whammy that had tricked the trophy fish。 His phenomenal success with the lure…a skirted spinnerbait with twin silver spoons…had not been duplicated by any other professional angler； though all had tried； filling their tackleboxes with elaborate variations and imitations。 Most of the bassers caught big fish on the Double Whammy； but none caught as many； or at such opportune times； as Dickie Lockhart。
〃It's a real killer； huh？〃 Ozzie said。
〃You betcha；〃 Dickie said。 He took the fishing line in his front teeth and bit through； freeing the jangling lure。 〃You want it？〃 he asked。
Ozzie Rundell beamed like a kid on Christmas morning。 〃Shoot yeah！〃
Dickie Lockhart tossed the lure toward Ozzie's boat。 In his giddiness Ozzie actually tried to catch the thing in his bare hands。 He missed； of course； and the Double Whammy embedded its needle…sharp hook firmly in the poor man's cheek。 Ozzie didn't seem to feel a thing； didn't seem to notice the blood dripping down his jawline。
〃Thanks！〃 he shouted as Dickie Lockhart started up his boat。 〃Thanks a million！〃
〃Don't mention it；〃 the champion replied； leaning on the throttle。
R。 J。 Decker had been born in Texas。 His father had been an FBI man； and the family had lived in Dallas until December of 1963。 Two weeks after Kennedy was shot； Decker's father was transferred to Miami and assigned to a crack squad whose task was to ensure that no pals of Fidel Castro took a shot at LBJ。 It was a tense and exciting time； but it passed。 Decker's father eventually wound up in a typically stupefying FBI desk job； got fat； and died of clogged arteries at age forty…nine。 One of Decker's older brothers grew up to be a cop in Minneapolis。 The other sold Porsches to cocaine dealers in San Francisco。
A good athlete and a fair student in college； R。 J。 Decker surprised all his classmates by being a professional photographer。 Cameras were his private passion； he was fascinated with the art of freezing time in the eye。 He never told anyone but it was the Zapruder film that had done it。 When Life magazine had e out with those grainy movie pictures of the assassination； R。 J。 Decker was only eight years old。 Still he was transfixed by the frames of the wounded president and his wife。 The pink of her dress； the black blur of the Lincoln…horrific images； yet magnetic。 The boy never imagined such a moment could be captured and kept for history。 Soon afterward he got his first camera。
For Decker； photography was more than just a hobby； it was a way of looking at the world。 He had been cursed with a short temper and a cynical outlook； so the darkroom became a soothing place； and the ceremony of making pictures a gentle therapy。
Much to his frustration； the studio…photography business proved unbearably dull and profitable。 Decker did weddings； bar mitzvahs； portraits； and mercial jobs； mostly magazine advertisements。 He was once paid nine thousand dollars to take the perfect picture of a bottle of Midol。 The ad showed up in all the big women's magazines； and Decker clipped several copies to send to his friends； as a joke on himself。
And； of course； there were the fashion layouts with professional models。 The first year Decker fell in love seventeen times。 The second year he let the Hasselblad do the falling in love。 His pictures were very good； he was making large sums of money； and he was bored out of his skull。
One afternoon on Miami Beach； while Decker was on a mercial shoot for a new tequila…scented suntan oil； a young tourist suddenly tore off her clothes and jumped into the Atlantic and tried to drown herself。 The lifeguards reached her just in time； and Decker snapped a couple of frames as they carried her from the surf。 The woman's blond hair was tangled across her cheeks； her eyes were puffy and half…closed； and her lips were grey。 What really made the photograph was the face of one of the lifeguards who had rescued the young woman。 He'd carefully wrapped his arms around her bare chest to shield her from the gawkers； and in his eyes Decker's lens had captured both panic and pity。
For the hell of it