five, six of those at the same time in a small radius. They would kill everything and process it. Cat food to sushi, they took it all. The factory that’s out there now has been in and out of our water for three weeks. The salmon are moving closer now, ready to come in. Suppose they set nets ten miles out – where I was drifting – and they’re doing that at night. The float beacons are probably infrared. I could barely see them and they didn’t blink. I’d put money down that those floats are high-tech, brand new. Anyway, that wind we had two days ago moves in and spreads their nets out. The big ship plays round up, but one of its nets gets a little lost, a little too close to shore. The sun comes up. Christ, you can see a big ship that’s eight miles out from any highway turnout going around Neahkahnie Mountain and tourists take a million pictures there every day. They could have panicked and figured they would get it the next night. This big south swell moves in and the next thing you know, the net comes across the bar, snags the jetty and swings into the channel.”
The explanation satisfied him and he concluded. “After I open one of those floats, we’ll know a little more about this. Batteries don’t make it to the sea floor and back.” He paused. “I know one thing; that dickhead Amato didn’t go out there to check out what I told him.”
Murphy felt the danger returning. “How do you know that?”
“Because that little jerkoff gets seasick in big water and this last week was big. I doubt he’s ever been out twelve miles in his life.”
Murphy shifted to serious and personal. “People that lame don’t survive in our Coast Guard. I will follow this Billy, but please take my advice - do not, please, do not tell people Amato was responsible for what happened to Sammy. “
“That little prick … “
Murphy stepped away from the wall and raised his voice to emphasize that this conversation had ceased to be speculation. “Stop! Bill, listen to me. Let me deal with this. A lot of fishermen are involved and if Amato decides he hates us, people will suffer. You need to shut this one away for a while. You know me. Let me do this.”
Billy stared hard at Murphy, released his shoulders into a relaxed posture and took two deep breaths. Turning back to the window his long arms dropped to his sides. He shook his hands rapidly as if they were wet and he was throwing off excess. “You going back to file the report? I could stay till the doc gets here and keep an eye on this situation, if you want to go and come back with my truck.”
Murphy smiled. “It might be safer if we file this report together. We could go to my place, where you can take a real shower and put on some dry clothes. Come back here in an hour and let the doc look at those cuts. Or if you still want to be a hard ass, there’s iodine in the medicine cabinet.”
“I’ll do that, but only if you sort out Lester first. Nobody deserves that, especially a nurse. And what’s wrong with these clothes?”
“I’ve known you to wear a clean shirt, when you’re wounded. You don’t look that Republican in my uniform. Right now, you look more like a highway hippie than a local hero.”
Murphy opened the door to the examination room and Billy turned his gaze away to the window. “Those kids are the heroes I didn’t do shit.”
Before he closed the door behind him, Murphy addressed Billy’s back. “There was nothing more you could do. You could barely breathe when they got you out.”
Billy waited following the flight of a gull headed back to the coast and muttered to himself. “I survived.”
8:45 AM: The Harbor
Billy took the shower and the dry clothes, drove the truck back to the harbor and ate alone in the Sandbar. Through the window he could see the wind chopping at the channel and smaller boats returning. Hecate rode low in the water as she headed toward the pay dock. He hoped the kids were richer than they had dreamed they ever could be, when they woke up and walked through the darkness to catch crabs. Something good had to come out of this. He left money on the table for Evelyn, wherever she was, and headed down to the water.
As Hecate slid slowly up to the public mooring, Billy stepped out of the truck and lowered the tailgate. A pillow of raveled net filled the stern and the boys sat on it like tiny sultans adorned with bright orange May West life jackets. They grinned and waved. He caught the bowline and made fast while John reversed up against the tires hanging from the pilings, finished a stern line and jumped aboard. “How was your crew John?”
“Good. Hard workers.”
The kids’ glow neutralized the specter of death that Billy associated with the pile of plastic and he followed their enthusiasm as he assumed command of Hecate’s enterprise. They all helped wrestle the net onto the dock, and transferred four empty plastic crates from the dock into the boat. “Ok. Let’s get these tasty morsels into the truck and iced. You kids load the small ones into these plastic boxes.”
He whistled as John opened the fish locker. “I think you should run this to Portland. Tarp’s already down in the truck bed, and we can pour out those bags of ice from last night for a base. If you get out of here fast, you can pour on more ice at the station when you fill up. Can you get to the bottom ice bags? You got a lot of fish in there. Looks like you’ve been out for two weeks.”
John lifted out heavy fish and laid them on the deck. “Fastest fishing I ever did.”
Billy jumped onto the dock. “Rhys, you go up in the truck for now to spread out this ice when I dump it in. If John gets this truck to Portland and those fish are still cold, you boys are making a lot of cash today, tax-free. He’ll drop you off home on his way. Your folks know where you are?”
Rhys jumped onto the dock and Billy tossed him up into the pickup bed, followed by the first bag of ice, which Rhys spilled out and started kicking around to make a base for the fish. “They think we’re crabbing. We’re supposed to be home for supper.”
Billy tossed up the remaining bags as John uncovered them and Quinn moved them onto the dock. “Good. I wouldn’t want them to think you’d been kidnapped for slave labor. Fishing is hard work.”
Rhys grinned. “I love fishing.”
“You know John’s family fished here before Oregon was Oregon, before any white people even knew about Oregon.”
Billy lifted the end of the tarp shifting ice back into the bed. “Spread it out evenly, but don’t put it on the tailgate.” He looked down into the fish locker. “How many bags left in there John?”
“Two more under the last fish.”
He pointed at the big Chinooks laying along side the stern transom. “John, let’s get a layer of big fish up first. Make Benny buy the Silvers to get to the gold. Leave those last bags till all the fish are in. Hand up those crates Quinn packed. I want them on the tailgate. We gotta move boys, there’s a line of boats coming in and they all want to be right where we are. And they all want ice from the Seven Eleven store. We gotta get there first.” He smiled at Quinn as he and John shifted the fish onto the dock. “You’re right John; these boys are good crew.”
They worked steadily until the hold was empty and they had knotted down the tarp. Rhys crawled into the cab and lay down.
Billy surveyed the weight of the load. “You’re ready John. See you back around ten? Don’t stay in Portland. You have stuff to do tomorrow and I need the truck. Don’t screw around.”
John
