The perks go to the best man for the job.
But if you don't cut it in The Gutter, you're sleeping with the fishes.
But if you don't cut it in The Gutter, you're sleeping with the fishes.
Hook, Line and Sinker by John Teel
Mr. Carson's boat
bobbed slowly at the end of the dock, four long fishing poles jutting out over
the top like radio antennae.
Ken still
wasn't sure why Carson invited him out fishing, but it was known if Carson
summoned you to one of his "meetings," you went. Ken didn't want to
go empty-handed so he stopped and grabbed a case of beer.
When he
arrived at the boat, Carson looked at him and smiled, his eyes resting on the
beer.
"For the trip," Ken said with a nervous quiver
in his voice.
"Very thoughtful," Carson said. "I don't
drink, however."
Goddamnit.
"Barney."
Mr. Carson motioned to someone who looked like a bear in people's clothes.
"Put this on ice for Mr. Seymour."
"You can call me Ken," Ken said to Carson.
Barney took the case down below.
"And you
can call me Hank," Carson said. "Now, what do you say we go catch us
some fish? Just untie those lines there and we can get going."
Ken did as he
was asked and hopped onto the boat. Barney stood before him like a golem, and
Ken thought he might tweak his neck looking up at him.
Barney shoved Ken against the cabin and frisked him with
hands the size of waffle irons.
Ken looked at Mr. Carson with a hint of fear in his eyes.
"Just a precaution, Ken," Carson said.
When Barney was satisfied, he let Ken off the wall and
turned to Carson. "He's clean."
"Wonderful.
Off we go." Mr. Carson got the engine started and backed the boat away
from the dock, steering it with ease out of the bay and into the waiting waters
of the Atlantic.
...
It was an easy ride out, with the water below resembling dark, smooth glass. They motored for close to an hour during which no one spoke.
Barney stared
at Ken the way a cat watches a caged parakeet, while Carson drifted them
farther and farther away from land.
The more Ken thought about it, the more nervous he felt.
The engine
throttled down and Carson trolled the motor. Looking to Barney, he said,
"Grab the net and get some chum in there, would you?"
Barney nodded, disappearing below deck.
Ken polished
off a beer and broke the awkward silence. "I don't wanna be rude, Mr.
Carson—"
"Hank," Carson said.
"Sorry. Hank. Why am I here, exactly?"
Carson smiled. "To fish, of course. And to get
acquainted."
Ken still didn't understand.
Carson could
read it on his face.
"I'll cut to the
chase then, Ken. Your bank stores a large percentage of my money. I need
someone who can keep quiet about these particular deposits and manage the
accounts. Someone trustworthy. A man such as yourself. We talked to some of our
people. They've been looking into you and they have the utmost confidence you'd
be a good hire."
It still wasn't computing, but Ken nodded anyway. "Uh,
isn't that what Todd does?"
"He does.
But you see, the fact that you know about this particular partnership with Todd
is troublesome. There goes the rule of keeping quiet. Also, our funds seem to
be a little light. Todd can no longer be trusted. And a relationship cannot
work without trust. So that brings us to you. I want you to work for me. You
will be paid a substantial fee, in cash, every week. As long as these rules are
not broken."
Ken's head was swimming. "Todd's gonna be
pissed."
Carson smiled.
"You don't have to worry about him. Let us deal with Todd. So what do you
say? Shall we do business?"
"Can I think about it?"
Carson watched Ken.
Ken couldn't read Carson, who seemed ambivalent.
“You can. I
suggest you come to a decision soon, however,” Carson said. “There is a right
and a wrong answer, Ken. I shouldn't need to spell this out for you.”
Everywhere Ken
looked there was only water. He was pretty sure he knew the right answer. He
finished his beer and said, "Ok then. I'll take care of the
accounts."
"Splendid," Mr. Carson said, extending his hand.
They shook on it.
Barney emerged
from below with a blue fishing net. He set it down next to a long, white cooler
and reached in, shoveling handfuls of ground-up chum into the net. He held the
net in the water as the boat trolled and chunks of meat flaked into the
ocean. His hands dripped red and Ken watched it drip, drip, drip onto the deck.
Almost
immediately, fish jumped and splashed next to the boat, their shiny bodies
reflecting the sun as they twisted and scrambled past each other to devour the
chum.
"Jesus," Ken said. "I've never seen fish go
wild like that before."
Carson baited
a hook with the same meat, dropped the line in the water, and handed it to Ken.
"It's the best chum there is. I've experimented with all kinds of
different bait: mackerel, shrimp, squid, crab, but this right here, this is the
best."
"What is it?" Ken asked.
Carson just smiled.
Ken's eyes
went from the fish jumping in the water, to the blood on Barney's hands, to the
smile on Carson's face, and realized he didn't need it spelled out for him. For
once in his life, he got it just fine.
