Of Sea and Cloud by Jon Keller Read Free Book Online Page B

one edge of the horseshoe. From the tip of Burnt Island a slat wood dam crossed to the mainland and thus closed the mouth of the horseshoe like a row of teeth. The tidewater came and went through these teeth every six hours but the lobsters that Nicolas and Osmond had put in the pound were there to stay. The base of the dam was solid concrete like a giant gum beneath the teeth that held at least six feet of water at low tide.
    Jonah climbed onto the trailer and didn’t speak as he handed the traps to Bill. Bill stacked them five high. Virgil watched in his mirror and pulled the truck forward when they needed room for another row. When they finished stacking the traps Bill and Jonah stood next to Virgil’s window and listened to the engine idle as the smooth rolling waves whapped the riprap causeway and the ghost calls of the eiders filled the air.
    Chowder rose up on her ass with her front paws on the truck door.
    Frigging dog, said Jonah.
    Virgil eyed the gulf. He played with Chowder’s ears. Bill kicked at a rock with his rubber boot and when he freed it from the ground he kicked it across the dead grass.
    Jonah gathered himself and cleared his throat. I hauled a string of Osmond’s out on the Leviathan today.
    Bill peered at Jonah for a second then said, A whole string? Oh, fuck me.
    Virgil waited.
    Five footers and double baited. He must’ve set them yesterday or the day before. Hell, he had to average three pounds a trap.
    That’s a hell of a day to set a offshore string, Bill said. She was blowing a gale and them seas would’ve been breaking over that mountain all the day long. Bill rubbed his eyes with frustration. How in hell’d he set them, from a chopper? Don’t tell me he was out there in a boat. And I’m guessing them bait bags weren’t small. Fuckachrist, that’s a half bushel of bait per pair.
    That’s right, said Jonah.
    That’s over a grand a day in bait alone, Bill said. He’s got to be landing a ton of bugs a day to make a day’s pay. He’s burning five hundred in fuel easy. How’s he landing a ton a day?
    He sold his soul is what he done, Virgil said.
    Bill worked a glaze of moisture from Virgil’s rearview mirror and flicked it off the edge of his palm. I don’t know how he does it, the cocksucker. But he’d be better off with forty-three-and-a-half-inch traps on that bottom. A single parlor’ll fish better there.
    Guess not, Jonah said. The old man’s strings didn’t have shit.
    Bill ignored him.
    Where’s he at on the mountain, Jonah? Virgil said.
    Off the southwest ridge.
    Bill blinked. He scratched his temple. You hauled them? All of them? Oh shit. What’d you do? Don’t tell me you cut them.
    Don’t you go fretting all over the place with yourself.
    I ain’t fretting. What’d you do? Fuck me, you did, didn’t you? You cut off a string of Osmond’s? A whole string? Of Osmond Randolph’s?
    Virgil lifted a single surprised eyebrow at Jonah.
    Jonah couldn’t look at either one. He gazed offshore and his chest smacked and he nodded once so both understood what he’d done and both took a moment to realize the ramifications.
    Goddamned right you did, Virgil finally muttered. He forced a smile onto his face but Jonah could see it framed by worry like a touch of sun surrounded by cloud and even as Jonah watched him the smile disappeared.
    Goddamned right? said Bill. His voice trembled. Goddamned right? Now the two of you are going to have to explain to me one goddamned right thing about cutting Osmond’s gear. You think he isn’t going to start a fucking war over this? Jesus, Jonah, I know you don’t give a shit about your boat or gear but I got to make a living for Christ’s sake. I can’t afford to lose any traps, let alone my boat or any other fucking thing. And Christ, Jonah, I’m his partner now. I got to work with him.
    Jonah lit a cigarette.