Tuna Tango by Steven Becker Read Free Book Online Page A

work would fall within the city’s guidelines.
    He got out and went toward the freezer, its shiny new lock catching his eye as he passed. Behind the box, the view was obstructed, and he relieved himself. Head banging, he went toward the hose, coiled up from yesterday, took off his shirt, and doused his head. His fingers combed through his hair as he emerged into daylight and looked around, trying to figure out where to start. The for sale sign caught his eye as he put his shirt back on, and his recently single status cut through the haze of alcohol, giving him an idea. 
    Why not buy the boat and stay out here? That was more his style.
    His stomach grumbled, and since it was too early to call about the boat, he made a material list and headed for Home Depot, the only supplier open on Sunday. He was just about to pull out of the lot when he noticed a small skiff moving slowly toward the fish house probably after the fish, drawn to the underwater structure. There was good fishing to be had around the piers, as he had witnessed on his dive the other day, especially in the low light of early morning and late evening. 
    Something nagged at him, though, and he turned to look at the small boat as it slid underneath the structure. 
     
    ***
     
    Will sat in the restaurant, drinking his second cup of coffee, the empty plate pushed to the side. He sucked in his breath as he turned on the power to the phone, wincing as the onslaught of texts and voicemail messages from Sheryl bombarded him. It was easy to delete the voice mails, but fragments of the texts caught his eye as he tried to delete them before he could read them … and none of it was good. Even though it was over it still bothered him, after all it was his fault.
    Finally the screen showed no messages or voicemails. He fished in his pocket for the paper with the phone number of the boat owner, entered it into the screen, and hit dial. Several rings were followed by a grunt. It was almost 10, but apparently he had woken the owner. He almost hung up, but figured sailboats were hard to sell, and his call would be welcome.
    “Hey, I saw the sign on your boat at the Pass-A-Grille Marina.”
    The voice changed from gruff to welcoming. “That’s right, are you interested?”
    “I am. Can you give me some details?” Will asked him about the size, sail inventory, condition, and engine. He also inquired what the dock fees were at the marina. They agreed to meet in an hour, and Will quickly shut the power off and put the phone in his pocket. He finished his coffee, paid the check, and left the restaurant. 
    Back in the truck, he planned out his bargaining strategy. Sailboats weren’t the movers that power boats were, and this guy was paying a hundred and fifty-five a month to dock the boat there. He was sure to be motivated, though it was a good deal at the $2,400 he had listed on the sign. Will was sure he could get him to $2,000. 
    He drove back to the fish house with a smile on his face. He knew it wasn’t practical, but owning a boat felt good to him. Maybe he could take it on a sail this afternoon, put out a hand line and catch something. The lot was empty when he pulled in and he walked to the boat to wait for the owner. Just as he arrived, a head emerged from the cabin. 
    “You Will?” the head asked.
    “Yeah. Can I take a look?”
    The man showed Will the boat, started the engine, and went through the sails and controls. Everything seemed in order, and Will offered him $1,800 to get the negotiations going. They went back and forth, finally agreeing on $2,100 and the rest of the month’s dock fees the owner had already paid. 
    Will counted out the hundreds and took the keys to the cabin. He was on his way to the marina office to change the name on the paperwork, title in hand, when he saw a car pull into the lot. Sheryl got out of the passenger seat and went to the trunk. She opened it, took out a bag and a few boxes, and set them carelessly next to his