Carl Hiaasen – Double Whammy

First things first, thought Charlie Weeb. The poster on the wall reminded him that the big tournament was only four days away. The immediate priority was getting some new fish.

“If I could get the tanker truck here before dawn,” Charlie Weeb said, “get the bass in the water early, would they live until sunset?”

“Probably.”

“Thank God it’s a one-day tournament,” Weeb said, thinking aloud.

“Can’t say how healthy they’d be,” the hydrologist cautioned. ‘They may not feed at all.”

“They don’t need to,” Weeb said, leaving the man thoroughly confused. “Get those fucking dead fish out of my sight, every one,” the preacher ordered, and the hydrologist fled to round up some boats.

Fast Eddie Spurling was next on Charlie Weeb’s agenda. Eddie came in wearing a Happy Gland fishing cap and a shiny silver Evinrude jacket. Tucked into his cheek was a plug of Red Man tobacco so big it would have gagged a hyena. It was all Weeb could do to conceal his disgust; Eddie Spurling was about the biggest Gomer he’d ever met.

“The fish are dying,” Eddie said, his voice pained.

“You noticed.”

“Why?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Weeb said. “Sit down, please.”

“I hate to see ’em dying like that.”

Not half as much as I do, Weeb thought morosely. “Eddie,” he began, “have you given much thought to the big tournament? Have you got a plan for winning?”

Eddie Spurling shifted the tobacco to his other cheek. Chewing hard, he said, ‘Truthfully, I figured buzzbaits would do it, but now I don’t know. There’s not much cover in this water. ‘Fact, there’s not much anything in this water. I didn’t even see any garfish down there, and those suckers could live in a toilet bowl.”

Weeb frowned.

“Jelly worms,” Eddie declared through his chaw. “Rig ’em Texas-style, I think that’ll be the ticket, sir.”

Charlie Weeb sat forward and put on his eyeglasses. “Eddie, it’s very important that you win this tournament.”

“Well, I’ll damn sure try.” He flashed a mouthful of wet brown teeth. “Prize money like that—you kidding?”

“Trying is fine,” Weeb said, ‘Very admirable. But this time we may need to do more. A little insurance.”

Weeb was not surprised that Eddie looked confused.

“You’re the new star at OCN, we got a lot riding on you,” Charlie Weeb said. “If you win, we all win. And Lunker Lakes too. This is a tremendous opportunity, Eddie.”

“Well, sure.”

“Opportunities like this don’t come along every day.” Weeb rocked back and folded his hands behind his head. “I’ve been having this dream, Eddie, and you’re in it.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s right. In my dream, the sun is shining, the lakes are clear and beautiful. Thousands of happy home-buyers are gathered around, and the TV is there too, waiting for the end of the big tournament. All the other fishermen are back at the dock except you, Eddie.”

“Ugh.”

“Then, only seconds before the deadline, I see your boat cutting across the water. You pull up with a big smile on your face, get out, wave at the cameras. Then you reach down and pull up the biggest stringer of largemouth bass anyone’s ever seen. The whole joint goes wild, Eddie. There you are, standing under the Lunker Lakes sign, holding up these giant mother fish. God, it’s a vision, don’t you agree?”

“Sure, Reverend Weeb, it’d be a dream come true.”

Charlie Weeb said, “Eddie, it will come true. I’m trucking in some big fucking bass from Alabama. They’re yours, partner.”

“Wait a minute.”

“With the water this bad, I can’t chance keeping the biggest ones in Lunker Lakes,” Weeb said. He unrolled a map across the kitchen counter. “Here we are,” he said, pointing, “and here’s the Everglades dike. All you got to do is tie the boat at the culvert, hop the levee, and pull the cages.”

“Cages—fish cages?”

“No, tiger cages, Eddie—Christ, what do you think?”

Eddie Spurling said, “I ain’t gone cheat.”

“Pardon me?”

“Lookit, I’ll scout the lakes and dump some brush piles a few days ahead. Stock ’em with bass before tournament day and mark the spots. Hell, everybody does that—how about it?”

Charlie Weeb shook his head. “The fish will croak, Eddie, that’s the problem. I got two thousand yearlings coming in the night before and I’ll be lucky if they hang on until dusk. Worse comes to worst, you might be the only guy in the tournament to bring in a live bass.”