his own way. Negotiating con fused him. But here he was king; he was alone and free, master of
himself and his tiny domain, for O?Brian had mastered the secrets of fishing. It was one of the few
things he did well, and he loved the sport with a consummate passion
When the phone rang, he snapped, “Damn!” under his breath and weighed down the loose end of the
lure with a metal clamp before he went into the main room of the cabin to answer it.
“It?s me, boss, Harry,” the gravelly voice on the other end of the line said. “He?s through eating
breakfast. You sure you don?t want I should follow him out, make sure he isn?t bringin? company?”
“I said alone.”
“He could bring company.”
“Now, he won?t do that.”
“You never know with these Feds.”
“He don?t have nothin? on me,” the Irishman said.
“He?s pretty quick, this guy.”
“Just camp out at Benny?s down the road. I need ya, I holler.”
“Want I should ring once and hang u when he leaves?”
“Good idea.”
“Everything calm out there?”
“No problem. Coupla shrimp boats went by. Nobody?s been down the road. There?s some jerk out
here trying to get his sailboat back to the city marina, which is kinda funny.”
“What?s so funny about it?”
“There ain?t no wind.”
“Well, don?t take no chances.”
“Don?t worry. You just hang out there at Benny?s, have a coupla beers, come on in when you see him
leave.
“Gotcha.”
They hung up and the Irishman switched on the radio and walked out onto the deck for a stretch. The
sailboat had drifted four hundred feet or so west of the shack, toward the city, and the sailor was
trying vainly to crank up his outboard, a typically sloppy weekend sailor in a floppy white hat, its
brim pulled down around his ears. The putz, he thought, was probably out of gas. But he had learned
