FICTION: Catch

"I’d like to line them up shortest to tallest and flog them with their nine weights."

"Their nine weights?"

"Yes, their nine weights."

Sweat beading on his brow, the chairman leaned and glanced fretfully around the marina. "Is there a problem on your boat?" he whispered.

"Only if cheating is a problem."

"Is cheating a problem?"

"It is on my boat."

"Is it on your boat?"

"It’s all over my boat."

"Cheating?"

"Yes, cheating."

The chairman mopped his forehead, reached without looking for his drink, swigged from someone else’s, and then motioned the skiff guide away from the crowd and over to the crab tank where the gurgling aerator might temper their conversation.

"This is a serious accusation, and I’ll need the details."

"You’ll need the details?"

"Yes, the details. How is he cheating?"

"He’s cheating very well. The bonefish he’s catching aren’t as long as he’s claiming."

"How long are the one’s he’s claiming?"

"Substantially longer than the ones he’s catching."

"But you’ve been witnessing the measurements, as required, so how are the fish he’s catching different from the ones he’s claiming?"

"Because he’s very fast."

"He’s very fast at what?"

"He’s very fast at measuring, claiming, and cheating."

"So he’s measuring, and claiming, and cheating without your witnessing?"

"That’s right, without my witnessing."

"Why aren’t you witnessing?"

"Because he’s very fast and bonefish are very slimy."

"Slimy?"

"Very slimy."

"What does slimy have to do with the cheater being fast?"

"It has nothing to with the cheater being fast, but it has everything to do with bonefish being fast."

"And that’s why you haven’t been witnessing?"

"That’s right. Bonefish slime on a skiff deck is very dangerous, and after a fish is landed I always dab it up before I do anything else. While I’m dabbing he’s measuring."

"Can you be faster at dabbing?"

"Not as fast as he is at measuring."

The cheater was drifting through

the crowd shaking hands and proudly

re-counting the release of his fourth huge bonefish of the tournament.

"He’s been fly fishing professionally for thirty years and I simply do not tolerate cheating in my tournaments," huffed the chairman as he nodded toward the cheater.

"Has he ever fished in your tournaments?" asked the skiff guide.

"Not in my tournaments, no."

"Then how do you know you don’t tolerate cheating? You’ve never had one before."

"A tournament?"

"No, a cheater."

The chairman fixed a cold stare upon the accused as he continued farming accolades from the onlookers. "Tomorrow’s the grand finale and he’ll win it for sure unless you intervene."

"Then he’ll win it for sure."

"Why will he win it for sure?"

"Because I won’t intervene."

"You won’t intervene?"

"Absolutely not. Intervention, in this case, will result in no gratuity; and since he’s the most arrogant swine I’ve ever guided, I simply cannot risk four days on the water with no gratuity."

"No gratuity?"

"Not if I intervene."

"Could you intervene after the tournament?"

"After the tournament?"

"After your gratuity."

"After the tournament—— my gratuity—I’ll expose him for the cheating lout that he is."

"No—no! You mustn’t expose him."

"I mustn’t expose him?"

"No. You mustn’t expose him because I don’t tolerate cheating in my tournaments."

The skiff guide pried off his sweaty cap, and rubbed the jar-lid creases on his alabaster forehead. "Then perhaps I can stomp his rod and shove him in the water for no apparent reason?"

"After the tournament?"

"After my gratuity."

"Absolutely. After the tournament—— your gratuity—please intervene as you deem necessary; but don’t explain to him why you are intervening."

"Because you don’t tolerate cheating in your tournaments?"

"That’s right. I do not tolerate cheating in my tournaments... and it’s been a darn grand tournament—don’t you think?"

Tosh Brown is the author of Texas Tides—an exquisite collection of words and photos showcasing the delicate beauty of Lone Star State cast and blast.