Chapter 4 - CULLING


Monkfish tails in batter were sizzling nicely, along with eggs and potatoes, filling SUZY's cabin with a mouth-watering aroma. Coffee was bubbling, and Sumner dug a carton of OJ out of the cooler.

"Juice?" He asked.

"Sure," Sonny said.

"Don't suppose you want to turn it in?" Sumner asked.

"Cold feet?" Sonny asked back, amused.

"Just askin. Wondering on how we'll turn it into the legal tender."

"No rush. It can ripen in the hay til we see how the wind blows."

They were silent for a spell, while Sonny dished out the feed. They both dug in with a vengeance.

"I've chewed on it a bit," Sumner said.

"And...?"

"You know Sidearm did a little time at that Opus-1 place, and I think he still knows some sleazeballs."

"Easy now." Sonny wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and reached for the coffee pot.

"Well.. it IS a pretty sleazy business, Sonny."

"Mmm. And we shouldn't take what falls in our laps? More mud?"

"Yeh.. OK. So I don't like the idea much, but in for a dime, in for a dollar."

Sonny nodded. "So what about Sidearm?" he prompted.

"Well.. I always figured he was into those lobster jackings.. someway."

Millions of dollars of live lobster had gone missing in recent years, along with the tractor-trailers they were traveling in. The drivers had been forced out at gunpoint in truck stops from Jersey to Buffalo. Sidearm Kelly was a longhaul trucker who drove tractor for Wild Bill Kellaher, and always seemed to know more than he ought to about the backside of cities. What to pay the lumpers at Fulton, or how to bribe a cop in the Hub. He'd been a semi-pro pitcher a few years back, but had bounced out of the minors after his second drug bust. The first one had resulted in a trip to a drug rehab program called Opus-1, which had a dubious reputation. Like a modern version of Fagin's school for pickpockets. Sidearm's slider, and his fascination with handguns, had provided his handle.

"He looked pretty beat-up after they jacked him," Sonny countered.

"Yeah.. well." Sumner let it hang.

Sonny was silent while Sumner picked up the dishes and began cleaning up. Sonny lit a smoke. "OK. Let's say Sidearm can make a deal. We'd have to cut him in."

"Gonna haveta cut someone in. You know any drug dealers?"

"Jesus, Sum. You think I'd be chasing Canadian codfish?"

"O you love it.. not to mention the bycatch." Sumner lifted an eyebrow.

Sonny had a girlfriend in every port, and the SUZY-Q was as likely to come ashore somewhere upwest as she was to return to Smithport after hauling back. Wild Bill made pickups all along the coast, and so did Sonny. Or, to be more exact, the minute they struck a pierhead, Sonny would make a phone call, and yet another young lovely would come driving in to pick HIM up. This was a pain in the ass for married crew like Sumner, who would end up doing all the shore work in some harbor upalong when he'd rather be home. Single guys, like Jumbo loved hanging in the portside bars, trying to get lucky, and Buster would just drown his demons.

"You do have a smart mouth this morning," Sonny remarked.

The sound of truck doors slamming rousted the gulls again, and Sonny rose and stretched.

"It's cullin time again, you're gonna leave me," Sumner sang to an old country tune.

"Nope. You're gonna come along and play, too." Sonny said.

Jumbo and Buster were breathless as they swung aboard the SUZY-Q, and Sonny gave them a sharp look.

"Trouble?"

"Naw," Jumbo said, and they both chuckled.

"You boys didn't sample the merchandise, did you?" Sonny wondered.

Both Jumbo and Buster laughed loud and long. What a pair of clowns, Sumner thought. Or Mutt and Jeff. Jumbo was built on the extra-large plan and tended to come out of his clothes when he bent over, as he was doing now, banging on the washboard with a meaty fist. Buster was a stubby little ratholer whose clothes always seemed too large, and now he was bobbing from foot to foot wearing a huge gap-tooth grin.

"Then I guess you won't be hungry," Sonny observed, shaking his head. "Let's get this barge off-loaded."

Buster scuttled up the ladder to send down some of Wild Bill's tubs, which were nested on the Co-op deck, while Sonny cranked the CAT to get the pump running, Sumner undogged the fish-hold, and Jumbo gazed abstractedly out toward the reach. The faintest line of gray was edging up over the islands beyond. There were lights on in the fishermen's' houses, and a couple of pickup trucks pulled into the Co-op lot, and disgorged lobstermen.

"Jumbo!" Sonny barked. "You better be cool."

"Cuke Cumbers." Jumbo said slowly and distinctly. Then he giggled and started to hook fish out of the hold a hundred miles and hour.