Water glistened on both sides of the dike。 Under a thin fog； Lunker Lake Number Seven lay as flat and dead as a cistern； by contrast； the small pool on the Everglades side was dimpled with darting minnows and waterbugs。 The pocket was lushly fringed with cattails and sawgrass and crisp round lily pads as big as pizzas。 Something else floated in the pool…a plastic Clorox bottle； tied to a rope。
Eddie Spurling noticed how out of place it looked； obscene； really； like litter。 The whole idea of it made him mad…Weeb and his damn Alabama imports。 Eddie carefully made his way down the slope of the dike； his boots sliding in the loose dirt。 At the edge of the pool he found a long stick； which he used to snag the floating bleach bottle。
He got hold of the rope and pulled it hand over hand。 The fish trap was unexpectedly heavy； leaden almost。 Must've got tangled in the hydrilla weed； Eddie thought。
When the cage finally broke the surface； he dropped the stick and grabbed the mesh with his fingers。 Then he pulled it to shore。
Eddie shone his flashlight in the cage and said； 〃My God！〃 He couldn't believe the size of it…a coppery…black bass of grotesque proportions； so huge it could've been a deep…sea grouper。 It looked thirty pounds。 The hawg glared at Eddie and thrashed furiously in its wire prison。 Eddie could only stare； awestruck。 He thought： This is impossible。
On the other side of the pond something made a noise； and Eddie Spurling went cold。 He recognized the naked click of a rifle hammer。
A deep voice said： 〃Put her back。〃
Eddie swallowed dryly。 He was almost too terrified to move。
The gun went off and the Clorox bottle exploded at his feet。 After the echo faded； the voice said： 〃Now。〃
Rubber…kneed； Eddie lowered the fish cage back into the pool； letting the wet rope pay through his ringers。
Across the pond； the rifleman rose from the cattails。 By the size of the silhouette Eddie Spurling saw that the man was quite large。 His appearance was made more ominous by military fatigues and some sort of black mask。 The man sloshed through the marsh and hiked up the side of the dike。 Eddie thought about running but there was no place to go； he thought about swimming but there was a problem with snakes and alligators。 So he just stood there； trying not to soil himself。
Soon the rifleman loomed directly above him； on the dike。
〃Kill the flashlight；〃 the man said。
He was close enough for Eddie to make out his features。 He had long dark hair and a ratty beard and a flowered plastic cap on his head。 The mask turned out to be sunglasses。 The rifle was a Remington。
〃I'm Fast Eddie Spurling。〃
〃Who asked？〃
〃From television？〃
〃I watch no television；〃 said the rifleman。
Eddie tried a different approach。 〃Is it money you want？ The Jeep？ Go ahead and take it。〃
Without blinking； the rifleman turned and blasted the tinted windshield out of Eddie Spurling's Wagoneer。 〃I got my own truck； thanks；〃 he said。 Then he shot out the fog lights； too。
Eddie was sweating ice water。
The man said； 'That's some fish； huh？〃
Eddie nodded energetically。 〃Biggest I ever saw。〃
〃Name's Queenie。〃
〃Real nice；〃 Eddie said desperately。 He was quite certain the hairy rifleman was going to kill him。
〃You're probably curious what happened to yours。〃
〃They weren't really mine；〃 Eddie said。
The man laughed thinly。 〃You just came all the way out here to say hello。〃
Eddie said； 〃No； sir； I came to let 'em go。〃
〃How about I just shoot off your pecker and get it over with？〃
〃Please；〃 Eddie cried。 〃I mean it； I was about to set them fish free。 Check the truck if you don't believe it。 If I was gonna take 'em； I'd have brung a livewell； right？ I'd have brung the damn boat； wouldn't I？〃
The rifleman seemed to be thinking it over。
Eddie went on： 〃And why would I be here three hours before the tournament and risk having 'em croak on me？〃
The man said； 〃You're not one of the cheaters？〃
〃No； and I don't aim to start。 I couldn't go through with it； so screw Charlie Weeb。〃
The rifleman lowered his gun。 〃I let those ringer bass go。〃
Eddie Spurting said； 〃Well； I'm glad you did。〃
〃Three hawgsters。 One must've gone at least eleven…eight。〃
〃Well；〃 said Eddie； 〃maybe I'll catch him someday； when he's bigger。〃
The man said： 〃What about Queenie？ What would you have done about her？〃
Without hesitating Eddie said； 〃I'd a let her go too 〃
〃I bet。〃
〃What would be the point of killing her； mister？ Suppose I took that monster home and stuffed her。 Every time I'd walk in the den she'd be staring down from the wall； the awful truth in those damn purple eyes。 I couldn't live with it； mister。 That's why I say； you didn't need the gun。 I'd a let her go anyway。〃
The rifleman stood there； showing nothing。 The sunglasses scared the hell out of Eddie。
〃I've got a boy； mister； age nine；〃 Eddie said。 〃You think I could lie to my boy about a fish like that？ Say I caught it when I didn't？〃
〃Some men could。〃
〃Not me。〃
The rifleman said： 〃I believe you； Mr。 Spurling。 Now； get the fuck out of here； please。〃
Eddie obediently scrambled up the bank of the dike。 He hopped in the Jeep without even brushing the broken glass off the seat。
〃Can you turn this thing around okay？〃
〃Yeah；〃 Eddie said； 〃I got four…wheel drive。〃 In the dark he groped nervously for the keys。
〃The seam of the universe；〃 the rifleman mused。 〃This dike is like the moral seam of the universe。〃
〃It's narrow； that's for sure；〃 Eddie said。
〃Evil on the one side； good on the other。〃 The man illustrated by pointing with the Remington。
Eddie stuck his head out the window and said very politely： 〃Can I ask what you plan to do with that big beautiful bass？〃
〃I plan to let her go；〃 the man said； 〃in about five minutes。〃 He didn't say where； on which side of the seam。
Eddie knew he shouldn't press his luck； knew he should just get the hell away from this lunatic； but he couldn't help it。 The fisherman in him just had to ask： 〃What's she weigh； anyhow？〃
〃Twenty…nine even。〃
〃Holy moly。〃 Fast Eddie Spurling gasped。
〃Now get lost；〃 said the rifleman； 〃and good luck in the tournament。〃
After Eddie had gone； Skink hauled the big fish out of the pool。 He propped the cage yoke…style across his shoulders and carried it across the dike to Lunker Lakes。 He put it back in the water while he searched the banks until he found the two beer cans marking the spot where Jim Tile and Al Garcia had sunk the brushpile。
Skink hoisted the cage once more and moved it to the secret spot。 This time he removed the big bass； pointed her toward the submerged obstruction； and gently let her go。 The fish kicked once； roiled； and was gone。 〃See you tonight；〃 Skink said。 〃Then we go home。〃
Rifle in hand； he stood on the dike for two hours and watched the night start to fade。 On the Everglades side； a heron croaked and redwings bickered in the bulrushes； the other side of the dike lay mute and lifeless。 Skink waited for something to show in Lunker Lake Number Seven…a turtle； a garfish； anything。 He waited a long time。
Then； deep in worry； he trudged down the dike to where he'd left his truck。 To the east； at the dirty rim of the city； the sun was ing up。
At that moment R。 J。 Decker parked his car behind a row of construction trailers at Lunker Lakes。 Dawn was the best time to move； because by then most rent…a…cops were either asleep or shooting the shit around the timeclock； waiting to punch out。 Decker spotted only one uniformed guard； a rotund and florid fellow who emerged from one of the trailers just long enough to take a leak； then shut the door。
Decker checked the camera again。 It was a Minolta Maxxum； a sturdy thirty…five…millimeter he'd picked up at a West Palm Beach discount house that took credit cards。 He was thinking that a Kodak or a Sure…Shot might have worked just as well； but he'd been in such a hurry。 He opened the back of the frame and inspected the loading mechanism； he did the same with the motor…drive unit。
Satisfied； Decker capped the lens； closed up the camera； and locked it in the glove partment of Al Garcia's car。 Then he got the bolt…cutters out of the trunk and snuck up to the supply shed； where he went to work on the padlock。
The blast…off for the Dickie Lockhart Memorial Bass Blasters Classic was set for six…thirty； but the anglers arrived very early to put their boats in the water and test their gear and collect free goodies from tackle reps up and down the dock。 The fishermen knew that whoever won this tournament might never have to wet a line again； not just because of the tremendous purse but because of the product endorsements to follow。 The bass lure that took first prize in the Lockhart undoubtedly would be the hottest item in freshwater bait shops for a year。 There was no logic to this fad； since bass will eat just about anything （including their own young）； but the tackle panies did everything in their power to encourage manic buying。 Before the opening gun they loaded down the contestants with free plugs； jigs； spinners； and of course rubber worms； displayed in giant plastic vats like so much hellish purple pasta。
The morning was cool and clear； there was talk it mig