Backcast (38 page)

“What is it?” Montana scrambled to her feet.

“I don't know. It feels like it's
stuck
. I can barely reel it in.”

“Is the line snagged on something?”

Quinn tried again. The handle turned, but slowly. At this rate, it would take her half an hour to bring the fish up, and that was if her line didn't break first.

“No. But I don't know what's wrong with it. The line keeps hitching when the fish changes direction.”

“It sounds like a bad drag washer.”

Quinn looked at Marvin with surprise.

He shrugged. “I borrowed some
Bass Angler
magazines from Page.”

“I don't think it matters.” Montana was pointing at the water. “It looks like we've got bigger problems—that thing is coming in on its own.”

“Holy shit!” Marvin was leaning over the side of the pontoon. “What the hell is this—a remake of
Jaws?
That damn thing is charging the boat!”

“No, it isn't.” Montana corrected Marvin. “It's going
under
the boat.”

Quinn saw the flash of something familiar in the water. It was brown and silver. It moved with ease and determination. It was there, and not there—all at the same time.

The hitch in her breathing matched the action on her line. Her heart started thudding in her chest.

It wasn't possible.

“What am I supposed to do?” She began to panic. She didn't want to mess this up.
Not now.

“Take up as much of the slack as you can.” Montana took off for the bridge. “I need to turn the damn boat around.”

Marvin was suspicious. “What the hell is this thing up to?”

Montana started one of the engines and slowly swung the back end of the boat around so Quinn was facing the right direction.

“That bitch is trying to lead us into the shoals!” Marvin glowered at Quinn. “Why didn't you let me bring my damn weapon?”

“We can't
shoot
the fish, Mavis—Marvin.” Montana cut the motor. “Kill shots are against the rules. If we have to, we'll cut the line.”

“We won't have to.” Quinn's reel was working more easily now. “She's not fighting as hard. I think she's played out.”

“I don't trust her.” Marvin took up the net again. “Bitches like that never get enough.”

“She's not a bitch.” Quinn kept taking up the line.

“It's her, isn't it?”

Quinn nodded at him. “I think so.”

“Her, who?” Montana rejoined them.

“Look!” Marvin pointed at the monstrous fish cutting through the water toward the boat.

“Oh, my
god
.” Montana clutched Marvin's arm. “We're gonna need a bigger net.”

“You think?” Marvin got down on his knees and shoved the net into the water. “Don't try to lift it with the pole. Let me see if I can get the net under it.”

“She won't fight you.” Quinn stopped turning the reel. The big fish was alongside the boat now.

“From your mouth to god's ear.” Marvin pushed the net deeper into the water.

Quinn was right. Phoebe didn't fight. She calmly drifted into Marvin's net and waited for him to haul her up into the boat.

“Jeez Louise!” Marvin used both hands to raise the net. “This fucker has to weigh at least twenty-five pounds.”

“I can't believe this, I can't believe this.” Montana was practically in shock. “You got her. You actually
got
her. And she's
huge
.”

Quinn dropped her rod to the deck and scrambled over to help Marvin.

“Help me lift her so I can get the hook out of her mouth.”

Marvin looked at her like she'd taken complete leave of her senses. “I am
so
not touching this slimy thing.”

“I'll do it.” Montana knelt beside him and quickly plunged her hands into the water so they were good and wet. “Mavis—Marvin, go turn on the aerator.”

Quinn knew she had to work fast. This wasn't like her dreams. Phoebe wouldn't last long out of the water. There was no time for chitchat or to kick back and ponder the enormity of the event. She needed to remove the hook, and transfer Phoebe to the tank, pronto.

After she wet her hands, she gingerly took hold of the giant fish and lifted her up—being careful to support her weight on both ends. Junior told her never to lift them up by the jaw. That approach never would've worked here, anyway. Phoebe was definitely a full-figure girl.

Montana took hold of her underside to lend support while Quinn took out the hook.

When she reached into Phoebe's mouth, something incredible happened. She heard a soft, popping noise—almost like a belch—and Laddie's fly shot out.

Quinn caught it in her hand and stared at it with disbelief.

Montana was stunned. “Tell me that did
not
just happen.”

Quinn gaped at her.

“She wasn't hooked?”

“I guess not.”

“She was just
holding
that thing in her mouth?” Montana was shaking her head. “This just can't get any weirder.”

Quinn dropped the fly and took hold of the fish again. “Let's get her into the tank.”

She carried Phoebe over to the giant cooler and carefully lowered her into the water. Marvin had the aerator running and was already at the fridge getting out the frozen bottles of water.

Phoebe sat calmly in the tank, just like she'd always planned on being there. Quinn watched her to be sure she was okay. It wasn't like she had a lot of room to maneuver, even if she'd wanted to. She was a big fish and she made the huge cooler look small.

Montana followed her over to the tank and knelt beside her. Quinn looked over at her with concern.

“Do you think she has enough room?”

“Oh, yeah.” Montana nodded. “It's not like she's got anyplace to go.”

Quinn wasn't sure about that. She knew that one thing Phoebe liked was moving around. For the better part of two centuries, she'd had her pick of about five hundred square miles of lake to call her own. The interior of this jury-rigged live well could hardly hold a candle to that.

At least she wouldn't be in there for long. After the weigh-in, she'd be released. Quinn was glad they weren't too far from Plattsburgh. At least Phoebe wouldn't have far to travel to get back to whatever she was doing in this part of the lake.

Marvin walked over and handed Montana two grape Fanta bottles filled with frozen water.

“Thanks.” Montana leaned over the cooler to place the bottles at opposite ends, but recoiled before reaching into the tank. “What the hell is that thing doing in there?”

Marvin chuckled.

“You're a pervert.” She thrust the bottles at Quinn and stood up. “I'm getting us out of here.”

“Hey?” Marvin pointed at Phoebe. “Unlike you, she doesn't seem to mind it.”

“What-ever.” Montana stomped off to start the engines.

Quinn positioned the two bottles so they wouldn't be in Phoebe's way. She'd already added the right amount of noniodized salt to the tank when she refilled it with fresh water that morning.

“Here. I picked this up for you.” Marvin handed Quinn Laddie's jointed yellow tail fly. “I have a feeling this one is going to be legendary.”

“Thanks.” Quinn pulled the Lucky Strike tin from her pocket and put the tiny rig away.

Marvin walked back to reclaim his seat on the recliner, and left her alone with Phoebe.

Quinn sat watching her and wondered what Junior would say when he found out that it was one of his granddad's flies that ended up hooking the most famous fish to ever swim these waters.

But that wasn't right. Phoebe
hadn't
been hooked. Phoebe had . . .

What had Phoebe done?

Quinn still didn't know.

The only thing she was sure about was that she hadn't really caught her—not in any of the ways that counted.

Still. There she was, slowly swishing her tail in the cool water of Quinn's homemade live well.

Montana had them out in the channel now. They were gaining steam, roaring down that imaginary state line that would take them straight to Dock Street Marina. For once, both of the motors seemed to be working.

There was no longer any reason to tarry, and there was
every
reason to celebrate.

Quinn was aware of feeling many things—but celebratory wasn't one of them. Most of her emotions were tangled up together like the wad of fishing line she'd had to leave hanging in that tree yesterday. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to sort them all out. And maybe she didn't need to.

For now, it was enough just to sit here and share this small bit of quiet space with the great fish that had spawned rumors, inspired myths, and defied anglers for generations.

True to form, and oddly like the stuff of all great legends, Phoebe kept her head down and held her peace.

Dock Street Marina was humming like a beehive. The final day of a big fishing tournament was a real media event in a lakefront community that made its living on tourism. A TV crew from the local station in Plattsburgh had set up near the judging area, and a cameraman was out shooting footage of all the high-dollar boats heading in for the final showdown.

The location of the slip you were assigned was based on your standing in the contest, so Quinn's spot was a primo one, not too far from all the action. It was a far cry from where she started out on the first day. But even her prestigious ranking wasn't enough to quell the eye-rolling and sarcastic remarks she overheard when they tied up and got ready to check in. That part didn't really bother her. She'd had a lifetime of getting used to it.

There was excitement in the air. People knew the point totals were close, and there was a lot of speculation about who was ultimately going to walk away with the big purse and the hopped-up Ranger bass boat. They had the dart-shaped, shiny black boat and its companion Evinrude E-Tech motor on display against a colorful backdrop inside a makeshift winner's circle.

There were people everyplace. Quinn could hear music playing. It didn't sound live, so she figured they must have loudspeakers set up out in the dock area.

Some of the teams had already checked in and were starting to line up. Anglers wearing snappy jumpsuits that were covered with corporate sponsor logos were making their way along the docks carrying their regulation, mesh weigh bags full of fat fish. This part of the process always went pretty fast. They couldn't really drag it out when they knew they needed to record the catches and get the bass back into the holding tanks that would take them back out to the center of the lake for release. Quinn knew the drill by now.

A tournament official checked them in. His eyes about popped out of his head when he looked into their live well. Quinn could tell he didn't quite believe what he was seeing. He stared into the tank with a stunned expression. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He could have been shocked by the size of the fish—or shocked by the size of the dildo. It was hard to tell. After about a full minute,
he handed Quinn a mesh bag and a card with her weigh-in time stamped on it. He left the boat without saying anything.

Quinn checked her card. Since she was in second place, she'd be in the last group called up. That meant they still had a bit of time to wait on the boat before they took Phoebe out and carried her to one of the big, open cooling tanks in the judging area.

They kept hearing roars of cheering and applause as the weight totals were called out. She could tell by their reactions that Marvin and Montana wanted to go watch the show.

“You two go on ahead.” She gestured toward the staging area. “I'll stay here with Phoebe until our group gets called up.”

“Are you sure?” Montana seemed reluctant to leave. “I can wait here with you.”

Quinn shook her head. “It's fine. I think I'd like to stay here.”

“Come on, little girl.” Marvin took Montana by the arm. “Let's give these women some privacy.”

Quinn was happy when Montana didn't argue. The two of them hopped off the boat onto the dock.

“We'll come back and get you when it's our turn.”

Quinn smiled at her. “We'll both be ready.”

She watched them walk off until they disappeared into the crowd. Then she went over to check on Phoebe. They'd closed the cover on the cooler after the check-in. Too much unfiltered light was hard on Phoebe's eyes. Quinn had been amazed at how they looked up close—black, fathomless eyes that were like the inside of a well.

She inched back a corner of the cover so she could peek inside at her. She was shocked to see Phoebe's broad face, poking up out of the water, looking right back at her. Her mouth was working.

Quinn thought maybe she wanted something to eat. She remembered how hungry Phoebe had been in her dream.

She went to the Kelvinator and retrieved a small Ziploc bag.

Here goes nothing.
She opened the end of the bag and held it over the cooler. She hesitated. Would it hurt Phoebe?
Probably not.
If she didn't eat it, it would just sink to the bottom of the water. It couldn't be any worse than most of the crap that floated around near the bottom of the lake.