PAYBACK TIME

By

Dorothy Francis

Maude Bowman braced herself against the roll of the small skiff and helped Harry from his motorized wheelchair and into his fishing harness, her maimed hand fumbling with the belt, the buckle..  Since his stroke, fly fishing here in the Keys was the only recreation her husband enjoyed.  She rejoiced that time and therapy had restored the strength of his upper body, his casting arm, his accurate aim.

            “Thanks you, Maude.  You know how I hate being such a burden.”

            “Hush such talk, Harry.  We’ve always looked out for each other, haven’t we?  Don’t know what I’d do without you  And we both love fishing.”

Thank goodness Harry had insisted that she continue fishing in spite of the boating accident 30 yeas ago that claimed three fingers.  Had he not insisted, she might have let fear of boats control her life.

            As Harry prepared for his first cast, loud music blared into the silence.  Scamp Rover’s speedboat sliced through the shallow water, bearing down on them.  With heart pounding, Maude grabbed the wheel for support, waiting for the impact that might sink their boat and kill them both.  But, as usual, Scamp made a sharp turn, missed them by inches, and roared away, laughing as he scared every fish within a mile.

            “Might as well leave.” Harry slammed his rod down.  “He’ll just follow us if we move to another spot. One of these days he’s going to kill us.”

            When Maude stopped shaking, she started their motor and headed home.

            That night, fired by anger, Maude walked the short distance to Scamp’s run-down apartment, knocked on his door.  Fear left her mouth cotton dry, but she vowed to keep her voice firm.  When Scamp opened his door, he towered over her in his filthy sweatshirt, his bikini shorts, and his dirty bare feet.  The stench of stale beer enveloped him.

            “What you want, old lady?

            “I’m here to ask you to leave Harry and me alone. Let us enjoy the one pleasure we have at this time of our lives.  Fishing.”

            “Huh!  No way!  Not after you passed that petition asking the commissioners to ban speedboats from the flats.  You do me dirt.  I do you dirt.  I’m out to get you.”

            “You’re threatening our lives?”

            “You’ll know tomorrow.  Hope your will’s up to date.”

            After returning home, Maude drove to see George Alder, Marine Patrol captain.  Rangy and wiry with piercing blue eyes, George inspired her trust.

            “Come in, Maude.  How may I help you?” 

            George listened to Maude’s story, then shook his head.  “Others have complained about Scamp, Maude, but I can do nothing about what might happen.”

            “He operates his boat recklessly and vindictively.  George, he threatened me.  A threat to me is a threat to Harry, too.”   

            “Any proof?”

            “No, but why don’t you patrol Watson cove tomorrow afternoon.  Hide in the mangrove trees.  When Scamp races to within inches of our boat, he’s breaking the law.  You could nail him then and there.”

            “True, but I have to see it happen.  I can’t watchdog your boat and give you special protection.”

            Maude sighed. “You haven’t hear the last of this, George.”

            “Don’t go planning anything rash, Maude.  You and Harry have placed yourselves in danger by circulating that petition.”

            Maude told Harry about her visit to George, but she said nothing about her talk with Scamp. That night Maude sensed Harry sleeping fitfully, but he never called for help. At dawn still no solution to the Scamp problem had flashed into her mind.

            That afternoon they boated to their favorite fishing spot.  No sign of Scamp.  Nor of George.  Maude’s hands shook as she gave Harry his fishing rod and took her place in the stern.  They had made only a few casts before they heard the radio, the familiar motor roar.  Scamp was slicing toward them, his mocking grin taunting them.

            Would he risk his own life and his own boat by ramming them?  She grabbed the wheel to steady herself.  Again, Scamp turned his boat at the last instant, but this time a round red object zinged through the air.  Moments later, Scamp splashed into the sea, his boat zooming ahead for a quarter of a mile before it began to circle aimlessly.

            “What happened?” Maude peered into the distance.

            “Looks like he got a dunking.” Harry sniffed.  “He deserved it.”

            At that moment George and a partner churned a Marine Patrol boat from a hidden cove.  They sped to Scamp’s aid, hauled him aboard, and then sped off.  Maude and Harry stared until George was out of sight, then they resumed fishing.

            “Guess George listened to you after all, Maude.  Glad you went to talk to him.”

 Almost two hours passed before George returned and pulled alongside of them.

            “You going to do something about him now?” Maude asked.

            George studied Maude a moment before replying.  “He’s dead, Maude.”

            “Dead?” She made no attempt to act sorry.  Nor did Harry.

            “What happened?” Harry avoided Maude’s gaze.

            “Scamp pulled a stupid trick.  He was always one to ignore safety rules.  This time he was speeding with his anchor rope tied to the stern of the boat. The rush of wind when he turned suddenly and aimed at you must have blown the anchor rope into the sea, jerking the anchor overboard.”

            “But wouldn’t that have slowed his boat?” Maude asked.

            George shook his head.  “At that speed, when the rope went taut, the anchor recoiled and hit him in the head.”

            “If I said I was sorry, I’d be lying,” Maude said.

            George shrugged.  “Sometimes fate takes care of our problems.”

“Thank you for your help, George,” Maude said.

            Harry continued casting after George left, thinking about Maude’s hand.  He remembered a boating accident years ago, an accident his thoughtlessness had caused, that resulted in Maude’s injury. He had learned a hard lesson that day.

            Never again had he tied an anchor rope to a boat when the boat would be moving.  Never.  Until last night.  After Maude had fallen asleep, he had managed to drag himself into his chair and wheel it through the dark to Scamp’s dock.  He and Maude had to look after each other, didn’t they?