Sleep with the Fishes Read Online Free

Chik winked at Russ and pushed forward the thermos, plastic cups, and white bag crammed with sticky buns. Russ plucked the pen from behind Chik’s ear, tore out a receipt from his pad, and started to draw a little map. Folks at the counter craned their necks to see. Russ kept lowering his shoulder to block their view.
    “There you go, Chik. Walleye. See you use that size Rapala in that color, and troll it right along through those holes just as early in the morning as you can.” Russ collected his stuff and turned sharply to the audience. “Good day, neighbors.” He backed out the door.
    Reverend Jim was waiting for him on the porch with one foot on the railing, his sharp red tongue poised in anticipation, and an ocher eye angled up at Russ. The Reverend’s affection for Russ was genuine, but the emotional tie did not keep him from robbing Russ blind. He had been banished from the Smonig abode for stealing coins, and he would loot the truck’s glove box at any opportunity. Russ walked past the Reverend, dipped his shoulder, and the crow hopped on, expressing joy with flicks of his tongue and fanning wings.
    The Reverend Jim was named for a popular TV evangelist. As Russ climbed into his truck, the Reverend took his place on the International Harvester’s gearshift knob. He would hop down every time Russ shifted gears, then pop right back up. Turning the pickup’s key for a while, Russ whispered curses at his reluctant ignition and eyed his black thieving friend.
    Eating a piece of toast slathered in jam, Jenny sauntered out of the diner and over to the truck.
    “Well, seeing as how you’re at least willing to barter, might ya accept information? Hey, Reverend Jim—how’s my baby?” Jenny waved at the bird, who uttered a low, curious rattle like dice in a cup.
    Russ gave the key a rest. He dished up his fatigued smile for Jenny.
    “O.K., Russ, just to show that I for one know how to be neighborly, I’ll give ya the information free and see if your conscience doesn’t do the rest. Ya have a new next-door neighbor.” She chomped her toast, licking grape jam from her lips.
    “At the Ballard place, I’ll bet. I heard some cars over there. So?”
    “Well, Russ honey, my brother Matt was over there turning on the water and gas and such. And do ya know what he saw?”
    She arched an eyebrow. Russ’s eyebrows remained the same.
    “I’ll tell ya what he saw. Your new next-door neighbor is not only from the city, but he is also loaded with fishing tackle. He’s got rods sticking out all over the place. And in his pocket he keeps a wad of bills this thick. Tipped Matt ten bucks, just like that.” Jenny shoved the rest of the toast in her mouth.
    “Might not need any guiding if he has all that tackle.” Russ’s lips puckered in thought.
    “Russ, don’t be a dope,” she said around the toast, swallowing hard. “It don’t matter how many rods he got. He’s not from around here! He doesn’t know the hot spots like you do, now does he?”
    Russ’s eyebrows arched. Reverend Jim began clucking impatiently.
    “Let’s put it this way, Smonig: if you do get this new neighbor as a sport, I want a little map like you gave Chik, but with an
X
marking the secret shad spot.” Jenny licked jam from her thumb.
    Russ looked up at her sharply.
    “It’s a deal.” He cranked the key and seemed to catch the ignition off guard. The truck started.
             
    Like most crows, Reverend Jim was clever to the verge of being psychic. He never failed to show up when Russ was headed for Phennel Rowe’s place, and as it happened Russ planned to drop off some fish fillets there on his way back from the Five Star.
    “I hears you got a new neighba’, Mr. Smonig,” Phennel croaked from her gray porch rocker. A hand-painted black and olive sign hung low over the porch steps: “ANTIQUES—Used Furniture.” A similar sign posted like a warning in the yard declared “LAMPERS,” which referred to the baby bloodsucking