The Catch.

Tony had made the mistake of telling people he wasn’t doing anything.

Nothing meant fishing. He had bait, beer, a sandwich, a chair, and enough weed to make the distinction between catching fish and not catching fish less important. The little stereo had fresh batteries. He had checked the knot on his leader twice. There was no part of this arrangement that required another person.

By nine-fifteen, three people had asked whether he could do something.

He had finished the weekend’s Hayseed work, counted the folding tables back into storage, and returned a borrowed cart to a man who insisted a wheel had been different before Tony used it. He had then carried the same cart across the lot to demonstrate that all four wheels were still having their original problems. He felt he had earned Monday.

His last stop was Dollar General for ice.

Danny was at the register helping a woman compare two packages of batteries. He listened while she explained the remote control, the old batteries, and a television that had been fine until her nephew touched something. Tony waited behind her with the ice melting against his thigh.

“You got the ones out of the remote?” Danny asked.

She produced them from her purse.

“These are AA. You want this pack.”

She thanked him, put the other pack down, and began looking for a coupon.

Tony moved the ice to his other hand.

“You can set it there,” Danny told him.

“Then it gets wet.”

“It’s a counter.”

“I’m going fishing.”

“I know.”

Danny had known since Saturday. Most people Tony had spoken to since Saturday knew. It was an afternoon, not a military operation, but he had begun to suspect that withholding its details might have made it easier to carry out.

He set the ice down.

A man carrying a basket stopped beside him.

“You know where the charcoal is?”