Night Moves (Doc Ford) - By RandyWayne White Page 0,75

to him as I wrote ½ cup sifted flour, a pinch of sea salt on a legal pad. “Where’d he go?” I craned to have a look through a south window. “Or is he still on the porch?”

“It was because of your dog,” Diemer replied. “Whenever I moved, he showed his teeth, so your hippie friend led him ashore. Why people tolerate untrained animals, it is something I will never understand.”

“An impressive dog,” I agreed. “Unless you’re talking about Tomlinson.”

The Brazilian hesitated, then decided it was a joke. “Yes . . . very funny. Actually, the hippie appears to be fine. Not totally coherent, but no serious side effects from the drug. Mysterious, no?”

I shook my head—No—while I worked on the recipe. “I think the drug dealer underestimated my friend’s experience with hallucinogenics. Cressa only had a couple of puffs and look what happened to her.”

“Why would a person do this intentionally?” Diemer said, maybe interested, maybe not. It was the second time I’d baited him on the subject but still wasn’t convinced he had no knowledge of the Haitian drug-dealing witch doctor. The matter became no clearer when he added, “Smoking marijuana puts women in a more receptive mood, this I understand. A useful tool. But, personally, I think it’s silly—pay money to behave stupidly and laugh at nothing funny?” The man shrugged as he crouched to look over my shoulder and then switched the subject to what he saw on the computer screen. “Ah! Tarpon fishing! Why such ugly little boats?”

In a frozen frame of the video Deano had shot, a dozen high-speed outboards were clustered like bumper cars over a pod of tarpon that had just sounded, the tails of two fish throwing a beaded veil of spray. The hulls of the boats were vacuum-wrapped in neon plastic—yellow, tangerine, pink—then tattooed with advertising logos—Yamaha, Spiderwire, Shimano, Miller Lite—which fit the NASCAR attire of the anglers.

“A tournament,” I told him. “You ever hear of the Silver King Professional Circuit?” I was four ingredients into the fish gravy recipe but looked up to gauge the man’s reaction when I added, “A Florida investment group owns the television rights. Tomlinson found that out this afternoon. This footage was shot by someone who wanted to copy the format, but he also wanted to start a whole new series of tournaments. There’s a lot of money involved. People will do all sorts of crazy things for money—or to eliminate someone who gets in their way.”

Diemer nodded. We were on his home ground now. In fact, it gave me an idea. “Would you mind giving me your opinion on this footage?”

He was an observant man. I was interested in what he had to say about the tarpon footage, but I was more interested in what he knew about the dysfunctional Arturo family who vacationed in Europe and had plenty of money.

20

I HIT THE SPACE BAR WHILE THE BRAZILIAN PULLED up a chair, both of us cleaning our glasses in prelude to commenting on the action. The footage was raw, without a sound track or voice-over. As we watched, I explained to Diemer that it was shot in Boca Grande Pass during the last hour of the last tournament of the season and three of the boats in the bumper car jumble were tied for first place.

“Grand prize was a quarter million dollars,” I told him, “so tournaments like this have the built-in drama a television series needs—if they land fish. That’s the key: catching lots of fish.”

“How do you know this?” he said.

“I was there finishing a project,” I replied, aware that a more obvious question would have been to ask if I’d shot the footage. Had the articulate professional slipped?

If he did, the man recovered seamlessly, saying, “Good. The framing is passable . . . but amateurish. This person’s equipment lacks a stabilizer . . . and his lens is filthy. I should have known it wasn’t you behind the camera.”

The Brazilian might struggle with the subtleties of Yankee humor, but his powers of observation were first-rate. Something else: he knew photography.

“Watch how the boats move,” I said. “You’re a fisherman, so speak up if you see something . . . well, unusual. If you want it played back or stopped, just say.”

“You have never seen this before?”

Shaking my head, I tapped the screen to focus the man’s attention. “Watch . . . the school of tarpon is moving. See? Notice that all seven boats take off full speed after them. Now