Black Eyes

Black Eyes

Roger looked around to make sure he still had this stretch of the river to himself. The coast was clear and he bent over his fishing pole and removed the hook from the mouth of the fish. With a final glance up and down the river, he tossed the illegal bass into a cooler, where it joined a dozen other unlucky stripers gazing up at him with cold black eyes. Roger slammed the lid down and smiled.

*****

Rob lowered the binoculars and brushed a buzzing mosquito away from his sweaty face. The thick Spanish moss hanging from the cypress trees provided perfect cover, camouflaging the small boat with its official law enforcement paint job. The man had hauled in thirteen bass, and Rob would bet a week's paycheck that none of them met the minimum size requirement. Calculating the fines in his head, he smiled.

*****

Rosie looked up from the kitchen sink when she heard Roger's truck. He pulled into the driveway, the new boat and trailer behind him. Rosie dried her hands and hurried outside, eager to hear how many fish Roger had caught. She smiled, thinking of the fried fish dinner they'd enjoy tonight.

*****

Roger pushed his credit card across the bar and ordered a beer. Maybe after another beer or two, Rosie would be asleep and he could sneak into the house. He lowered the towel the bartender had filled with ice cubes and looked into the mirror hanging behind the bar. Rosie's right hook had caught him good and his left eye was black and swollen. His stomach grumbled and he remembered the dinner he'd missed. He'd been fined five-hundred dollars, had his fish confiscated, got punched by his wife, and kicked out of his own house. Roger dug into the stale pretzels and frowned.

Word count: 299