Knight waved at the fisherman, who was busy hand-cleaning a big bass. “Hey, Knight,” the man called up to him.
“Eduardo,” Knight called back to him. “What’ve you got for me?”
“Bass today.”
“No salmon yet?”
“They ain’ runnin’.”
Knight squatted down to the level of the boat, looking down at the pile of bass that had already been cleaned. “Bass ain’ tha’ good f’r fish an’ chips.”
“Th’ ol’ lady got some flash-frozen cod this mornin’.”
Knight’s eyes twinkled, “Did she, now?”
Eduardo laughed, “Ah, I can see in your eye, you’re thinkin’ about it!”
“Cod is best for fish an’ chips.”
“Call her, then.”
“You talk to her, I can’t speak Spanish.”
Eduardo laughed again, “Gringo,” he snapped, and wiped his hands on a rag before getting out his phone. He called someone, and after some rapid-fire Spanish, he asked him, “How much?”
“Fifty pounds.”
“Two dollars a pound.”
“A dollar fifty.”
“One seventy-five!”
Knight shook his head, “One-fifty. It’s frozen. I’m payin’ f’r water.”
“You’re gonna put me outta business!”
“Y’ said tha’ when we first started and now look where we are.”
It was true – Eduardo was getting more customers now than ever. Knight advertised, right on the menu, who was providing the fish, and some of Knight’s competition was buying off of him now. Knight usually got there first – and if he didn’t, Eduardo saved the some good ones for him. Knight knew it, Eduardo knew it, but they didn’t discuss it.
Eduardo told her the price, and even Knight could hear her screaming at him as Eduardo held the phone away from his ear. Eduardo rolled his eyes and waited. When she finally calmed down, he talked to her again, and she probably grumbled before hanging up.
“How much bass?”
“Thirty.”
“That’s all?”
“It won’t sell if I got th’ cod.”
“You’re killin’ me.”
“It’s my job to.”
Eduardo handed up about forty pounds of fish in a big wax-plastic bag. “Enjoy y’self. What’s on the menu?”
“Gonna roast it, I think. ‘r shish kabob.”
“Don’ forget to stop at Lalia’s.”
“She gonna scream at me?”
“Probably.”
“Great.”
He took his bass and went back to the bike. He rode about half a mile down the road to a fish market that Eduardo owned with Lalia and her family. He walked in and she already started, “A dollar fifty? What did you do to Eduardo? Why did he sell it so cheap! Do you know how much I paid for that?”
“If y’ paid a dollar fifty, it was too—“
“I paid two fifty. From New York City!”
“Lalia, y’ have family there, and—“
“Do you know the…the…” She searched for the English word, and Knight slapped down a one hundred dollar bill.
She whipped away the hundred dollar bill and pointed to the freezer. Knight smiled and thanked her. He picked up the fifty pound block of cod, wrapped it up in some wax paper, and carried it out to the bike. He lashed it on behind him and rode to O’Keefe’s.
He thanked his lucky stars that Kord let him borrow the bike until Kitty got fixed. He had stopped in to Brixl’s the night before and saw a red-haired man who, although he was small, was pretty feisty. He wouldn’t let Knight into the shop for OSHA reasons, but Brixl came up and defused a possible fight. Brixl showed Knight what he had done so far, crossed something off Knight’s list, and Knight went back home, satisfied.
It was there that this guy named Ben was, and he handed Knight the key, telling him where to find the bike. Kord was in a bad way, and it would be a good idea not to visit him because it was “dangerous.” Of course, that usually wouldn’t have stopped Knight before, but Ben seemed so adamant about it that Knight didn’t go to Kord’s. He would try to get to see him tonight, definitely.
Last night, Knight had fallen asleep on his own, curled up with one of Mal’s shirts.