Bait: A Novel by J. Kent Messum Page B

than the average Joe. His years working as a janitor at the marina had given him the knowledge, back before he got fired for trespassing on people’s docked vessels.
    “Shit job anyway,” Tal mumbled, tuning his E string.
    During his employment he’d overheard much at the marina. Scores of Jimmy Buffetts with one too many margaritas down the hatch had given Tal insight into high-class life on the water. Tal took notes, a habit that had eventually led him to board boats in search of things to boost. He knew how much these vessels sold for, how much fuel they consumed, how much their insurance cost, how much they depreciated over time. He knew what parts could be stolen and sold for a pretty penny too. A fish finder could go for hundreds of dollars, marine radar for thousands.
    The Keys themselves, though, they were a thing of interest. Over seventeen hundred islands of various shapes and sizes made up the archipelago, a network of dotted land and separating sea covering more than three hundred and fifty square miles. Tal knew just how lost you could get in those parts. Every year a number of boats failed to return to the marina.
    Some vanish without a trace,
Tal thought.
    The Keys could be cruel. Unbearable heat, freak weather, rocks and reef hiding just below the surface primed to puncture hulls. Plenty of ways a person could fuck up their boat trip too: miscalculate fuel, run out of supplies, or simply suck at navigation. If your boat ran into trouble, that was one thing; but if it went down, you were toast. Adrift in a dinghy or floating in a life jacket gave you a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving. Even with a radio or phone to call for help, you would be waiting ages for rescue if you didn’t have exact coordinates. You’d be the proverbial needle in a haystack, a human speck on a vast canvas of blue. Whether people were searching or not didn’t really change how long it might take for someone to come across you out there.
    There were far worse places to die in the world, Tal conceded that. The Keys were sensually beautiful, the epitome of paradise. The tropical sun, sand, and sea might make you think you’d died and gone to heaven. But Tal knew the allure was part of the deception. The postcard scenes were silken veils drawn across untrustworthy faces. The things out there that could cut you, sting you, paralyze you, devour you—too many to remember.
    When missing boat owners reappeared they were usually in corpse form. Hurricane season was a death sentence for anyone caught out in the Keys. The lucky ones drowned. The less fortunate died of hunger or thirst. The poorest souls succumbed to the stuff of nightmares. Nature had a habit of mixing beauty with beast. The Keys were no exception. Its beasts were bloodthirsty.
    Tal remembered a fishing trip he’d taken long ago with some friends he hadn’t seen now in years. There had been warnings from the outset, and cautionary tales told during lunch on an island. Their skipper, reeking of whiskey and cigarettes, made sure everyone understood that to be taken in by the Keys’ charms was foolish, citing the case of his own brash brother who had gone scuba diving one morning and never returned.
    Tal couldn’t recall the details much, but he did remember the skipper’s stories scaring him enough to consider passing on the snorkeling portion of the trip. When he did get in the water he stayed close to the boat, refusing to venture out too far. Through his face mask he saw all he needed to: shallows fanning out and suddenly dropping down into rock and reef where small fish swam in schools and crustaceans scuttled over coral sharp enough to flay flesh from bone.
    It was what he didn’t see that would have convinced him to stay out of the water for good. Farther out, larger creatures swam in the cooler, darker, deeper waters where sunlight was gradually eaten away until the gloom was almost liquid night. Far fewer species ventured down into the blind cold. Those