Lucifer's Lottery - Edward Lee [89]
“And you’ll be pleased to hear this, hon,” she said, grinning behind the counter. “Here, there’s no charge to veterans for bait!”
“I appreciate it,” Gerold said, managing not to laugh. Now THERE’S a gesture for servicemen. Free worms, chum, and dead shrimp.
“And rod rentals and Jet Skis are half off,” she added. “But I don’t suppose you’d be able to Jet Ski by yourself.” Then her eyes glittered. “But I’d be happy to take you out myself and you can hold on to me.”
“Thanks, but I came here to rent a rowboat and drop a crayfish trap, that’s all.”
“Oh, dandy!” She slapped a frozen bag of shrimp on the counter, then rang up Gerold’s other purchases: a small wire crayfish trap, a Sterno cooker and stand, and a metal pot. “Crawdads in Lake Misquamicus are the best in the state, some of ’em almost big as lobsters.”
“That’s what I’m looking for.”
“How long you wanna rent the boat till, sweetie?”
“Um, well, probably till late if that’s all right.”
“Sure is. Some folks rent a boat and fish all night and through to sunup.”
“Ring me up for that, please,” Gerold said.
“Oh, you don’t gotta pay for the rental till ya come back in.”
Gerold felt a twinge of deceit. He wanted to pay in advance, now, so he wouldn’t be gypping her. After all, he wouldn’t be coming back, would he? Not in the rental boat at any rate.
It would probably be the county sheriff’s department that brought his body back in . . . if they ever found it.
“Aw, just let me pay it all up front, keeps things easier. Oh, and some bottled water and a cooler.”
The woman winked. “Comin’ right up, handsome.” She hitched up her overly burgeoned top and retrieved the items; then he paid up and wheeled himself outside.
A long wooden dock reached out into the silver ripples. At the end, several rowboats rocked in the water; the white-haired woman jumped down into the last one and snapped in a special seat with a back on it.
“What’s that?” Gerold asked.
“A seat for folks so afflicted. Ya can’t row if ya can’t sit up straight, and you can strap yourself in. Makes it safer.”
“Cool,” Gerold approved, not that safety was an issue now.
“Now lemme help ya get in, hon—”
“I got it,” he said and expertly flipped himself out of the chair. His arm muscles bulged when he lunged forward once on his hands, then shimmied himself into the handicapped chair.
“You’re one strong fella!” the lady exclaimed.
Yeah, but only from the waist up.
The woman stowed his cooler and other items, her zero-body-fat physique exemplified each time she bent over. When one of her implants slid up, Gerold marveled at the briefly betrayed tan line: a patch of lambent white blocked off against the iced-tea-colored tan. Within the white patch, the tiniest pink sliver of nipple could be seen. Wow, Gerold mused. Suddenly he found the vision of the lissome older woman densely erotic, and it occurred to him that such a sight—one of his last among the living—was a wonderful thing.
Had she caught him looking? At once her grin seemed sultry, and when she noticed that a wedge of breast had slipped out from the bra, she seemed to take her time correcting it.
“I guess I’m all set,” Gerold said.
“Not just yet,” she corrected, then startled him when she walked right over to him and leaned over. Suddenly her top-straining implants were nearly in his face. “Just lean forward a bit, sweetie.”
Now her barely covered crotch was nearly in his face, but he understood when she put his arms through a life vest and tightened the straps. “Misquamicus ain’t a very big lake, hon, but a good wind can cause a mighty rough chop.”
The ironic fact amused Gerold: She’s putting a life vest on a guy who’s going to commit suicide.
She placed a small object in a side bin. “And here’s an emergency radio just in case. I’ll check in with ya so often, okay?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“You’ll find the best crawdaddin’ right dead center of the lake. It’s deeper