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l the big women's magazines； and Decker clipped several copies to send to his friends； as a joke on himself。
And； of course； there were the fashion layouts with professional models。 The first year Decker fell in love seventeen times。 The second year he let the Hasselblad do the falling in love。 His pictures were very good； he was making large sums of money； and he was bored out of his skull。
One afternoon on Miami Beach； while Decker was on a mercial shoot for a new tequila…scented suntan oil； a young tourist suddenly tore off her clothes and jumped into the Atlantic and tried to drown herself。 The lifeguards reached her just in time； and Decker snapped a couple of frames as they carried her from the surf。 The woman's blond hair was tangled across her cheeks； her eyes were puffy and half…closed； and her lips were grey。 What really made the photograph was the face of one of the lifeguards who had rescued the young woman。 He'd carefully wrapped his arms around her bare chest to shield her from the gawkers； and in his eyes Decker's lens had captured both panic and pity。
For the hell of it Decker gave the roll of film to a newspaper reporter who had followed the paramedics to the scene。 The next day the Miami Sun published Decker's photograph on the front page； and paid him the grand sum of thirty dollars。 The day after that； the managing editor offered him a full…time job and Decker said yes。
In some ways it was the best move he ever made。 In some ways it was the worst。 Decker only wished he would have lasted longer。
He thought of this as he drove into Harney County； starting a new case； working for a man he didn't like at all。
Harney was Dickie Lockhart's hometown； and the personal headquarters of his bass…fishing empire。
Upon arrival the first thing Decker did was to find Ott Pickney； which was easy。 Ott was not a man on the move。
He wrote obituaries for the Harney Sentinel； which published two times a week； three during boar season。 The leisurely pace of the small newspaper suited Ott Pickney perfectly because it left plenty of time for golf and gardening。 Before moving to Central Florida； Pickney had worked for seventeen years at the Miami Sun； which is where Decker had met him。 At first Decker had assumed from Ott's sluggish behavior that here was a once…solid reporter languishing in the twilight of his career； it soon became clear that Ott Pickney's career had begun in twilight and grown only dimmer。 That he had lasted so long in Miami was the result of a dense newsroom bureaucracy that always seemed to find a place for him； no matter how useless he was。 Ott was one of those newspaper characters who got passed from one department to another until； after so many years； he had bee such a sad fixture that no editor wished to be remembered as the one who fired him。 Consequently； Ott didn't get fired。 He retired from the Sun at full pension and moved to Harney to write obits and grow prizewinning orchids。
R。 J。 Decker found Pickney in the Sentinel's newsroom； such as it was。 There were three typewriters； five desks； and four telephones。 Ott was lounging at the coffee machine； nothing had changed。
He grinned when Decker walked in。 〃R。J。！ God Almighty； what brings you here？ Your car break down or what？〃
Decker smiled and shook Ott's hand。 He noticed that Ott was wearing baggy brown trousers and a blue Banlon shirt。 Probably the last Banlon shirt in America。 How could you not like a guy who wasn't ashamed to dress like this？
〃You look great；〃 Decker said。
〃And I feel great； R。J。； I really do。 Hey； I know it's not exactly the big city； but I had my fill of that； didn't I？〃 Ott was talking a little too loudly。 〃We got out just in time； R。J。； you and me。 That paper would have killed both of us one way or another。〃
〃It tried。〃
〃Yeah； boy；〃 Ott said。 〃Sandy； get over here！ I want you to meet somebody。〃 A wrenlike man with thick eyeglasses walked over and nodded cautiously at Decker。 〃R。J。； this is Sandy Kilpatrick； my editor。 Sandy； this is R。 J。 Decker。 R。J。 and I worked together down in the Magic City。 I wrote the prose； he took the snapshots。 We covered that big voodoo murder together； remember； R。J。？〃
Decker remembered。 He remembered it wasn't exactly a big voodoo murder。 Some redneck mechanic in Hialeah had killed his wife by sticking her with pins； safety pins； hundreds of them。 The mechanic had read something about voodoo in Argosy magazine and had totally confused the rituals。 He loaded his wife up on Barbancourt rum and started pricking away until she bled to death。 Then he pretended to e home from work and find her dead。 He blamed the crime on a Haitian couple down the street； claiming they had put a hex on his house and Oldsmobile。 The cops didn't go for this and the redneck mechanic wound up on Death Row。
As Ott was reinventing this story； Sandy Kilpatrick stared at R。 J。 Decker the way visitors from Miami got stared at in this part of Florida。 Like they were trouble。 Kilpatrick obviously had heard Ott's voodoo…murder story about four hundred times and soon started to shrink away。
〃Nice meeting you；〃 Decker said。
Kilpatrick nodded again as he slipped out of the office。
〃Good kid；〃 Ott Pickney said avuncularly。 〃He's learning。〃
Decker helped himself to a cup of coffee。 His legs were stiff from the long drive。
〃What the hell brings you here？〃 Ott asked amiably。
〃Fish；〃 Decker said。
〃Didn't know you were a basser。〃
〃I thought I'd give it a try；〃 Decker said。 〃They say Harney's a real hotspot for the big ones。〃
〃Lunkers；〃 Ott said。
Decker looked at him quizzically。
〃In these parts； they're not big ones； they're lunkers；〃 Ott explained。 〃The most mammoth bass in the hemisphere。〃
〃Hawgs；〃 Decker said； remembering one of Dennis Gaulfs phrases。
〃Sure； you got it！〃
〃Where's the best place to try； this time of year？〃
Ott Pickney sat down at his desk。 〃Boy； R。J。； I really can't help you much。 The man to see is Jamie Belliroso； our sports guy。〃
〃Where can I find him？〃
〃Maui；〃 Ott Pickney said。
Jamie Belliroso； it turned out； was one of a vanishing breed of sportswriters who would accept any junket tossed their way； as long as gourmet food and extensive travel were involved。 This month it was a marlin…fishing extravaganza in Hawaii； sponsored by a pany that manufactured polyethylene fish baits。 Jamie Belliroso's air fare； room； and board would all be paid for with the quiet understanding that the name of the bait pany would be mentioned a mere eight or ten times in his feature article； and that the name of the pany would be spelled correctly…which； in Belliroso's case； was never a sure thing。 In the meantime； the blue marlin were striking and Jamie was enjoying the hell out of Maui。
〃When will he be back？〃 Decker asked。
〃Who knows；〃 Ott said。 〃From Hawaii he's off to Christmas Island for bonefish。〃
Decker said； 〃Anyone else who could help me？ Someone mentioned a guide named Dickie Lockhart。〃
Ott laughed。 〃A guide？ My friend； Dickie's not a guide； he's a god。 A big…time bass pro。 The biggest。〃
〃What does that mean？〃
〃It means he wouldn't be seen in the same boat with a greenhorn putz like you。 Besides； Dickie does