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here?” Ott asked amiably.
    â€œFish,” Decker said.
    â€œDidn’t know you were a basser.”
    â€œI thought I’d give it a try,” Decker said. “They say Harney’s a real hotspot for the big ones.”
    â€œLunkers,” Ott said.
    Decker looked at him quizzically.
    â€œIn these parts, they’re not big ones , they’re lunkers,” Ott explained. “The most mammoth bass in the hemisphere.”
    â€œHawgs,” Decker said, remembering one of Dennis Gault’s phrases.
    â€œSure, you got it!”
    â€œWhere’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.”
    â€œWhere can I find him?”
    â€œMaui,” 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 company 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 company would be mentioned a mere eight or ten times in his feature article, and that the name of the company 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.
    â€œWhen will he be back?” Decker asked.
    â€œWho 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.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œIt means he wouldn’t be seen in the same boat with a greenhorn putz like you. Besides, Dickie doesn’t hire out.”
    Decker decided not to mention Dennis Gault’s grave allegations. Ott was obviously a huge fan of Dickie Lockhart’s. Decker wondered if the whole town was as starstruck.
    â€œThere’s a couple good guides work out on the lake,” Ott suggested. “Think they’re up to two hundred dollars a day.”
    The world has gone mad, Decker thought. “That’s too rich for my blood,” he said to Ott.
    â€œYeah, it’s steep all right, but they don’t give the tourist much choice. See, they got a union.”
    â€œA union?” It was all too much.
    â€œThe Lake Jesup Bass Captains Union. They keep the charter rates fixed, I’m afraid.”
    â€œChrist, Ott, I came here to catch a fish and you’re telling me the lake’s locked up by the fucking Izaak Walton division of the Teamsters. What a swell little town you’ve got here.”
    â€œIt’s not like that,” Ott Pickney said in a you-don’t-understand tone. “Besides, there’s other options. One, rent yourself a skiff and give it a shot alone—”
    â€œI wouldn’t know where to start,” Decker said.
    â€œOr two, you can try this guy who lives out at the lake.”
    â€œDon’t tell me he’s not in the union?”
    â€œHe’s the only one,” Ott said. “When you meet him you’ll know why.” Ott rolled his eyeballs theatrically.
    Decker said, “I sense you’re trying to tell me the man is loony.”
    â€œThey say he knows the bass,” Ott said. “They also say he’s dangerous.”
    Decker was in the market for a renegade. The mystery man sounded like a good possibility.
    â€œWhat does he charge?” Decker asked, still playing the rube.
    â€œI have no idea,” Ott said. “After you see him, you may want to reconsider. In