Off the Chart by James W. Hall

minutes on hold, listening to the background music at Morada Bay Marina, with the Tarpon’s hostess coming and going, pecking him on the shoulder to get the phone back, the forklift guy came back and said he had it. Five pages, the complete May calendar, the float plans for every boat in the marina. Marty gave him his boss’s fax number and the guy said he’d send it right over.
    â€œFine,” Marty said. “Come by on Monday morning, Paradise Boatyard, there’ll be a job with your name on it.”
    â€œHey, thanks,” the guy said.
    Marty said, “Go fax the thing. And don’t go telling anybody what the fuck you’re doing, either, or your ass is chum.”
    Two minutes later he called his boss again and the guy right away said, “Finally you did something right, Marty, I was beginning to wonder.”
    â€œYou see anything there you can use?” Marty ignored the put-down. He’d had enough of those for one day from Thorn.
    â€œThursday night coming up. It’s perfect. Two birds, one stone. Thorn’s ass is mine.”
    â€œThe guy’s a hardhead. I don’t know.”
    â€œI know all about this guy, Marty. I been making a little study of the asshole. And what I’ve decided, once I take this guy’s land, I’m going to cut off his balls and pickle them.”
    â€œI want to see that.”
    His boss said, “The guy’s got a friend, Sugarman.”
    â€œYeah,” Marty said. “Used to be a cop, now he’s some kind of half-assed private eye.”
    â€œWay I hear it, these two guys are joined at the hip. Tickle Sugarman’s nose, Thorn sneezes.”
    â€œThat’s about right.”
    â€œWell, I got a way to tickle the ever-loving shit out of Sugarman’s nose.”
    â€œSo Thorn sneezes.”
    â€œThat’s right, Marty. So Thorn sneezes his fucking brains out.”
    A minute later when they were done Marty hung up and took the phone back over to the podium and set it down.
    â€œI believe this is yours.”
    The old lady hostess blasted him with a glare, then turned and smiled at her next party and led them to their table.

Six
    By late afternoon Thorn was almost finished with the bench. Out in the western sky a few wispy cirrus clouds sprang from the horizon like the fine sprigs of hair curling off the neck of an elegant woman. The sun was brassy red and poised only minutes from another fiery crash into the Gulf. Already the western clouds were rimmed with gold and a gloss of crimson spread across the bay as if somewhere deep below the water’s surface the Earth had opened a vein.
    While he rested his eyes on the showy sky, out of the dense woods that bordered his land a yellow Labrador puppy stumbled into the open lawn and halted beside the trunk of a giant sea grape tree. A mockingbird in the sea grape shrieked at the pup, then fluttered down and dive-bombed his head, but the Lab seemed oblivious.
    After scanning the yard, the puppy spotted Lawton sleeping with one leg looped over the edge of the hammock. He ambled over and stopped below Lawton’s bare foot, cocked his head up, eyed the paleflesh, then washed his tongue across the old man’s sole. With a whoop, Lawton jerked awake.
    Thorn smiled and picked up the handsaw and finished cutting the final slat of pine. While Lawton spoke to the puppy, Thorn carried the slat over to the bench and lined it up. When he was satisfied it was parallel, he screwed it into place and ran his eye along each of the slats to check its spacing. Then he turned and settled his rump on it and leaned back. Solid and secure. Maybe not the most comfortable bench, but good enough for what he had in mind.
    Across the yard, Lawton rolled out of the hammock and tumbled into the tall grass and giggled like a child. The puppy staggered out of his way, then charged in to lap at the white grizzle on Lawton’s cheeks.
    Thorn called over to see if Lawton was