Addiction

A map, he said to himself, but of what? After studying the map for a couple of minutes, Beavis had determined that it was a crude river map, the mouth to the Wapsipinicon circled in red. “Well, well, well. What did Mr. Porter find so interesting down there?” Beavis asked himself. Acting on impulse, Beavis put more fuel in the boat’s tank, started it, and pointed it south as fast as it would go. “May as well do a little scouting, just for fun,” Beavis said aloud and popped open a can of Budweiser beer from a six-pack he had thrown aboard.

Ahead of him by fifteen minutes was the mouth of the Wapsipinicon, out of which roared Billy and Walt Reese just before the sun dropped below the tree line. Billy aimed the airboat straight across the Mississippi and raced into the swampy area on the Illinois side of the river.

After cruising for several minutes in search of the flat-bottomed boat they had seen previously, to no avail, Billy cursed in exasperation. “Fuck,” he said.  “Goddamn it, I know that fucker’s around here somewhere.” After searching for several more minutes, Billy and Walt gave up their search.        

“We may as well go home, Billy,” Walt said.  “Either we were wrong or the guys on the boat got wise to us today when I was looking through the binoculars and pulled out.” Billy nodded and turned the airboat back across the Mississippi. A movement upstream caught his eye and he turned upstream. A grin lit his face.

“Look lively, Walt,” Billy shouted. “It’s show time!”

Beavis stared downstream in a half drunken stupor at the large shadow that flitted into the river channel, then turned and came at him. “What in the hell is that buggy?” he asked himself, finishing his fourth can of Budweiser after he cut power to his motor.

The sun had finally disappeared when Billy and Walt roared up to the little boat drifting in the channel. Both men had their night vision gear on by then and Billy cut his engines and let the airboat drift into the smaller boat. Walt leveled the shotgun at the boat while Billy lashed them together with a rope. When Billy drew his handgun from his belt, Walt shouted at the boat they had stopped.

“This is the Department of Natural Resources,” Walt yelled. “Stand up and keep your hands in plain sight!”

What the fuck? Beavis thought. How the hell are they going to see my hands he pondered, standing up slowly, his body back lit by the glow from his running light.  “Who are you?” Walt asked of the little bald man in front of him.

“Clifford Beavis,” came the reply.  “I own the boat rental shop in Camanche. You boys new around here?”

“We’ll ask the questions, Beavis,” Billy said grimly. “Is this boat yours?”

“Hell yes it’s mine,” Beavis said indignantly.

“Has it been rented out recently?” Billy asked. “Say for the past week or so?”          

“You’re damn right, Bub,” Beavis blustered,