Shark's Breath

“The Keys? You from Florida then, huh?”

B.D. nodded. “Yeah, Largo, Meridian--Miami—dad ran a boat for years.” He slapped August on the back. “Kind of cool doing this again. Got to help out my good bud Barry.” He guffawed softly, “Yeah, man, this is way cool.”

Drawing his lips in tightly, August still doubted what he heard—the hands were too soft, their muscle tone seemed slight. If B.D. had ever been a fisherman, he hadn’t been one in quite a while.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Chuckling again, B.D. pulled the cap from his head and pointed to the knot of hair there. “This thing—hell man, get with the times. It’s the latest thing.’

“Umph, girly.”

“The chicks love it.” B.D. grinned broadly.

“Yeah? Well, no chicks on this boat—tie me a blood knot,” August ordered. “See if you know what you’re doing.”

Reaching for a the lines, B.D. overlapped their ends, twisted one around the other and brought the tag end back between the two lines, he repeated with the other line and pulled them tightly in opposite directions. “Easy man, easiest knot there is.” Quickly B.D. then maneuvered the line into a sheep-shank, folding the rope, he made a half hitch, dropped it over the bight and tightened it then repeated it, pulling the strands tightly.

August watched B.D. “We don’t use that. They don’t hold.”

“Good knot though.” The younger man met his gaze. It seemed his mouth relaxed naturally into a smirk.

Or maybe he’s just a know-it-all asshole, August thought. Considering quickly that he could put up with attitude and that there was no one else, he nodded. “Okay, I guess you’ll do.” August watched as Charles unwound a line from a cleat then moved to another.