Two

"Next customer pleeeeeease!"

The tone of friendly annoyance was enough to snap Eddy out of his daydreaming. He blinked away surprise as he saw the people in line ahead of him were walking toward the exit. He stepped up to the bait counter and shook hands with Jason.

"Good to see you, Jay! It's been a while."

"It sure has, a couple of months at least. I think last time I saw you, you were crying into your controller after I trounced you at Mario Kart." Jason chuckled, wiping water and dirt off the counter with an already wet and dirty shop rag.

"Ouch, my pride!" Eddy laughed along. They were competitive with each other, but never enough to get upset or offended. He took a look at the line of anxious anglers behind him and decided to get to the point. "Can I get a dozen nightcrawlers? Your old man told me about the bounty, so I'm using that as an excuse to blow off my responsibilities this afternoon."

Jason spun around and reached into a small cooler and pulled out a takeout container like you might find at a Chinese restaurant with "NC - 1 DOZ" written in permanent marker across the top. He placed it on the counter in front of Eddy. "Two dollars, need anything else? I haven't seen you fishing in a while."

"Your dad said my rod is still out back, if it breaks, I'll know it's time to call it a day." Eddy said, pulling two bills from his wallet. "I'll be sure to let you know how I do, maybe buy you a beer if these worms catch me a little payday."

"You'll have to bring any bounties back here anyway, we're the only place in town authorized for the process. You bring the heads here, we pay you cash, then the state agents collect them from us and reimburse the cash. It's extra work for me, but if it keeps the shop busy like this, it's worth the effort." said Jason. He took Eddy's payment and put it into the register.

Eddy brought his palm to his forehead. "Oh, right. I was ready to rush out and catch fish without knowing what to do with them. You're a lifesaver, bud. Thanks for the worms," he gestured toward the crowd of people in the tiny tackle shop, "and keep yourself busy."

After picking up the container of nightcrawlers from the counter, the next impatient customer was already stepping up to take his place. He suspected Lucky's was doing their best day of business in years. He walked back out the way he'd come and past the old gents sitting out front, turning the corner to the rear of the building.

The 'back yard' as they called it years ago looked mostly the same, with a few new additions. Mostly the place was an obstacle course of boat motors, cast nets, broken refrigerators, and old tires. Beyond all that was the treasure he had come to find. As ever, the canoe sat under a lean-to type structure with a tarp keeping things underneath mostly dry. Along with the canoe were some fishing rods, including one he recognized as his own. What he hadn't expected to see there was a small tackle box that he might not have recognized if it didn't have EDDY RIFFLE written on the top. He popped open the latches of the tackle box and took stock of what was inside.

Seeing inside the tackle box was like seeing into the past, to a time when he took fishing pretty seriously. Lures of many shapes and sizes, hooks, sinkers, bobbers, a spool of line, a pair of pliers, a fillet knife, and a chain stringer. Not a bad supply, all things considered. No wonder the bait shop was busy, he thought to himself.

Satisfied with his findings, he tossed the container of worms into the tackle box and closed it up. Old rod and tackle in hand, he made his way down the footpath from the back of the tackle shop down to the river's edge. The bank was grassy and flat at the river's high-water mark. The water was about three feet down from that point, with the spring rains now subsiding in favor of early summer sun. Eddy was surprised to find himself alone on the bank. He suspected the rest of the bounty-hunting anglers had taken to boats to try their luck - a fish finder and the mobility of a boat would certainly help their odds.

The old willow tree he fished under in years past still looked as he remembered it, and a great place to escape the sun in the afternoon. He sat down in its shade and started to prepare his tackle. The hook that was on his rod while it sat under the tarp for a few years was looking rusty and dull, so he cut the line just above it with his pocket knife. He tied on a fresher-looking hook from his tackle box and attached a sinker roughly sixteen inches above the hook. He was relieved to find that his hands still knew how to tie a clinch knot. He plucked a big, wriggling nightcrawler from the container and baited the hook.

From his seated position under the willow, he cast his line into the water eight feet or so in front of him. He put his back against the old willow and looked out at the slow and tranquil Wise River and smiled. Maybe his life wasn't as stressful as he thought.