Dooley Goes Fishing

How to Catch a Fish

The man came from the parking lot along the
sloped path, carrying his pole on his shoulder
like Tom Sawyer. “Having any luck?” he said
congenially. Rex Dern didn’t know him, had
never seen him before, but the old fellow’s
friendly expression and pleasant demeanor
said  he was harmless enough, probably a little
eccentric but nothing to cause worry or panic.
They began talking, and Dern suspected the
older gentleman might be a prattler intent on
hearing his own voice rattle on about nothing.
“Beautiful day, isn't it?  After all that rain it’s
good to see the sun again.  I was worried there
for awhile, thought we might be witness to
another biblical flood.  Here I’d be stuck
without an Ark.  Heck, you've got to wonder
sometimes if us Oregonians are pure nuts to
stay up here.  I’d be long gone, Arizona most
likely, but my son lives over in Ashland, and he
has a couple of kids I enjoy seeing now and again.
How about you?  Any kids, grandkids, anything…
Well, heck maybe you like the rain. I talk too much…”
Rex Dern and his new friend reeled their lines in
and recast at the same time, and Rex  wondered
if he should talk about his son. “Yeah, I have a boy,
he’s 30. Taught film at Oberlin out in Ohio until
last year.”  Rex looked at the stranger, who put his
pole down and reached into his tweed sports coat.
He passed a business card to Dern. “They’re not
biting today are they?” the man said. Rex read the
card. “Black & White Detective Agency…What is it
you want, Mr. Dooley?”  “A fish,” the amiable P.I.
said, watching a black cloud roll in above Talent.


TS