Double Whammy

They climbed in the Toyota and like clockwork Pickney lit up a Camel. He couldn't do it outdoors, in the fresh air, Decker thought; it had to be in a stuffy cab. He felt like getting out and hiking back to the motel. Give himself some time to think about this Lanie business.

"Clarisse didn't give me diddly for this story," Ott complained. "A bitter, bitter woman. I'd much rather have been interviewing your saucy new friend."

Decker said, "Who was she, anyway?"

"A very hot number," Ott said. "Don't tell me she's already got your dick in a knot."

"She seemed to know who I am. Or at least what I do."

"I'm not surprised."

"She said her name was Lanie."

"Lovely, lovely Lanie," Ott sang.

"Then you know her."

"R.J., everybody knows Lanie Gault. Her brother's one of the biggest bass fishermen in the country."

Dickie Lockhart missed the big funeral because he had to fly to New Orleans and meet with his boss.

The boss was the Reverend Charles Weeb, president, general manager, and spiritual commander of the Outdoor Christian Network, which syndicated Dickie Lockhart's television show.

Lockhart was not a remotely religious person—each Sunday being occupied by fishing—so he'd never bothered to ascertain precisely which denomination was espoused by the Reverend Charles Weeb. Whenever the two men met, Weeb never mentioned sin, God, Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, or any of the A-list apostles. Instead Weeb mainly talked about ratings and revenues and why some of Lockhart's big sponsors were going soft on him. During these discussions the Reverend Charles Weeb often became exercised and tossed around terms like "shithead" and "cocksucker" more freely than any preacher Dickie Lockhart had ever met.

Two or three times a year, Lockhart would be summoned to New Orleans for a detailed review of Fish Fever,Lockhart's immensely popular television show. The Reverend Charles Weeb, who naturally had his own evangelical show on the Outdoor Christian Network, seemed to possess an uncommon interest in Lockhart's low-budget fishing travelogue.

On the day of Bobby Clinch's funeral the two men met in a pink suite in a big hotel on Chartres Street. The room was full of fruit baskets and complimentary bottles of booze. On a credenza by the door stood an odd collection of tiny statuary—plastic dashboard saints that various hotel workers had dropped off so that the Reverend Weeb might bestow a small blessing, if he had time.

"Nutty Catholics," Weeb grumbled. "Only know how to do two things—screw and beg forgiveness."

"Can I have an apple?" Dickie Lockhart asked.

"No," said Charles Weeb. He wore an expensive maroon jogging suit that he'd bought for cash on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. As always, his straw-blond hair looked perfect. Weeb also had straw-blond eyebrows which, Dickie Lockhart guessed, were combed with as much care as the hair.

Weeb propped his Reeboks on the coffee table, slipped on a pair of reading glasses, and scanned the latest Nielsens.

"Not too terrible," he said.

"Thank you," Lockhart said. Meetings were not his strong suit; he was already daydreaming about Bourbon Street, and what might happen later.

"You want to explain Macon?" Charlie Weeb said, peering over the rims.

Lockhart shrank into the sofa. He had no idea what the boss was talking about. Had he missed a fishing tournament? Maybe a promotional gig for one of the top sponsors? Wasn't Macon where Happy Gland Fish Scent was manufactured?

"Macon," Weeb sighed. His tone was that of a disappointed parent. "We lost Macon to that shiteating cocksucker."

"Spurling?"

"Who else!" Weeb crumpled the Nielsens.

Ed Spurling hosted a show called Fishin' with Fast Eddie,which was broadcast by satellite to one hundred and seventeen television stations. One more, counting Macon.

In the fierce battle for TV bass-fishing supremacy, Ed Spurling was Dickie Lockhart's blood rival.

"Macon," Dickie said morosely. Georgia was damn good bass country, too.

"So it's one hundred twenty-five stations to one-eighteen," the Reverend Charles Weeb remarked. "Too damn close for comfort."

"But we've got some overlap," Lockhart noted. "Mobile, Gulfport, and Fort Worth."

Weeb nodded. "Little Rock too," he said.

These were cable systems that carried both bass programs; a few markets could easily support more than one.

"Guess I forgot to tell you," Weeb said. "You lost the dinnertime slot in Little Rock. They bumped you to Sunday morning, after Ozark Bowling."

Lockhart groaned. Spurling's lead-in was Kansas City Royals baseball, a blockbuster. It didn't seem fair.

"You see what's happening," the reverend said darkly.

"But the show's doing good. Did you see the one from Lake Jackson?"

"Shaky lens work." Weeb sneered. "Looked like your video ace had the DTs."