Sea of Greed

Joe was amazed. Misty’s father hadn’t seen him in ten years and had only glanced at him for a few seconds as he walked from the car. “Redfish, you have a mind like a steel trap.”

The man looked at him and turned his attention back to the water. “I do. And I haven’t forgotten how I caught you messing around with Misty all those years ago.”

Joe offered his hand and then retracted it when it became obvious Redfish wasn’t going to shake it. “I tried to explain,” Joe said, “but you were chasing me with a baseball bat at the time. Hard to talk sense when you’re running for your life.”

Redfish smiled. “You could have made the Olympic team that day.”

Joe laughed at that. “I probably could have.”

“Okay, Joe,” Redfish said, “I forgive you. Misty’s inside, if you want to see her.”

“I want to show her something.” Joe paused when he realized that sounded a little like how the incident began years ago. “Electronics,” he clarified. “I need her to look at some electronics for me.”

Redfish shook his head and laughed and then cast the line out with an easy flick of the wrist. It made a peaceful sound as the reel unspooled. “I still have that bat,” he said as Joe walked away. “And you’re probably a lot slower these days.”

Joe made his way up a wooden ramp to the trailer that was connected to the barn. He knocked on the door and then opened it, ringing the old-fashioned bell that was attached to it with a string.

The sound of wheels on the floor came next and a figure in overalls slid backward into the room on a rolling mechanic’s seat.

Joe smiled. “Hello, Misty.”

Misty had an oval face, long, dark hair that was woven together in a French braid and several piercings through her right eyebrow that made it look like she was permanently squinting.

Spying Joe, she shook her head. “Just look what the tide brought in,” she said in a boisterous voice.

Laughing, she rolled back to her workbench, put down the tools she was holding and came over to greet Joe properly, wrapping her arms around him in a bear hug and kissing him on the lips.

With Redfish’s warning still fresh in his mind, Joe did nothing to reciprocate.

Pulling back, she fixed her gaze on him suspiciously. “You owe me money,” she said as if suddenly remembering. “Eight dollars. I loaned it to you for lunch the last time I saw you.”

Kurt walked in just then. “Never borrow money from someone with a photographic memory,” he told Joe and then turned to Misty. “Kurt Austin,” he said, extending a hand. “I suggest you make him pay penalties and interest, compounded daily.”

Joe raised a hand as if he was about to mount a defense and then thought better of it. “What is all this?” he asked, looking around.

“My repair shop, salvage facility and gold mining operation,” Misty said.

“Gold mine?”

“Did you see all the computers and phones outside?” she asked.

Both of them nodded.

“That’s where the gold is,” she said. “And platinum and other valuable items that can be extracted. People throw everything out nowadays. Computers and TVs and phones. They get tossed because the cost of parts to repair the old one is more expensive than getting a brand-new one. I help people recycle, repair and repurpose instead of replacing. But most people just want a way to get rid of their junk. I take it off their hands, extract the precious metals and recycle what’s left.”

She spoke with giddy enthusiasm, explaining the rest of her operation, stopping only to take sips from an extra-large soft drink, twirl her braid or wrap her arms around Joe’s shoulder. She squeezed him tight in the middle of one explanation and punched him in the arm when he seemed a little slow on the uptake.

When she left for a moment, Kurt leaned in and whispered, “I’m getting the bigger picture now. I think her father may have used the bat on the wrong party.”

“I tried to tell him,” Joe said, “but that just made it worse.”

Kurt laughed, and Misty soon reappeared with another soft drink in her hand.

“So, what have you brought me?”

Kurt placed the package on the bench and removed the conduit and power pack from the box.

Misty looked at it, then put on a pair of magnifying glasses, like surgeons sometimes wore. “Weird stuff, Joe. Most guys just bring roses.”

“I know you’d prefer electronics to flowers.”

“You got me there,” she said. “This is unique. We’re going to need a closer look. May I?”

With a nod from Joe, she picked up the conduit and power pack and took them to another bench. There, she pulled the cover off an expensive piece of lab equipment. “Scanning microscope, very expensive. The university sold it to me for a song… Not a literal song,” she corrected. “I had to pay, but only a fraction of what it was worth. They were getting a new one anyway.”