Chapter 2:
What Comes Around Goes Around
“Damn it to hell,” Danny’s father snapped. “Somebody cut up my shrimp net.”
The boys were practicing back flips off the pier. They could see him looking at the net and chewing harder than normal on his cigar. Slowly he removed his cigar and took a deep breath. They knew what was coming. With his head cocked slightly and his lips stretched across his teeth, he ripped out his patented piercing whistle. It had singular meaning to all kids within range, “Drop everything and come running. Now!” No bird dog had ever been better trained.
The three boys sprinted down the pier and arrived with several of Danny’s breathless brothers, all awaiting instructions.
“Anyone know what happened to this net?” he demanded.
No one moved a muscle.
“I suppose a wild animal got into it last night. You boys think that’s what happened?”
“I guess so,” Will said. “Probably a possum or a coon.”
“But how’d all that sand and those sticks get into the net?” he asked, never really expecting an answer.
The boys stood silently, hoping to avoid hard labor or a strap of belt across their butts.
“Okay,” he finally said. “Danny, you go to my workshop and get some nylon string so we can patch this. Will, you and Trout stretch this net out on the grass and let’s get a good look at it. See how many holes you can find.”
He looked at the older siblings.
“What were you boys doing?”
“Just playing cards,” one said.
“Okay,” he said. “Hunter, you get the ladder and start cleaning the leaves from the gutter. Gar, you and Dodd get the lawnmower going and cut the back yard. Davis and Willis get some hammers, we need to pull some nails out of those boards that washed up on the beach.”
Within minutes, the place had been transformed from quiet summer retreat to work camp. It didn’t matter who was responsible for the net. Everyone paid the price. They were used to it. Working earned them playtime, not to mention gas for the boat. Everybody pitched in and while their peace had been interrupted, they were all just happy he didn’t summon the Mother of all jobs, the task that filled them all with stinky fear - cleaning out the wretched septic tank. That was the beast they dreaded more than death itself, being up to your waist in waste. And whoever got that sentence handed to them was in, pardon the expression, deep do do.
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