Make One False Move

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When Pierson turned off the asphalt onto the side road, the homemade trailer bounced hard. He gave an apprehensive glance back to see if the boat was all right. He realized that through eagerness he had pushed the speed up too far.

Another five minutes and he’d be there. The sun was directly overhead in the cloudless sky. There wasn’t a breath of wind. This last day would have to be perfection.

He put the coupe into low gear for the sand ahead. The only thing that could spoil the day now would be the damn porpoises. His big brown fingers clamped hard on the wheel when he thought of them, when he remembered the last perfect day, and coming over the rise to look down into the bay only to see the fool things rolling and playing and snorting. Anger thickened his throat. If they spoiled this last day, too...

With that in mind, he’d put the carbine in the back end. The penalty was stiff, but this was a deserted enough stretch of beach so he could get away with it. There’d be a lot of satisfaction in getting even with the fool things, pumping lead into them. The day would be no good, of course, but neither would a few porpoises. He came over the last rise, tense and expectant. The ocean was almost flat calm. It had an oily, pre-storm look. The long, flat swells broke thickly against the long coral reef that protected the hidden bay.

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