Wormwood

The old man had been fishing from the amphitheater seawall along the Ohio River for an hour or so, starting at first light, when suddenly, his line tightened up as he was reeling it in. It stopped moving. He cranked harder on the reel. Nothing happened. He lifted the tip of his rod to put more pressure on the line. Still nothing. He kept at it, not wanting to give up, to cut the line, and lose his hook and bait to the river. He jerked up again on the rod and the line started to move. His catch broke the surface and he reeled it in. It looks like an eel, he thought. The man had seen pictures of eels and knew they were rumored to inhabit the river. This is one ugly fish, he noted, as he held it in one hand and pulled the hook out with the other. He had somehow embedded the hook in the back of the eel. Not too long, but meaty. Some of his pals at the Sons of Kazakhstan Club had told him that if you can get past the creepy looks of the fish, it tastes pretty good. He dropped it in his five-gallon bucket of water to keep it alive.

When he put his line back in the water, he noticed a cloud of bubbles rising to the river’s surface in front of him. The old man peered into the murky water and, for a moment, thought he saw what looked like a hand and an arm waving back and forth. Holy shit, what the hell is that? He looked again and could see the hand and arm moving. The man dropped his pole and stepped back. He turned and looked around, hoping to find a cop. Not seeing anyone, he walked quickly up to the street. There he saw an officer sitting on a bench, listening to a portable radio.

Officer Stills would have usually been patrolling the streets of Wormwood at this hour in his cruiser. But when he was opening the door to get into the patrol car back at the station, the hinges had torn loose and the door had fallen to the ground. Stills got in anyway and headed for the parking lot exit. As he was pulling out into the street, he got a call from the dispatcher.

“The chief spotted you from his window. What the hell were you thinking, taking the cruiser out in that condition? Where’s your respect for government property? If it rains, the damn thing will flood and the interior will be ruined. We can’t have our squad cars looking like shit. Drop it off at the shop and hit the bricks.”

At that moment, Officer Stills was taking a break from his foot patrol and was listening to his favorite talk radio show, “Dr. Laura.” Her caller was describing how she needed to have her foot amputated in a few days for reasons her lawyer told her to keep to herself. Her question was whether Dr. Laura approved of her idea of having her foot frozen, and then sewn back on to her body when she died so it could be buried with her. She figured this might improve her chances of meeting the right guy in heaven.

“Of course, you moron,” Officer Stills barked at the radio, “everyone keeps a sawed-off foot in their freezer. Why don’t you get your head amputated at the same time?”

Dr. Laura was just starting her verbal assault on the caller when the old man came up to the cop and described what he had just seen. The two walked quickly down to the river, with the officer calling for backup as they went. They peered over the wall and saw the waving hand still there. Stills then asked the man what he had in the bucket. The man told him it was an eel he had caught just before discovering the arm in the water.

Within minutes, more cops and an EMS technician arrived. They pulled a man’s body out of the water. It was wrapped in what looked like a large red and white nylon banner. The medical examiner soon arrived and began taking pictures and making notes.

The old man watched the cops work. After a while he got tired from all the excitement. He walked back to the seawall to pick up his rod and retrieve his catch. When he got to the bucket, he looked into it. He turned and looked at the body lying on the banner. He saw a large rip in the man’s slacks that he hadn’t noticed before, and through the rip he could see a ragged flesh wound on the man’s thigh. He looked back at his eel and then at the wound again. After a moment the old man bent over the seawall and threw up. He stood back up, wiped his mouth, and began walking to his apartment a few blocks away, leaving his discarded fishing gear behind. He thought, I don’t mind snagging a bag of garbage or even a dead animal from time to time. But a human body? This is a new low for even Wormwood.