Catch of the Day

“Not a single bite! Maybe after twenty years there are no fish left in this darned lake!” Melvin exclaimed as he slammed his bait box down in the back hatch of his SUV.

Jeffrey was inclined to believe Melvin was onto something. The weather was a balmy seventy five degrees and the sky had remained overcast since early that morning. There’d been some light rain throughout the afternoon and only a hint of a breeze. They’d managed more than a decent catch at this same spot in far less ideal conditions. But after casting their lines all day there hadn’t been so much as a nibble.

“Guess we should have just gone into the office,” Jeffrey said with a sigh. “Not that much fun taking a day away just to get more frustrated by fish playing hard to get than a mountain of case files.”

“You’re not wrong,” Melvin remarked as he ran his hand through his graying hair. “I think my blood pressure would be lower even if I had a day in court with Judge Berkin.”

“Don’t know if I can agree with that one,” Jeffrey said. Even the thought of Judge Berkin’s nasally droning made his jaw tighten.

“Well, let’s get out of here,” Melvin said. “Maybe we can at least stop by Mac’s and grab a beer while we watch the Packers game.”

“Now you’re talking.”

After stashing their rods in the ceiling rack they hopped into the front seats.

Eighties rock music rattled out of the speakers as they rumbled down the gravel road. The sun had set and a fog was creeping in. And a few minutes into the drive a steady rain started to fall. With Melvin at the wheel, Jeffrey was free to stare out the window and daydream about the IPA and bacon cheeseburger awaiting him at Mac’s.

All of a sudden something came into view on the side of the road.

“Whoa!” Jeffrey yelled. “Watch out, Mel!”

A hooded figure with his arm extended over the road came dangerously close to being taken out by Melvin’s headlight.

“I didn’t hit him, did I?” Melvin sputtered.

“No,” Jeffrey declared. “I think you barely missed him. Wouldn’t that be a headline: Hitchhiker run down by injury lawyers.”

“Not funny,” Melvin said. “Think we should give him a lift?”

“Normally, no. But since you almost killed him, I guess it's the least we could do.”

Melvin threw the SUV into reverse and rolled back slowly. At first it seemed as though the hitchhiker had disappeared, but then materialized beside the passenger window. He was wearing a gray poncho and carried a backpack with a collapsed telescopic fishing rod extending slightly from the top of it.

Jeffrey hesitated a moment, suddenly wary of the stranger. But it had been his idea to give the guy a ride and now it would just be rude to drive off. He rolled down the window.

“Good evening, sir,” Jeffrey said. “Sorry we nearly bumped you there. Need a lift?"

The man who looked to be in his early twenties peered at Jeffrey and smiled. “I’d greatly appreciate it. I was camping along the lake and a tree fell on my campsite. Just trying to make it back to town.”

“Well hop on in,” Jeffrey instructed, nodding toward the rear passenger door. The dripping wet stranger clambered in and settled his pack beside him.

As Melvin put the vehicle back in drive and got them moving forward again, Jeffrey glanced into the intense green eyes of the young man. There was something familiar about them, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the source of the resemblance. “How long have you been out here?” he asked.

“Five days,” the hitchhiker replied.

“Catch much?” Melvin inquired.

“I did alright, reeled in enough to keep my belly full in the evenings.”

“Then good thing it was you out there for several days and not us,” Melvin said. “Worst fishing day we’ve had in decades.”

“You don’t say,” the young man remarked. “Guess it’s a good thing you didn’t quit your day jobs.”

Melvin laughed, but Jeffrey thought there was something almost menacing to the young man’s tone. He tried not to read into it, maybe he was just being a bit paranoid with the ominous weather and the bad reputations hitchhikers had garnered.

“We’re planning to grab a round of beers at Mac’s when we reach town. Care to join us?” Melvin offered.

“No thank you. My old man drank himself to death when I was a kid, so I don’t touch the stuff.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Jeffrey said awkwardly as he shared a side glance with Melvin.

“Yeah, I blamed him for how miserable things were growing up, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve realized there were factors I just didn’t understand.”

“Usually are,” Melvin said. “I’ve had clients injured by alcoholics behind the wheel who had some pretty tragic lives.”

“I know,” the hitchhiker said.

Melvin and Jeffrey eyed each other again. Jeffrey cursed himself internally for not trusting his gut. There was definitely something off about this guy.

“What do you mean, son?” Melvin asked.

“I know the kinds of clients you have. One of them was Marisol Evans.”

A memory of a middle-aged brunette woman wearing bright red lipstick flashed in Jeffrey’s mind.

“You know Marisol Evans?” Jeffrey asked.

“No, I never knew her. But I knew her name and I know yours. They’re the ones my dad would curse in his stupor every night: Marisol Evans, Jeffrey Keene, and Melvin O’Daniel. My dad’s name was Randy Miller. Remember him? You should. You’re the ones that got him convicted for an accident that wasn’t his fault.”

A second face surfaced from Jeffrey’s memories. It was the grim countenance of a defendant across the courtroom aisle. Randy Miller. The man’s expression in the memory was forlorn and tired but with fierce green eyes.

The hitchhiker continued, “You’re the ones who took away all his money and his livelihood to win a case for a woman who crashed again two years later, killing herself and the other driver. A teenager who had just gotten accepted to Yale. You ruin lives just to make your money so you can go on fishing trips and buy yourselves nice cars.”

Another memory surged in Jeffrey’s head: Marisol Evans crying her crocodile tears, Melvin promising to make it all go away, and the sensation of his own head nodding in agreement.

Melvin elbowed Jeffrey who had forgotten to breathe. Melvin’s eyes darted to the glove-box and Jeffrey remembered the loaded pistol he kept in there.

The hitchhiker was clearly worked up from his speech, Jeffrey needed to move quickly, but he didn’t want to spook the young man. “Listen, son,” Jeffrey said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m sorry about your old man. Randy, right? Yeah, I remember him. Mistakes happen and maybe we made one with your dad, but I’m sure we can work something out. What’s your name, kid? Are you in school? Maybe you need help with tuition?”

“I didn’t follow you out here to make negotiations,” the hitchhiker snarled. “I don’t want any of your blood money. And you don’t need to know my name. Just know I’m here to destroy yours.”

Jeffrey could feel the panic rising in his chest. This kid was totally unhinged. He lunged a hand toward the glove box, but the hitchhiker was ready. The young man grabbed the fishing rod from his pack and jabbed the end of it into Melvin’s neck.

There was a horrible garbled choking sound and the SUV jerked to the left. Jeffrey tried to wrench the hitchhiker’s arm away. There was blood streaming down Melvin’s chest but his foot was still weighing heavy on the gas pedal. The vehicle careened off the road and Jeffrey stared out the windshield in horror at the tree they were about to collide with.

Jeffrey desperately tried to grab hold of the steering wheel but his fingers slipped. As his head slammed into the windshield everything went black.

Author's Note: This story was written for the Winter 2025 Flash Fiction Writing Battle. It is also the piece I'm going to address in my upcoming Self-Editing Epiphany Entry. Everything in italics is content that has been revised or added since it was originally submitted for the battle.