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The father, we guessed, must not've wanted his son at Harlem Shoemaker; he must've taken the suggestion as deeply personal, a negative on his name. At those moments we sometimes had the urge to walk to Point Fermin to watch the sun ease fiery red into the Pacific, just to the right of Catalina Island. Usually if no one got a bite, we'd choose to play different baits or move to a new spot in the harbor. Suddenly, though, one of us got a bite and started to pull and pull at the drop line, with the rest of us yelling like mad, but just as we were about to grab for the fish, the drop line snapped. Drop of water crossword. If he took another step forward, we'd rush him. We searched for him along the waterfront for what felt like a day, but came up empty.

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As far as he was concerned, we were magicians who'd straight evaporated ourselves! Pops would step from his door one morning and get cracked on both temples and then hammered on with a two-by-four for a minute or so. Tom-Su bolted indoors. Then he walked up to his apartment, stopped at the door, and stared into the eyes of his son, who for some unknown reason maintained his grin. An hour later we knew he wouldn't find us -- or his son. Drop into water crossword. The wonder on his face was stuck there. Tom-Su's hand traced over a flat reflection, careful not to touch the surface.

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It made us wonder whether Tom-Su was bad luck. On the walk we kept staring at Tom-Su from the corners of our eyes. The cries came from Tom-Su. At the last boxcar we discovered the door completely open. At the time, we thought maybe he was trying to spot the fish moving around beneath the surface, or that maybe his brain shut down on him whenever he took a seat. And sometimes we'd put small pear or apple wedges onto our hooks and catch smelt and mackerel and an occasional halibut. What is a drop shot bait. "I'm sure they'll have room for him there. We yelled and yelled, and he pulled and pulled, as if he were saving his own life by doing so. Tom-Su, we knew, had to be careful. Some light-red blood eased down his chin from the corners of his mouth, along with some strandy mackerel innards. SOMETIMES, that summer in Los Angeles, we fished and crabbed behind the Maritime Museum or from the concrete pier next to the Catalina Terminal, underneath the San Pedro side of the Vincent Thomas Bridge. Then we decided he must've moved back in with his mother, or maybe returned to Korea.

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It was the end of August. But a couple of clicks later neither bait nor location concerned us any longer. It was also where Al Capone was imprisoned many years ago. Maybe it was mean of us, but we didn't put any bait onto his hook that day. We didn't tell him because he somehow knew what direction we'd go in, as if he'd picked up our scent. Then we strolled over to Berth 300 with drop lines, bait knives, and gotta-have doughnuts, all in one or two buckets. Every once in a while we'd look over at a blood-stained Tom-Su, who was hanging out with his twin brother. If we did, he'd just jump out of sight and then peek around a corner, believing he was invisible. We decided to go back to the other side. Tom-Su's mother gave a confused look as Dickerson wrote on a piece of paper. Tom-Su spoke very little English and understood even less. He had a little drool at the corner of his mouth, and he turned to me and grinned from ear to ear. Green ocean plants in jars, in plastic bags, in boxes, and open on the shelves, as if they were growing on vines. We became frustrated with everything except the diving pelicans, though to be honest they got on our nerves once or twice with all the fun they were having.

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We didn't want to startle him. The fish loved to nibble and then chomp at them. Like fall to the ground and shake like an earthquake, hammer his head against a boxcar, or run into speeding traffic on Harbor Boulevard. Know what I'm saying? Pops let out a snort and moved sideways to the edge of the wharf, where he looked below and side to side. Eventually we'd get used to the gore. "No, no, " his mother said, "not right school. Early on we stopped turning our heads to look for him closing from behind.

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Back outside we realized that Tom-Su was missing. At City Hall we transferred to the shuttle bus for Dodger Stadium. They were salty and tough and held fast to the hook. Principal Dickerson sent Louie home on his reputation alone. Tom-Su wrapped his hand around the fish, popped the hook from its mouth like an expert, and took the fish's head straight into his mouth. We stood on the edge of the wharf and looked down at the faces staring up at us. Aside from Tom-Su's tagging along, the summer was a typical one for us. Around him were the headless bodies of a perch and two mackerel that had briefly disturbed their relationship. Wherever we went, he went, tagging along in his own speechless way, nodding his head, drifting off elsewhere, but always ready to bust out his bucktoothed grin.

Mrs. Kim had a suitcase by her side and a bag on her shoulder; she spoke quietly to Mr. Kim, but she was looking up the street. At the fish market, locals surrounded our buckets, and after twenty minutes we'd sold our full catch, three fish at a time. But mostly we headed to the Pink Building, over by Deadman's Slip and back on the San Pedro side, because the fish there bit hungry and came in spread-out schools. Tom-Su was and wasn't a part of the situation. That was before he ever came fishing with us. The drool and cannibal eyes made some of us think of his food intake. She walked to the apartment, and we headed toward the crowd. In our book, being a father didn't mean he could be disrespectful. By our third day at 300, though, the fish had thinned out terribly, and because we had to row back across in the late afternoon, when the port was at its busiest, we needed more time to get to the fish market with our measly catches. At ten feet he stopped and looked us each in the face. SOMETIME in the middle of August we sat on the tarp-covered netting as usual.

His teeth were now a train cowcatcher, his eyes two tar-pit traps, and his drool a waterfall. As a matter of fact, it looked like Tom-Su's handsome twin brother. Since the same bloodstained shirt was on his back, we knew he hadn't gone home.

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