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“So are you running an eelfishery?”
“We don’t have a license for that. And who wants to wait two years to get your money?”
“So howdoyou make your money?” asked Devine.
Dak looked at Hal. “Look, I think we need a lawyer. We’ve said too much already.”
“What if this is connected to Jenny’s murder?” pointed out Devine.
“It’s not.”
“She was a fed. She came up here for some reason. She was murdered. Are there bad people involved in this eel business? Is it enough money to kill over?”
Dak looked once more at Hal and closed his eyes for a moment before saying, “The price for elvers really sank during COVID, but now it’s back up to around $2,300 a pound. What you see in all those tubs are worth about $250,000.”
Devine stared in disbelief at the tubs. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. And you can make a lot more money off elvers than you ever can off lobster. And you don’t need a boat and all that other equipment. If you have a license you set big fyke or dip nets in a stream and you wake up in the middle of the night and go down there with five-gallon buckets and load up your catch, and then go buy a house or a fishing boat. It’s like Maine’s version of the California Gold Rush.”
“Okay. Who buys them fromyou?” asked Devine.
“Guys who come into town on a regular basis.”
“What kind of guys?” asked Devine.
“Mostly Asian,” said Hal. “Well, they’re all Asian, really.”
“How do they pay?”
“Cash. Bank wires and checks don’t really work in our business.”
“A quarter million in cash? What, do they bring it in suitcases?”
“Yeah, they actually do,” admitted Hal. “And they put the elvers in other suitcases. They typically put a legal export fish in refrigerated bags over them, like mussels. So long as they have an oxygen supply elvers are fine. They breathe through their skin.”
Devine walked over and looked in one of the tubs. He recoiled at the sight of what looked like hundreds of strands of bright white and yellow spaghetti—albeit with pairs of inky black eyes—flitting spasmodically through the water in massive hordes.
“So it is illegal the way you’re doing it?”
“Well, it’s not exactly legal, no,” said Dak.
“Why not just set up a licensed eel fishery? Or get a fishing license?”
“The fishing licenses are given out in a lottery and capped at around four hundred or so. Believe me, there are a lot more folks than that who want to do this.”
“And it ain’t fair,” interjected Hal. “They say it’s a lottery, but I say with that much money at stake some palms are getting greased, for damn sure.”
Dak said, “And as an elver farmer, it takes years to make your money back. And you have to have the capital to build a facility and buy the equipment and then you need to hire a bunch of people. And there’s a limit on how many pounds you can legally process each year. We can make far more money faster this way.”
“Sothisis how you get your capital to invest,” Devine said to Dak. “Not partners in Boston.”
“Yeah,” conceded Dak. “But I’m using that money to invest in local businesses that employ lots of people, and are bringing some pride and dignity back to Putnam,” he added in a defiant tone.
“Don’t go all altruistic on me. You’re doing it to get rich.”
“Well, that too,” admitted Dak.
“You got Coop Phillips and two other knuckleheads to come after me the night we first met in the bar, didn’t you?”
