I want to believe that Justin is a sheepdog and not a wolf. It’s just that I’m not certain. Maybe that’s the way it is with the best of the sheepdogs. I guess time will tell.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The last thing Moe and I did before leaving for Home Depot was put up the Hurricane Party banner on the front of the building. When we got back, it was obvious that business had picked up considerably. Maybe it was the banner, or maybe people were just taking a break from preparing for the end of the world. Moe commented that it was good to see business doing better, because he had the feeling that we’d be closed for the next few days.
I replied, “No worries, Moe. It’ll pass right by us without so much as a scratch.”
“Sure, Boss, you just keep telling yourself that,” was his gruff refrain.
True to his word, Justin helped us all afternoon as we installed the hurricane shutters. It was interesting to see the reactions of people to his reappearance. In the quick passing conversations I had with people, everyone seemed to be fixated on the fact that he was alive. No one seemed to question the circumstances that had led us to believe he was dead these past months. Well, nearly no one. Marge and Dana each made comments to me that led me to believe that they were both somewhat skeptical of Justin’s story. I made a mental note to myself that I needed to call Sissy sometime and tell her that she was correct when she thought she had seen Justin in Atlanta, that he was alive.
We put all of the shutters up, with the exception of the three exterior doors. It’s strange inside Cap’s when the shutters are in place because the ambient light that comes in through the glass wall in the back is no longer present. Even at night the exterior security lights radiate into the bar, but with the shutters up, the place is like a large coffin. Poor analogy, Jack. The change in lighting did remind me to ask Moe if the fuel tank of the emergency generator was full. He assured me it was. Someone had convinced Mickey that if the power was out for an extended length of time, he needed a generator to keep the walk-in cooler cold. Moe tests the generator once in a while to make certain it will start, but otherwise it has never been used.
After we finished putting the shutters up, Justin told us he was moving his boat to a more protected slip off of the Intracoastal Waterway in Fort Lauderdale. He confirmed that the trawler I’d seen in his slip was his replacement for the Rampage that had exploded. He said the trawler style boat would be more comfortable for him to live on. I don’t know what came over me, but I asked him what his future plans were. A perfectly reasonable question for most people, but not something you ask someone like Justin. His seemingly candid answer surprised me. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Haven’t planned too far ahead. What I do know is that I’m tired. Tired of being on the move, tired of fighting, just plain tired. I’m going to work part time for Johnny around the marina. I’ve got a little money salted away, so I don’t need much to live. The future, I’ll figure that out when it gets here.” As he left, Moe and I couldn’t help but throw a couple of barbs at him about being careful, since boats have been know to blow up after leaving his slip.
I decided that, new healthy lifestyle or not, I’d earned a Landshark or two, so I went inside to see if my stool was available. Moe said he would be in to join me as soon as he closed and locked the shed. In spite of the fact that the hurricane party was in full swing and business was brisk, I found my stool to be available. The one next to me was also open, so when Dana brought my beer, I asked her to mix a rum and coke for Moe and set it in the open spot. A few minutes later Moe joined me.
Looking around the bar, I recognized most of the patrons as regulars, or at least occasional locals. It made sense that most of the tourists were probably long gone by now. After all, ever increasing hype about the approaching storm was being constantly broadcast on every radio and television station. By now most tourists had no doubt returned to the safety of home. Catching snippets of conversation drifting around the room, it sounded to me like the locals were pretty evenly split on whether they believed we would be significantly impacted or not. The latest reports on the TVs behind the bar were showing that the hurricane spaghetti models couldn’t even agree. About half of them had the storm turning and heading north before making landfall, just brushing our area of the coast. The other half were not so kind, they now had the storm making landfall somewhere between Miami and Vero Beach as a Category 4. With hurricane force winds 100 miles out from the eye, Ella would be a catastrophic blow if it hit us directly. At least that was what all of the talking heads were saying. Some of the locals didn’t seem as convinced as they recounted experiences with previous storms. We don’t get many hurricanes in Michigan, so I had no experience to draw upon.
As Marge was leaving for the day, she told me that she had just talked with her nephew, the meteorologist, and that he believed the models that put the storm making landfall near us were the most accurate. He told her that we would know for certain in the morning, because if the storm was going to turn and start drifting north it would begin showing signs of changing course by then. If it hadn’t started changing course by morning, he told Marge that we should make preparations for the impact of a major hurricane. That would mean mandatory evacuation for our area of the coastline. Marge said her high-rise condo would be fine as it was inland far enough to be out of the evacuation zone and she didn’t expect the storm surge to reach her on the 30th floor. I related my conversation with PJ about the impact on services and how difficult life is in the immediate aftermath of a major storm, but Marge’s response was that I would need her to help reopen Cap’s Place, so she was staying. She told me that she would be in Thursday morning if we weren’t under a mandatory evacuation order by then. I’m not a real smart guy, but I’m smart enough to know better than to argue with Marge when she has made her mind up.
After Marge left, I ordered a burger and fries. It was only coincidental that I waited for her to leave before ordering. Dana was far too busy mixing her hurricane party specialty drinks named after the various categories of storm, Cat 1 through Cat 5, to chastise me for my meal choice. I didn’t want to imagine the alcohol content of a Cat 5. Moe had drifted off into the kitchen, so after I ate I decided to go back to the office and take another look at our hurricane preparedness list. After a quick scan of the list, I decided that Moe and I had discussed everything that remained undone. I went upstairs to take a shower and change out of the clothes I had been working in all afternoon before coming downstairs to help Dana close up later.
After my shower I stretched out on the bed for a minute. Putting up the shutters was more physical labor than I was accustomed to and I thought a short rest was in order. The next thing I knew, it was nearly ll:00 p.m. I dressed quickly and headed downstairs. Crossing the dark living room toward the apartment door, I tripped and nearly fell. I’d forgotten that we’d moved the furniture from my balcony inside before shuttering the glass wall. I turned on a table lamp and resigned myself to leave it on until we took the shutters down. With all of the windows shuttered, it was every bit as dark in my apartment as it was downstairs.
As I was descending the inside stairs, my cell phone buzzed. It was PJ. I stopped and answered, “Hi, PJ. Didn’t expect to hear from you this late.”
“Hi, Jack, I wanted to let you know that we’re leaving early in the morning for Gainesville. I want to get ahead of the traffic.”
“You mean rush hour?”
“No, Jack, the crush of people moving inland and north to get away from the storm. Fortunately, the predictions don’t go as far south as the Keys or traffic would already be snarled. If the mandatory evacuation orders come out in the morning, traffic will begin to jam up soon after. When are you going to leave?”
I hesitated before saying, “I hadn’t really decided yet. Sorta playing it by ear, waiting to see what track the storm takes. We’re going to open in the morning and see what happens.”
Her voice dripped with exasperation as she said, “Jack, that’s not the right approach
. You shouldn’t even consider opening tomorrow. You need to make a definite evacuation plan right now. You’re in Zone A, there’s little chance that evacuation won’t be recommended and most likely ordered. Even if the storm does turn north, the coast is going to get a great deal of rainfall and storm surge. You’ve seen how the streets flood, even in heavy thunderstorms, the storm drains just can’t handle all of the run off. They’re saying Ella could bring thirty inches of rain. Think about it, Jack. Thirty inches of rain and an 8-to 10-foot storm surge. You’ll be underwater. Use your head, Jack. Get out of there.” PJ seemed uncharacteristically upset, especially for a person who always seems so calm and controlled under stress. I was still choosing my response when she asked, “Jack, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here. I guess I hadn’t considered the street flooding. I’ve been fixated on the predictions for wind and hadn’t really thought much about the water.”
“Jack, it’s the water that’ll kill you. Now promise me that you’ll get out of there as soon as they even recommend evacuation. Promise me.”
This time I spoke without thinking. “I don’t know where I’d even go.” It had to sound like I was fishing for an invitation to join her in Gainesville. What the hell, I probably was.
“Geez, Jack, sometimes you really remind me of Angela. I’ll text you the address in Gainesville. If you don’t come up with somewhere closer, drive up and stay with us. There’s plenty of room. Just promise me you’ll get out of there.”
I was glad I’d stopped on the stairs to take the call, because I was certain I was blushing from embarrassment. She was correct, I did sound like a teenager. Damn, Jack, get a grip. I said, “I promise I’ll figure something out and evacuate. And PJ, I appreciate your concern. Thanks.”
Her voice soft and smokey, she said “I’ll text you the address. It would be great to have you join us. Could be lots of fun.”
“Oh sure, now you’re trying to entice me to evacuate with promises of sexual favors.”
“No promises, Jack, after all my daughter will be under the same roof, but come to Gainesville and we’ll see what happens.”
“Best offer I’ve had today.” Maybe the best offer I’ve ever had. “If they order us out, I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”
“Good. Be safe, Jack.”
After the call ended I found myself reevaluating my plan, or rather, lack of plan. Maybe I should be planning to evacuate. I remember having to turn around more than once for flooded streets during summer downpours. Evidently, the storm drains just can’t keep up with the runoff from the endless square miles of concrete and pavement that constitute the area. PJ’s probably right, the flooding won’t stop until it’s well west of the Intracoastal Waterway. That means the little slip of land that Cap’s Place calls home will be inundated.
Still pondering the situation, I wandered out into the bar. Business had dropped off considerably. There were only a couple of tables occupied and four people at the bar. I saw Renee go up to one of the tables and tell them it was last call. Dana had no doubt made the assessment that it was time to close for the night. Seemed like a good call to me. I looked for Moe and found him moving some things around in the storeroom. He told me he was rearranging things in order to be able to pack more into the room if we needed to evacuate. The storeroom has a heavy door with an equally heavy-duty deadbolt lock. Moe said he wanted room to store some of the important business records and Marge’s computer in a more secure location. Damn, I should have thought of that. Of course it was only five minutes ago that I really contemplated having to evacuate.
An hour later everyone was gone and I had locked up for the night. The place seemed a little eerie with all of the windows covered. After I turned the last of the lights out in the bar area, the only illumination was the faint glow of the emergency exit signs over the doors. I left the light on in the hallway, so that when I came downstairs in the morning I wouldn’t be fumbling around looking for the light switch. I had never realized how much ambient light filtered into the bar from the back windows.
Going upstairs, I thought I would grab a beer and sit on the balcony for a few minutes before going to bed. Then I remembered that with the shutters in place I had no access to the balcony. Oh well, I probably didn’t need another beer anyway. I undressed and tumbled into bed. It had been quite the day, from Katharine showing up, to all of the storm preparations, to the reappearance of Justin, to PJ’s invitation. Hopefully, tomorrow will be less demanding. Really, Jack, with a Cat 4 hurricane potentially bearing down on you.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The SS New London steamed south in the Atlantic off of the east coast of Florida, having left Jacksonville in the predawn hours for the three-and-one-half day journey through the Straits of Florida and across the Gulf to Houston. The ship, its hold and decks laden with colorful shipping containers, was riding smoothly through the light chop.
On the bridge, Chief Mate Hans Nilsson and Second Mate Nicole Cox poured over several weather reports and navigation charts. Nilsson, at 6 feet 2 inches tall, towered over 5-foot 6-inch Cox, who appeared even smaller due to her slender build from years of long distance swimming. Nilsson, who could trace his seafaring heritage back to the Vikings, had achieved his rank over thirty-five years at sea. Cox, on the other hand, had progressed through the ranks at lightning speed after graduating first in her class at the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy and was presently one of the youngest second mates in the fleet. Nilsson recognized Cox’s natural leadership abilities, probably born of her rearing by two career military officers, and appreciated her sharp intellect. Sometimes he couldn’t help but look at her as the adult daughter he’d never known. He was pleased to have her shipboard.
Nilsson ran his hand through his shaggy blond hair and said, “I don’t like the looks of this Hurricane Ella. Wish the damn weather gurus could give us a solid prediction.”
Cox looked up at him, her lively brown eyes twinkling. “Awe, Chief, what would be the fun of that?” Then, her impish grin fading to a look of firm resolve, she added, “I think we should recommend a course change to the captain. We need to take an easterly route and give this storm a chance to cross our bow before we get too far south. Stay out of its way.”
Nilsson shrugged and asked, “And what will the first question out of the captain’s mouth be?”
“How long a delay and how much fuel will it cost?”
He pumped his fist in the air and said, “Give the lady a cigar.”
“Give me a few minutes and I can calculate that. We’ll have the answer before we raise it with the captain.”
Nilsson looked around the bridge, as if to reassure himself that they were out of earshot of the helmsman steering the ship, before saying, “Save your effort, Cox. If it means any delay and any additional cost, he’s not going to buy it. At least not now, not with the forecasts being so disparate. He caught real grief from the company when we steered to avoid a storm last year. The storm turned and didn’t even cross our original course. I think he nearly lost his job over that one. He’s not going to deviate one iota unless all of the predictions have us running dead center through a Cat 5, I’d bet my pension on that.”
Cox lowered her voice and said, “It’s not our pensions we’re betting, it’s our lives and this ship.”
Slumping back against a radar console, Nilsson folded his arms across his barrel chest and said, “Go ahead, crunch your numbers and pitch it to the captain. Just don’t be surprised when he gives you a resounding no.”
Cocking her head to the side, the impish smile returned and Cox said, “I was hoping you’d first approach the captain with the idea. I’ll be right there to jump in and back up the recommendation, but you and I both know you have a much better chance of him at least listening to the issues than I do. Let’s face it; he just doesn’t like me.” She looked at Nilsson expectantly.
After a long pause, he replied formally, “It would not be my place to comment to a subordinate officer regar
ding the feelings of a superior officer.”
Cox nodded and said, “I know that, Chief. I don’t need confirmation. I know what I know. It’s probably for several reasons. I’m a woman, I’m young, my career has progressed more quickly than many think anyone’s should, and sometimes I joke around with the crew too much. Yet, probably my greatest fault of all, I tell him what I think, whether it coincides with his opinion or not.”
Nilsson’s deep blue eyes smiled as he said, “One of the ratings on your performance evaluation is focused on awareness of the environment around you. Is the officer aware of the changing environment around them? I have always given you high marks on your keen awareness and evaluation of the environment around you.” He drew a deep breath and seemed momentarily lost in thought. Finally, he added, “Plot your course, crunch your numbers. We’ll talk to the captain together.”
CHAPTER NINE
Thursday morning, in spite of numerous aches and pains as a result of yesterday’s shutter raising, I took my morning jog along the beach. The wind had picked up and by the time I got back to Cap’s Place, rain had started to fall. The rain was light, but unusually cold. I cursed myself for not moving the tables and chairs from the back deck yesterday, as Moe had suggested. He wanted to put them in the shed, to prevent them from blowing all over the neighborhood, but I told him we’d wait and see what this morning brought. The real reason I wanted to wait was because after finishing with the shutters, I was damn tired.
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