Jump City: Apprentice

by MK Alexander

  I heard the bell jangle as the door opened and two men stepped inside. One was Carter Woods.

  “Sweltering,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Outside.”

  “Oh.”

  “There’s a nice breeze though,” his friend commented.

  “Well?” I asked cheerfully and could feel a huge grin on my face.

  “Well what?” Carter asked, not sharing my enthusiasm.

  “Are you a new father?”

  “Oh,” he laughed, “not yet… any day now.” He paused to glance at me suspiciously. “How did you get in?”

  “Um, the door was open. Sorry…”

  “No sorry about it… Could’ve sworn I locked it though… Did you finish your story yet?”

  I nodded.

  “What did the Chief say?” he asked.

  “Well, he did confirm it was arson, but he’s reticent beyond that. I don’t think he likes me.”

  “Nah, it’s just because you’re new in town.”

  “He said he’d call you to follow up.”

  “Good,” Carter answered.

  “Why would anyone want to burn down a library?”

  “It doesn’t make any sense at all, does it?”

  I glanced over at the other man, Carter’s friend.

  “This is Mr Higgins, Lionel Higgins, my very own intellectual adversary… Lionel, meet Patrick, the Chronicle’s new reporter.”

  “Temporarily,” I said.

  Woods gave a small shrug. “He’s the one I was telling you about, full of crazy ideas.” Carter lowered his voice, “the fellow Durbin mentioned.”

  At that, Higgins stepped closer and shook my hand. “A real pleasure, Mr Jardel.” He had a firm grip and an intense look to his face. I could tell he was keenly intelligent and brimming with curiosity.

  “His ancestor was Joshua Higgins, helped found the whole damn place.”

  “A very distant ancestor,” the man said.

  “Don’t be so modest… Lionel here, he practically runs the town. He’s our chief administrator.”

  “Really, like a mayor?”

  “No, not the mayor. Percy’s the mayor.”

  “Percy? You mean Mr Smith?”

  Both men laughed at that.

  “More of a figurehead than anything. Higgins here does all the work.”

  “What about Smith?”

  “He’s a bit of a bon vivant… harmless of course.”

  “So… what do you think of our little town, Mr Jardel?”

  “Call me Patrick, please… And I love it here…still pretty as ever.”

  “Pretty as ever, eh?”

  “Sure, like a postcard.”

  “Picturesque, you mean?”

  “Yeah, and I think it has huge potential.”

  “Potential for what?” Carter asked.

  “Hmm... Progress… preservation…”

  “Progress versus preservation, not an argument that carries much weight in the middle of a depression,” Higgins shot back.

  “It’s all in vain anyhow,” Carter said. “One good hurricane and the whole place will be washed off the goddamn map.”

  Higgins ignored him and asked, “What’s to preserve, Mr Jardel?”

  “Well, there seems to be a lot of history here, I guess; and um, just the natural beauty of the place.”

  “Like?” He urged me on.

  “The beaches… the dunes, exotic flora, open spaces, historic houses— all those sea captains and pirates…”

  “What, kind of like a national park?”

  “Exactly that.”

  “What did I tell you, Lionel? This guy has some pretty strange ideas.”

  Higgins gave me a smile and a pat on the back. “Not at all, I’d say he’s a man after my own heart. Well then, ready for the nickel tour?”

  “What?”

  “Carter said you wanted me to show you around town.”

  “Did he? That’d be great, I guess.” I held up my cane. “Can’t walk that far yet.”

  “We can take my car.”

  Outside, we climbed into Lionel Higgins’ 1932 Ford B-400 convertible.

  “What would you like to see first? Maybe Blackwater Quarry?”

  “I’ve already seen it,” I replied. “Though I do have some questions.”

  “Like what?”

  “What’s all the rock used for? The jetties?”

  “What jetties? Most of that rock went to build the hospital. The gravel is for roads, and to line the canal of course…”

  “It can’t last forever,” I said.

  “What do you mean, Patrick? The quarry?”

  “How far down can you dig? They’re probably already below sea level.”

  “He’s got you there, Lionel.”

  “It’s a question of long term versus short term… Sometimes I think Carter here only looks at the short term. I’m the opposite,” Higgins replied.

  “So you’re saying the quarry is a good thing?” I asked.

  “Damn the quarry…” Woods said with disgust.

  “That’s the whole thing, the longterm. Think about how the lighthouse brought electricity to the area… a good ten years before other places… we benefitted from that.”

  “Alright, I see your point, as usual,” Woods said quietly.

  “If it weren’t for the Sentinel, we wouldn’t have electricity out here.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Maybe exaggerating a little.” Higgins paused. “Same thing could be said about the canal.”

  “How about we drive there?” I asked.

  “Sure, we can get a good view of it from the docks.”

  “You mean the marina?”

  Both men laughed at that idea.

  We bounced and jostled along a sandy one lane track that snaked beside the bay: Longneck Road. Conversation was difficult but not impossible over the sound of the V-eight engine. “I guess my first question is why the name Sand City?”

  Higgins laughed. “First of all, Fair Oaks sounds too much like Fairhaven to my liking. But it’s on account of the new post office building. Just opened last month. Government required that we choose a new name… so there you have it, Sand City.” He smiled. “It’s a bit of wishful thinking, I guess.”

  “Was that Hoover?”

  “What?” Higgins asked.

  “The new post office.”

  He chuckled. “In a way. It’s been in the pipeline for years. Probably the last government project we’ll ever see.”

  “Did Hoover do all this?”

  “Do all what?”

  “The quarry, the canal— are they government projects?”

  “No, of course not,” Higgins replied.

  “When did they start building the canal?”

  “Last year.”

  “Who owns the quarry?”

  “That’d be Mr Mears… He owns nearly everything around here.”

  “And the government?”

  “The new administration is not helping much. We’re going to have to rely on private enterprise to pull this town up.”

  “Up from where?”

  “The rising sea of despair, my young friend.”

  Higgins parked in the sand opposite a ramshackle boatyard. There were some sheds and old wooden docks, a couple of beat-up trawlers, and skiffs of every size and description. Some were up on blocks along the beach undergoing repairs or painting.

  “Wow, that’s quite the boat,” I said and pointed to a large cabin cruiser constructed entirely of dark wood.

  “That’s Professor Mallinger’s.”

  It was an awesome sight, if not slightly incongruous among the dilapidated trawlers. “Is that a diving board at the back?” I asked.

  Carter directed my attention to the west. There were several large cranes and a steam shovel in the distance. Closer to us, I could see gangs of men setting large granite stones along the shore of a dry canal.

  “Cuts right across the marsh to the inlet on th
e Atlantic side. Should breach through by the end of next month.”

  “Breach?”

  “Let the water in. There’s a temporary dam on either side until they’re all done with the construction.”

  “Why are they even building a canal?”

  “Well, it shaves about three hours from going around North Point.”

  “Barely looks wide enough for a fishing boat to make it through.”

  “Big enough for a yacht,” Carter commented.

  Higgins gave his friend a look. “Once it’s all done, I figure we can drain the swamp right into the canal. Maybe put up houses some day…”

  “Drain the swamp to kill the mosquitos?” I asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Stagnant water… all those little ponds, that’s where they breed.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I thought everyone knew.”

  “Well, Carter? Is he right?”

  “I may have read something about that.”

  “How about the horse flies? Would it kill them too?”

  “Hmm, don’t know much about flies.”

  “Can’t say which is worse,” Higgins said. “It’s a plague on our fair city.”

  “There’s not much to be done against nature, Lionel.”

  “There are always screens,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Like at Mrs Moriches, where I’m staying. If she put screens on the windows, I’d never even think about mosquitos… or flies.”

  “On the windows, you say? Hmm, of course I’ve seen a screen door in my day, mostly down south… but on the windows? Hadn’t really thought of that.” Higgins paused. “If it were up to me, I’d fill in the whole swamp. Kill all the damn bugs. Not enough sand though, not from just one canal.”

  “Should they build two?” Carter asked.

  “Don’t get me started, Woods.”

  “What are they going to do with it?” I interrupted.

  “The sand from the canal, you mean?”

  I nodded.

  “For now they’re dumping it up by the shoals. There’s a huge pile already.” Higgins pointed. “You can see it from here.”

  “The shoals?” I asked.

  “Oh, fifty, sixty years ago they were salt flats. It was a big industry here back then.”

  “Now they’ve destroyed the oyster beds,” Carter said.

  “You can’t be sure about that…”

  “When was the last time you saw an oyster, Lionel? Not since they started the goddamn canal.”

  “Okay, okay, you might be right, Carter…”

  “Maybe you could use the sand to build a new beach instead.”

  “What new beach?”

  “Baxter Beach.”

  “It’s all rocks and pebbles.”

  “Exactly,” I said and smiled until Higgins pieced together what I was suggesting.

  “A beautiful sandy beach right on the bay?” he mused.

  “Perfect for little kids,” I offered.

  “Hmm. We could rent umbrellas.”

  “Good place to watch the sunset,” Carter added.

  “Not a bad idea, Mr Jardel, but I’m not so sure how the money end would work…” Higgins started to think. “Maybe I could get sponsors…”

  “Sponsors?” Carter asked, obviously annoyed.

  “Sure… like, you reserve your very own sandy spot by the bay… with an umbrella. Heck, I’ll throw in a lounge chair and a towel.”

  “What are you saying, Lionel? It makes no sense.”

  “You know what I mean, a gimmick. Like all them cereal companies and their boxtop promotions.”

  “That’s a crazy idea.”

  “Maybe… maybe just crazy enough to work.”

  “You might have to move that rock.” I pointed towards a giant bolder that could be seen even from this far south. It sat smack in the middle of the beach, probably left over from the last ice age.

  “There’s a real pirate ship out there,” Higgins said and also pointed north. “It’s about a hundred yards off shore.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, maybe not a pirate ship. It’s an old schooner. She went down in the early eighteen hundreds.”

  “The Britannia,” Carter added, naming the vessel. “These waters can be treacherous.”

  “Pure serenity now,” Higgins said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The view here… the bay… the calm waters…”

  “Oh, Serenity Bay.”

  Higgins turned sideways and gave me a look. “What did you say?”

  “Serenity Bay.”

  “Huh, I like that… Serenity Bay,” he repeated to himself. “You’re full of ideas, ain’t you, Mr Jardel?”

  I smiled. “Progress.”

  “Okay, you’re two for three, Patrick,” Carter Woods said.

  “What?”

  “You tackled preservation, and progress… how about prosperity?”

  I laughed at his comment.

  “No, I’m serious.”

  “Oh… well, somehow you have to attract people to this place, maybe tourists…”

  “Tourists?”

  “Sight-seers…”

  “Why would they want to come here?”

  “I don’t know, the beach, the fresh air, the Sentinel…”

  “Why would people be interested in an old lighthouse?”

  “Camping then?”

  “There’s a tent city for the quarry workers, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No, I meant recreational camping, families and stuff.”

  “Not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Maybe shops then, hotels, summer rentals, pleasure boaters… tourist stuff.”

  “Like a resort town?” Carter asked.

  “See… what did I say? That’s exactly my idea,” Higgins added.

  “How about restaurants? Maybe serving ethnic food… that could be a draw.”

  “What?”

  “Cuisine from around the world, an international kind of thing. Italian food, Chinese food…”

  “Chinese food? Who’d eat that?”

  “I was thinking about pizza really.”

  “Pizza? What’s that?” Higgins asked.

  “Um, tomato pie…”

  “Sounds disgusting.”

  “Well, it’s sort of big in New York.”

  “Say… didn’t Doc Valenti make that once?”

  “Oh yeah, like cheese and tomato soup on really thin bread… wasn’t half bad.”

  “I honesty don’t see that happening,” Higgins said. “Still, I might like the idea of a resort town… How do you think we could make that work, Mr Jardel?”

  “I guess you’d have to start with the trains.”

  “What about the trains?”

  “The schedule is sort of backwards, well maybe not backwards exactly… but what good is a train that rolls into town at night?”

  “It’s good for the people who work in Fairhaven,” Higgins answered.

  “And it keeps Durbin busy,” Carter said.

  “What?”

  “Checking the incoming train every night… for indigents.”

  “Besides, it’s good for the fisherman.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Morning train out, loaded up with seafood, packed on ice that’s shipped in from up north…”

  “It’s not good, Lionel, you know that already,” Carter said. “All the fisherman complain about it. Their catch is never fresh by the time it hits the market.”

  “Sure it’s fresh…” Higgins disagreed.

  “How about frozen, frozen like a rock?” I asked.

  “Like a rock? And who would buy that?”

  “Mr Birdseye?”

  Higgins stared at me. “You’re talking about Clarence Birdseye?”

  “That’s it exactly. Frozen seafood. Shipped off to Fairhaven and points beyond, California even…”

  “They got their own ocean, but I do t
ake your meaning. Still, a refrigerated box car? That would cost some money…”

  “Fish City,” I muttered.

  “What’s that, Mr Jardel?”

  “I wasn’t really talking about the fish, anyhow. I meant trains for the visitors. You would need one that leaves at night, at least one… for day trippers.”

  “Day trippers?”

  “Say, I come and spend the day at the beach, the fresh air. How do I get home?”

  “Listen to the man, Higgins… he makes a valid point.”

  “Sure, I’m all ears…”

  “Wouldn’t it be great if there was a morning train coming in? That way people could commute here… either to work, or to enjoy a day of fun.”

  “That’s not half-bad.”

  Carter chuckled. “Next you’ll be telling me you want the trains to run on time.”

  “What?”

  “Like Italy.”

  “No, I won’t be saying that.” I laughed. “How’s the road these days, Route Sixteen?”

  “You mean County Road?” Carter clarified.

  “It would be a whole lot better if it was paved and maybe widened…” Higgins said.

  “Fat chance of that happening.”

  “Should be enough gravel from the quarry, right?” I asked.

  ***

  We broke for a bite to eat at George’s Luncheonette. Two corned beef sandwiches and a meatloaf platter, coffee and dessert all around. I couldn’t resist paying the tab: one dollar and twenty two cents. I put two dollars down on the table.

  “Don’t let the Sheriff see you do that,” Carter admonished.

  “What?”

  “Leave a tip like that. He still thinks you’re Canadian.”

  As we left, Durbin pulled up in his sputtering jalopy. He called out to us. “I got myself a bottle of Johnnie Walker, I’d like to share. What do you say we all get spiflicated tonight?”

  Carter and Higgins laughed in tandem. I wondered what he meant exactly. I turned to Carter Woods.

  “Drunk, he’s saying.”

  Durbin called me over with a finger. He handed me a wad of cash wrapped in a rubber band. “Your bankroll,” he announced, “minus the twenty bucks you owe me.”

  “Wow, I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Don’t mention it. Just watch out Willy Sutton doesn’t find you.”