The Canadian Civil War: Volume 4 - Mississippi Beast

by William Wresch

Chapter 32 –

  Mystery Warehouse

  When I woke up the next morning, I could see Elise looking at me from the cot across the aisle. "Remember when I said you really know how to sweep a woman off her feet?"

  "It's not me," I responded, my head still on my pillow. "It's Kaskaskia. It has that effect on all women -- the heart of romance in the heart of the nation. I think I saw that on a tourism brochure somewhere."

  "Do you think it's the grain elevators or the warehouses that create the magic?"

  "Who's to know? That's the mystery of romance."

  With that, we both got up and headed to locker rooms to change for the day. I put on yet another set of American clothes, and then stood in line for my turn at the sink to brush my teeth. There were still plenty of people staying at the school, but it seemed like lines were getting shorter. Sleeping on cots was definitely a motivation to make peace with relatives and move there. Elise and I found each other in the cafeteria and ate an embarrassing large breakfast. Did I mention French food is really good?

  Then it was back to the auditorium and back to work. The two officers were waiting for me. They wanted yet another update on warehouses. This time Elise stayed with me while I reported. The process was getting more and more formal. They had a map system on their computers, and as they projected it on a screen near their table, I described what I knew about each one. Today we talked mostly about computer systems. I explained what was happening at Murphy Manufacturing and what I knew about the other places, the ones we had come to label the "25%". I was mostly through my data dump when a soldier came to our table to tell us two people had come to see me. I turned around to se the Jouberts standing in the door.

  Elise and I both walked over the greet them. I got handshakes, she got hugs. Such is the way of the world. At least this time I got smiles. I suppose the ten thousand dollar PO I had given them might have influenced their attitude. At least my feet were warm and dry, and their smiles seemed genuine. I stood and waited while Marguerite and Elise went on at some length. How were we getting on, it was such a tragedy to lose the Jolliet mansion, thanks again for having us there, you really should visit us one evening, etc. I assumed it would all end eventually, and it did. They had driven to the school for some reason, and in time we would find out what it was. Elise was the one who finally decided to move the conversation along.

  "I understand you have some concerns about fairness in the use of resources to get businesses functioning again?" There was a sweetness in the way she asked the question, that defied a positive response. How could you accuse her of anything? Marguerite didn't.

  "Doctor Murphy was very clear about the methods you are using, and in talking to more of our League members, we are getting good reports from most of them. We are actually here to see if we could help in any way." The operant phrase of course was "most of them." Hmm. Where was this going to go? Elise kept the conversation moving.

  "Why don't we show you the information we have. Do you have a few minutes?" She led the way back to the table we had been using, introduced the army officers, and then pulled up a couple chairs for the Jouberts. Apparently this was show and tell day. Elise asked one of the officers to bring up the warehouse district map.

  "The warehouses are all color coded based on their readiness for use, as reported to us by Shawn," Elise began. "Black indicates they are damaged beyond repair, and will probably have to be torn down when we have the time and resources. Red, yellow, and green are codes for how long it will take to get the other warehouses fully functioning. Green indicates we think they might be useable within the next fourteen days. Unfortunately, as you can see, there are barely two dozen of those. As we scroll over each warehouse, you see that we get ownership information, whether they are an independent warehouse serving any company, or whether they are a wholly owned distribution center serving a particular company. In both cases we then have information on the industry they primarily serve. That, by the way, shows you the next problem we have. While we only have twenty six warehouses we think will be open soon, even that overstates our situation, since nine of them are primarily providers of food or retail goods. While food and apparel matter, they are not as important right now as manufacturing support. We need to keep our factories working, or our economy will suffer."

  "We understand." It was now Marguerite's turn. She had come with something to say, and we were now going to hear it. "And we agree. While we would like to have shoes shipped to our stores, we understand that can't happen unless leather and soles make it to the manufacturers first. So we will wait. The Huguenot Business League met about this last night, and we fully support your strategy." So far so good, but we all knew the next word out of her mouth would be "but." Our drama of the morning was certain to arrive with the next sentence.

  "In reviewing primary industries of the southern areas," (If you need a translation, she is talking about industries owned by Protestants.) "It looks like progress is being made in support of the refineries, paper makers, and farming. Our concern is fishing." Fishing? I am afraid at this point both the officers, and Elise and I were looking at her as if she had just lost her mind. With all the problems we faced, we were supposed to be concerned about guys going fishing? There was a very long silence before I finally decided someone had to say something. Why not me?

  "I wasn't aware that fishing was such an important industry. Are we talking about sending down fishing lures, or cane poles?"

  "I'm sorry," Marguerite replied, although she did not look sorry. "I am not talking about recreational fishing; we are concerned about commercial fishing. Each morning hundreds of boats go out into the gulf for fish and shrimp. Those fish and shrimp are shipped all over the world. It is a major industry." Suddenly she had gone from shoe salesperson to fishing expert. What an odd conversation. And, we still weren't getting it. I kept my dunce cap firmly on my head and kept asking questions.

  "What would those boats need that is sitting here in Kaskaskia?"

  "Motors." She let that word sit out there, so we could get used to the idea. "Motors and parts. For reasons we don't understand, none of the dealers down there have been able to get parts for months, so there was a shortage already. Routine repairs can't be made. Now it looks like more months before anything arrives, so fewer and fewer boats can go out. The fishing industry is being choked. When we checked with the DC, he says he can't ship anything because his street is closed off."

  "Where is the distribution center located?" one of the officers asked. He was already poised over his keyboard to bring it up on the screen.

  "It is called LeGuerre Logistics, and it is on Seventh Street." The officer moved the cursor over to the warehouse she was talking about. It was coded in black.

  "I remember that place," I said. "I was there three days ago. The place was locked up tight. I pounded on the door. No one answered. I looked around and there was no sign of life, just mud everywhere."

  "He says he can't get to his place because the road is closed."

  "The road is open, barely." said the officer at the keyboard. "Here let me show you. This map provides us with road conditions." He brought up another map. This one showed the streets color coded. "Every street in that district is at least orange, as you can see. That means the main plows have gone through and removed everything that might have blocked traffic. Green means we have gone back and repaired any damage that might have been caused by the flood -- breaks in the asphalt, that sort of thing. Since almost all the best warehouses are on First, Second, and Third Street, that is where we put our crews. Seventh Street had no warehouse that would be useable within ninety days, so we put off final repairs. You could still probably get a truck in there, but it would be more work than on other streets."

  "The manager says he can't get in there."

  "This is the same manager who hasn't shipped anything for several months?" I asked. I already didn't like
the guy.

  "Yes."

  "Why don't we go talk to him?" I got up, as did all the rest. "Did you bring a car?" Philippe nodded. "Let's go see what's going on." And I led the two of them out of the auditorium and out to their car. I moved at a fairly fast clip, and I was secretly pleased that they seemed uncomfortable walking so fast. Good. They were the ones making veiled accusations. Let them be uncomfortable. Once out in the parking lot, I waited for Philippe to unlock the car. The three of us got in the front seat and off we went.

  There were modest attempts at chitchat while we drove. Marguerite pointed out one of the stores they owned. Philippe mentioned the improving road conditions. I was having none of it. As far as I was concerned, I was being accused of not supporting some bozo who wouldn't answer his door and was now blaming me for bad fishing. If I said two words while we drove, it was two more than I intended.

  Eventually Philippe got us to the warehouse district and then to Seventh Street. Yes, we did have to slow down for some pot holes, but the road was passable. In fact, as we got to the block where LeGuerre was located, we could see a semi backed up to one of the loading docks. Impassable street? Sure didn't look that way to me. Oddly, though, even with a rig backed up to their dock, the place looked closed. We parked, and walked up to the office door. It was locked. No lights were on, and a sign on the door said "closed." So what was the truck doing here? I banged on the door, hard enough I thought I might break the glass. It was really tempting. But I held back. Instead I finally turned to Marguerite.

  "Do you have a phone number for this guy?"

  "No, but I can get one." She got her phone out of her purse and started making calls to various people in the League. Meanwhile, we stood by the office door. Then a really odd thing happened. A man came around the building from the far side, hurried to the semi, and got in. We all shouted at him, and he turned briefly to look our way. I knew him! I had last seen him standing in the hotel in DeSmet being promised promotion in the Louisiana National Army for services performed in terrorizing Dakota.

  "Hey, you." I shouted at the top of my lungs and started running. No luck. He had the rig moving down the street before I could get down to the loading dock. What the hell was going on? I stood on the corner, watching the semi pull away. I'd love to say I got its number, but I didn't. I pulled out my phone and called Elise.

  "Your call on how to handle this, but this place has the smell of LNA all over it." I went on to describe what I had seen. Elsie said she would talk to others about how to respond. Maybe a search warrant, maybe just monitoring. She would get back to me. While we talked, Philippe and Marguerite walked down the street to me.

  "Do you know what's going on here?" She asked.

  "I assume something illegal." I left it there. "I have called back to the ministry. I expect they will send police officers to check. Do you want to wait for them, or do you want to leave?"

  "I think we should get back to our business."

  "Me too. Do you mind dropping me there?" The car was pretty quiet as we drove the several blocks to Murphy Manufacturing. I waited for an apology. What I got was a comment about how they would consult with their League and provide them an update. Was that an apology? I didn't give a damn. I got out of the car, and while I didn't quite slam the door, I did close it hard enough to knock some rust off their stupid Peugeot.