by Lopez, Rob
“Whaaat?” exclaimed Manny. “Don’t you watch the news or nothing? North Korea’s been testing all kinds of crap.”
“Look,” said Darla. “I don’t care who or what it was. I got repairs I need to do on my boat and I need your help.”
Manny eyed her. “You don’t need me to do that.”
Darla sighed. She knew what Manny wanted to hear.
“Yes, Manny. I need you.”
Manny grinned broadly. “See, I knew you’d come around. Now about that raise …”
“I’m not paying you another cent.”
Manny chuckled. “I wear you down, you’re gonna pay me more.”
“I don’t wear down so easy.” Darla looked at Manny’s pitiful pile of belongings. “Have you got a place you can stay?”
Manny gazed ruefully at what was left of his home. “No. I gotta ask around.”
“You can stay on the boat,” said Darla. “The crew quarters are probably the same as you left it from last time.”
Manny pulled a face. “I store my tools in there. How about your place?”
“Take a hike. You’re sleeping on the boat.”
Manny gathered his stuff into plastic bags and Darla helped him carry some. He also had a battered leather rifle case.
“What you got in there?” asked Darla.
Manny proudly unzipped the case. “Garand M1. My rifle in the Marines.”
Darla didn’t know much about rifles, but it looked to be WW2 vintage. “You’re not that old, Manny.”
“I served in Korea,” said Manny indignantly.
“In diapers?”
“Well, it might have been Vietnam.”
“Sure, keep changing your story. You can tell me about that time you walked on the moon. Oh wait, it didn’t happen did it?”
“I met Nixon once.”
“Right, along with Forrest Gump. I bet you broke Watergate too.”
Manny shouldered the rifle case. “You oughta show a little more respect.”
“I will when you respect my intelligence.”
Manny lifted the bags. “Intelligence,” he muttered, amused.
Thanking his neighbors, he and Darla set off downtown.
***
The bigger stores stayed closed that day, the managers and security staff lingering in the entrances to the dark interiors, trying to figure out how to sell stuff when the electronic checkouts were down and the cameras unable to catch pilferers. In the end they closed the doors and lowered the shutters again. Smaller stores opened on a cash-only basis, and lines of people formed to stock up on supplies. Darla was conscious of the fact that she and Manny looked like looters and kept an eye out for cops, but they didn’t meet any on the way to the boat.
“Do you know some guy called Eric Whelan?” asked Manny.
“Yeah, why?” said Darla cautiously.
“He was hanging around outside the boat yesterday when I was on my way home. He asked about you.”
“What did he ask?”
“How the business was doing. Where you lived. Stuff like that.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. That boy was a thief if ever I saw one. Didn’t like the look of him. I was curious that you knew him.”
“I didn’t know him well. Give you any trouble?”
“He was fixing to. Took exception to me telling him where to go. Then he saw Jacques, coming off the boat, and he went real quiet. Jacques looks at him, he looks at Jacques and your boy Eric just slid away and disappeared. It was real strange.”
“Why?”
“Because I got the impression he and Jacques knew each other. That’s the look he gave him.”
“Did you ask Jacques about that?”
“I did, but he denied all knowledge. You know what he’s like.”
“Did he give you the impression he was lying?”
“I didn’t get no impression of nothing. That man is a stone. I’m telling you, he’s got sketchy connections. And your boy Eric? He runs with the Doon gang. I seen the tats on his arm. How did he know you?”
“I don’t know,” murmured Darla, falling deep into thought. She said nothing else until they reached the boat.
The security guard’s body hadn’t moved from its position, the feet sticking out from the drapes. Darla was certain the police hadn’t acted on her tipoff to check him. Certainly didn’t appear that anyone was going to move him. She approached the body, thinking she should find some ID and maybe tell his relatives or something.
Behind her, Manny moved straight for the fence, reaching for the gate.
“Wait,” shouted Darla.
Manny put his hand on the gate. “What?” he said.
Darla flinched, waiting for the electric shock, but nothing happened. Manny just gave her a quizzical look, then noticed the feet sticking out from under the cover.
“Sweet Jesus,” he exclaimed. “What happened to him?”
Stunned, Darla replied, “He, uh … are you feeling nothing from that fence?”
“What do you mean?” Manny shook the gate, rattling the chain.
Darla tentatively touched the links herself. “This was electric last night,” she said, surprised. “That’s what killed him. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Doubt clouded Manny’s features and he lifted the drapes to peer at the body himself. “That must have been one hell of an EMP,” he said.
“I thought a power line had fallen against the fence or something,” said Darla.
“Ain’t you ever heard of induced current?” asked Manny.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“EMP. In the sky,” said Manny, pointing upwards. “Causes an electrical surge to run through wires and stuff. And this here,” he tapped the fence, “is a lot of wire.”
“How does it do that?”
“I don’t rightly know. Saw a documentary on it once, but I didn’t really get that part. Just the stuff about Russians and North Koreans.”
“Trust you to skim past the useful part.”
Unlocking the gate, they boarded the boat. Manny whistled when he saw the charred, exposed wiring.
“Is the steam generator damaged?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Darla, distracted. “That’s what I wanted you to check.”
“Be best to get it running and test the output with a voltmeter. That’s if the voltmeter is working.”
“Yeah, do all that stuff.”
“You okay? You look like you lost something.”
Darla bit her lip. “Eric Whelan. Did he say anything else to you?”
Manny ran his hand over his scalp. “Matter of fact, he did. I didn’t want to bother you with the details.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, at the point he was getting all uppity, he said you owed him. He didn’t say what, and Jacques kind of interrupted him.”
“And you think Jacques knew him?”
Manny held up his hands. “That’s just the impression I got.”
“Make steam. I’m going ashore to get my stuff.”
“We casting off?”
Darla didn’t answer.
6
Darla hurried through the streets, her mind in turmoil. Her hangover was gone, allowing her to think more clearly, and she didn’t like where her thoughts were taking her.
What did Eric really want, and what was his connection to Jacques?
The triangle of links between Jacques, Eric and that guy Zack couldn’t have been a coincidence. Her first thought was that Eric wanted her boat. Her second thought was that she’d always been suspicious of Jacques taking a job on the Mississippi Rose. She never felt he’d been straight with her and now she understood why.
Between Eric, Jacques and the bank, it seemed everyone wanted to take her baby away from her. Darla walked faster, infuriated by the idea.
In the distance, the tower blocks of the financial district were fully ablaze, adding to the pall of smoke that grew over the city. It looked
eerily reminiscent of 9/11. Fumes drifted through the streets and Darla covered her mouth with her sleeve. The feeling that everything was falling apart around her played on her nerves.
When she got to her street, she was forced to duck quickly into a doorway. Eric Whelan was waiting outside her apartment block.
Darla peered out, but it didn’t appear Eric had seen her. He looked impatient, fidgeting as he drew on a cigarette, adding to the fumes. Darla considered confronting him, demanding to know what he was up to. Maybe a wildcat performance would make him back off.
Or maybe it wouldn’t. She couldn’t call the cops now. Eric had added a little more muscle during his last stay in prison and had probably gotten more aggressive too. He was still young, and prison didn’t breed much in the way of pacifism.
Discretion won over valor, and Darla waited until his head was turned before retreating back around the corner. It took just half an hour for her to rush back to the Mississippi Rose, and on the way she stopped at her car, getting the hammer from the glovebox and carrying it with her, the shaft hidden up her sleeve.
She found she’d been beaten to the boat, but not by Eric.
There were a bunch of cops on the wharf, one on horseback. Some woman in a gray pant-suit was walking up the stage to her boat and, even more egregiously, Jacques and Zack both stood on deck. Smoke rose from the Mississippi Rose’s stacks, indicating she was ready to sail.
“Hey,” yelled Darla, striding onto the wharf.
A cop stepped in her way. “Hold on there, ma’am,” he said, holding his hand up.
“That’s my boat,” said Darla, trying to get past.
The cop grabbed her arm and discovered the hammer. The next second was a blur as three cops jumped on her, pushed her up against the fence and cuffed her hands behind her.
“You’ve got no right,” screamed Darla. “I’m the owner of this boat.”
One of the cops hefted the hammer. “Yeah, and you were planning to hang pictures up, I’m sure.”
“I’m making repairs. Get your hands off of me.”
The woman in the suit came off the boat. Middle aged, she had brushed long hair, sensible shoes and carried herself with authority.
“What kind of repairs?” she said.
Darla tried to think of what repairs she could make with a hammer. “Got engine problems,” she said.
“Your engineer assures me the boat’s ready to run,” said the woman. She pulled out a sheet of paper. “You say you’re the owner. Would you be Darla Jean Griffiths?”
“Yes. And who are you?”
“I’m Eleanor Roberts, FEMA Inspector General for New Orleans. Your boat is being requisitioned for the Federal Emergency, Ms. Griffiths.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I have the authority to requisition whatever is necessary. You and your crew will be fully compensated, and the boat’s insurance will be underwritten by FEMA. You just need to add your signature here.”
Darla nodded sulkily toward Jacques and Zack. “They’re not part of my crew.”
Ms. Roberts was unfazed. “I believe one of them is, and the other has been taken on. I’ve already added them to the roster, and we need to make haste.”
Darla’s cuffs were unlocked and removed.
“Why? Where are we going?”
“I need to get to Baton Rouge urgently to meet with Governor Loving. We need to coordinate the emergency plan, and communications are down.”
“Don’t you have another boat? One that’ll get you there quicker?”
“The other boats are inoperative. Steam power doesn’t appear to have been affected by the storm, so I need your vessel.”
“What about the Pride of Orleans?”
“That’s already been put to use, and, I have to say, Captain Hartfield was more than happy to offer his services.”
“That’s because he’s a kiss-ass.”
“Be that as it may, if you don’t cooperate, I can and will find someone to replace you.”
Darla didn’t like the sound of that. “Ain’t nobody captains the Mississippi Rose but me.”
Storming onto the boat she paused in front of Jacques.
“Why’s he on the boat?” she said in a low voice, a flick of her eyes indicating who she was talking about.
Jacques glanced once toward Zack and gave her a Gallic shrug.
Zack made to say something but Darla walked away before he had the chance. Climbing the steps, she entered the pilothouse. Eleanor Roberts followed, producing the paper and a pen. With a scowl, Darla signed it then opened all the windows.
“Make ready to cast off,” she shouted.
Zack looked confused so Jacques directed him to the stern rope. Two cops came aboard and the stage was pulled onto the deck.
Darla grabbed the handles of the two Engine Order Telegraphs, one for each paddle wheel, and tried to set them to Standby.
The handles wouldn’t move. Baffled, she pushed and pulled, then realized they had been disabled by the storm as well. They were both dynamos that generated their own electricity to ring the engine order bells and send the signal to the corresponding telegraphs in the boiler room. Like the circuit breaker handle, they’d welded themselves to the contacts. For a moment she didn’t know what to do. The engine controls were all with Manny, and if she couldn’t give him orders, they were going nowhere.
That was when she remembered the brass sound tube. She couldn’t recall when it was last used, and it was more a decorative feature than anything else, but with the radios out, she had no choice but to use it. She hoped it hadn’t been blocked with the accumulation of dust and crap. Blowing the whistle on the lid, she shouted into the tube.
“Are you ready, Chief?”
There was no reply.
She blew the whistle again.
“What?” came the hollow echo of Manny’s voice.
“I said are you ready?”
“Yeah. You gotta give me time to come to the tube when you whistle. I forgot where the damn thing was.”
“The Chadburns aren’t working. I gotta shout my orders to you.”
“Last thing I need in my life is you hollering at me.”
“Give me a break, okay?”
Darla grimaced. She wanted to look a little more professional in front of a FEMA Inspector General.
“Release springs and cast off,” she yelled out the window.
Jacques unhooked the front rope and jumped onto the boat. Zack copied him with the stern rope.
“Push away!”
Jacques used a boat hook to push at the wharf, nudging the Mississippi Rose’s bow out. The current had already caught the hull and slowly the boat drifted away from the dock. Peering out, Darla waited until she was sure the side paddle wheel was well clear of any obstacles.
“Slow Ahead both,” she called.
The water sloshed as the paddle wheels turned, the Mississippi Rose shuddering. Darla slowly turned the brass-edged helm, inhaling the fresh moldy odor as the paddles thrashed the surface of the river. Ordering Half Ahead for the starboard-side paddle, she waited as the vessel turned tightly, the starboard paddle thrashing quicker than the port one. Aiming the bow upriver, Darla straightened the wheel and ordered Half Ahead both. Leaving the curling wake behind and with smoke pouring from the stacks, the Mississippi Rose cruised majestically along. Reflexively, Darla blew the two-note steam-whistle, and, in just that moment, felt a little calmer.
7
Leaving New Orleans, Darla kept her to the middle of the river, the boat fighting against the mighty Mississippi’s current. In summer, the current was at its gentlest, the river levels being low, but it was still enough to slow the boat down to a sedate 5-6 knots. At that speed it would take the entire day to get to Baton Rouge, but Darla didn’t want to push the engines yet. Not until the bearings had settled into a steady working temperature, anyway. She also didn’t feel the need to rush. She’d gotten away from Eric and she was back in her element.
Ms. Ro
berts, as she insisted on being called, had left the pilothouse. Darla couldn’t see the two cops anywhere and hoped they weren’t in the saloon drinking the bar dry. She needed to talk to Jacques about setting some rules for their new guests while they were on board. They had supplies on the boat, but Darla wasn’t able to replenish them in the normal manner. It got her to thinking about the city. It was going to be a problem when the stores ran out of food. She wondered how much of the country had been affected by the solar storm — or by the missiles if Manny was to be believed, which he wasn’t. If it was only their part of Louisiana, then it would just be Katrina all over again, with everyone waiting for help from the outside world. That didn’t work out so well, but surely it’d be different now. The city wasn’t underwater, and lessons had to have been learned. Ms. Roberts was certainly on the ball with her do-this-do-that attitude. Darla didn’t much like her, but if she got the job done she could put up with her for a while. There was also the fact that Darla was now doing this on a Federal tab. If she put a good claim in, she might make enough money to keep the bank happy for a while.
The only worrisome part was that it might not just be Louisiana that was affected. Didn’t her sister say they were expecting blackouts in Pittsburgh too? That was right in the north of the country. The authorities had to have had some warning, though. They certainly wouldn’t let northerners suffer like the residents of New Orleans had. Many NOLA natives believed that, and Darla was no different. Her sister was on a farm, so she’d be doing okay now. In the end they’d all get through this, Darla was sure of that. She’d gotten through worse.
Her thoughts turned to Jacques. Having looked him in the eye, she wasn’t sure about his supposed connection to Eric. Manny wasn’t exactly a reliable source. Apart from the big age difference between Jacques and Eric, the chef had worked on her boat for several years and, apart from being seriously weird and anal, hadn’t really given her any problems. Well, not many. Actually, just a few, but nothing she felt threatened by. Though now that she thought about it, he had been a little overbearing on how she ran her boat.
Darla didn’t know what to make of him. She’d never been a good judge of character — Eric was proof of that.