by Claire Booth
The youth contingent would not counteract the senior citizens when it came to rescue, Hank thought. Not only were there a lot of folks in wheelchairs here and downstairs, but several others looked like they needed them. He began to think that his rubber dinghy plan was not going to float.
“I don’t think ferrying these people to shore is going to work,” said a voice behind him. Hank turned and saw that the commander had followed them upstairs. “Now, I don’t know the currents on this lake like the water patrol does,” he said, “but I do have a tugboat.”
“Can it get in this far?” Hank asked. “Could it dislodge this thing?”
“That’s what we need to figure out,” the commander said. “I’ve ordered it out here just in case. I’ll go find Freedman and see if we can take a look at that paddlewheel.”
He spun on his heel and marched out of the room. Several little old ladies sighed after him. Tony looked at Hank and grinned.
“Uniforms sure do the trick, don’t they, sir?”
Hank looked at Tony’s navy blue shirt with the absurd gold piping and smiled.
“How long you been doing this, kid?”
“This is my second season, sir.”
“And pardon me for asking, but are you really the first mate? Or are you, uh, the ‘first mate’ cast member?”
Tony grinned again. “Good question, sir. I’m not technically a cast member—not part of the entertainment at all. I’m the assistant to the captain.”
That was good. Seemed like the kid’s abilities would have been wasted if he … wait a minute. The captain. Where was Albert the Moron? He needed to get on that pronto.
“Where is your captain?” he asked quickly.
Tony gave a start. Then he looked down at his feet. “Um. Yeah. Well, he was up in the pilothouse. I don’t know how he’s doing…”
Hank raised an eyebrow.“You mean now that he’s run the boat aground?”
Tony continued to stare at his feet. “Yeah. He’s pretty bad … I dunno.”
“Take me to the wheelhouse,” Hank said.
Tony, still looking at his feet, cleared his throat and mumbled, “Pilothouse, sir,” as he left the lounge and headed down a plush corridor. Hank’s feet sank into blue carpet held down with brass fittings. The lake and the snow-covered shoreline glittered through windows on the left. They passed a couple of doors and windows with the shades pulled on the right, and then Tony swung one open at the end of the hall.
A narrow set of stairs led straight up. Tony lightly trotted ahead. Hank grabbed the cold metal rail and followed. They came up at the back of the wheel-, er, pilothouse. Tony pushed open another door and there they were, with a panoramic view of Table Rock Lake. And the back of a man’s head.
Tony nervously cleared his throat. The man did not move. Hank stepped around the first mate and pivoted in the small space to stand directly in front of him. Albert looked like something out of a ’70s biker movie. Beat-up leather bomber jacket with the collar turned up, faded jeans, sailor cap pulled low over his face. Aviator sunglasses hid the rest. He hadn’t so much as twitched.
Hank leaned down until he was pretty sure he filled Albert’s entire field of vision.
“Sir?” Hank drew out the word into one long, exasperated growl. Albert remained a statue. He was breathing, at least. Hank resisted the urge to poke him in the chest.
“Are you all right?” Hank growled.
The boat creaked against the rocks. Tony’s shallow panting grew more rapid. There was no other sound. Then Albert peeled his sweaty palm off his leather armrest. The ripping noise made Tony jump back into the doorway. Hank just scowled. Albert slowly raised his hand and took off his sunglasses. His eyes were huge. Bloodshot, watery messes. He blinked once. Then he carefully replaced the sunglasses and did not move again.
Hank did not take his eyes from Albert’s face. He pointed in Tony’s direction. “Go get a medic. Tell him I’m going to need a blood draw.”
CHAPTER
2
Hank stood wedged in a corner of the tiny pilothouse as Medic One took Albert’s vital signs. He was not letting this guy out of his sight until they figured out what the hell was wrong with him. Albert still had not moved of his own accord; the medic was manhandling him into the blood-pressure cuff. It did not appear that he would be able—or willing—to consent to having his blood taken for a drug and alcohol screen.
Hank sighed. He’d have to get a warrant. And the longer that took, the less there would be in that idiot’s blood to test. He reached for his radio. He considered stepping outside, but at this point, he didn’t care if the guy heard him or not. Plus, it was cold out there.
“Sheila, come in, please. This is Hank. Over.” The radio crackled loudly in the small space.
“Yeah, I read you. How’s it going out there?”
He filled Sheila in.
“Glad to have something to do,” she said, “seeing as I’m the only one stuck here in the damn boring office.”
“Hey, somebody’s got to mind the store.”
She laughed. “Oh, sugar, there’s nobody here to care. Everybody’s figured out where the action is—seems like the whole town is down on the docks watching this thing.”
Great.
He signed off, dug his binoculars out of his coat, and started to scan the shore. There was Lovinia. And the dock he and Bill had set sail from, now bustling with rescue personnel. Well, they hadn’t set sail; it was a motorboat. Whatever. He turned slightly and saw them. A few other private piers, and then the big park shoreline. All of them were packed with people. Several satellite truck poles sprouted behind them. How on earth had those things made it out here in the snow?
He shoved the binoculars back in his coat and turned around. Medic One looked up at him.
“This dude is something else. His heart rate is high, but otherwise, he seems to be fine. He’s just not movin’.”
“Any idea how we can get him out of here?” Hank asked.
“Well, I’d suggest a round of talk therapy, but I don’t think that fits your style,” he said.
Hank grinned. “I am not in the touchy-feely business,” he agreed. He thought for a moment. The challenges of moving Albert would be different depending on which rescue scenario the water boys chose. Despite his vow not to leave the moron, he knew he’d have to go see what they’d decided.
“You,” he said, jabbing his finger at Medic One, “are not to take your eyes off this guy. Nobody comes in here, and he sure as heck doesn’t leave. Got it?”
“No problem,” said Medic One.
Hank headed down the stairs, avoiding the cold handrail this time. He strode back past the observation lounge. Everyone looked calm now. Medic Two was busy flirting with a blond teenager, so there couldn’t be anyone in too much medical distress anymore. Good.
He took the next set of stairs two at a time. When he hit the bottom level, he pushed the separating door open wide and headed toward the stern and the paddlewheel, where he could see Commander Ramrod’s immaculate uniform. The sounds of yelling and crying hit him as he passed the doors to the main showroom. He did not stop.
“. . if you’re sure your boat can do it,” Freedman was saying.
The commander got even starchier. “I’ve been saying repeatedly that my boat can do it. We can even push this sorry hulk all the way to shore if it’s too damaged to make it on its own. I—”
Hank interrupted. “When might that happen? I don’t think we have much longer before things start to get really ugly in there. These old folks expected to be gone for two, two-and-a-half hours, tops. It’s been almost six. They’re running out of food and water. And medicine. And probably toilet paper.”
All three men shuddered at that.
“The tug will be here within two hours,” the commander said.
Hank sighed with relief and started to turn away.
“Not so fast,” Bill said. “It’s not going to be that simple.”
Hank stopped.
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“The tug will push the boat out, but it won’t be able to lift this paddlewheel off those rocks.”
He pointed, and all three leaned over the back rail. The huge red wheel was locked in between boulders as big as cars. It wasn’t going anywhere, regardless of the Coast Guard’s tug-boat.
“We figure we can detach it, but if we do that in the next two hours, it’s going to be pretty ugly. Basically just hacking the supports off, slicing through the hydraulics, that kind of thing,” Bill continued.
“Gallagher’s not going to like that any,” Hank said.
Bill and the commander looked at each other. The commander jerked his head toward Hank as if to say, you tell him.
Bill cleared his throat. “Yeah, well. That’s why we figured you would be the best one to have that talk with him. Him being your constituent and all.”
They had to be kidding. He didn’t know anything about boats. Or water. Or hydraulics. But unfortunately, he did know a few things about Henry Gallagher. The guy hadn’t built one of the most successful businesses in southern Missouri by being a pushover. He’d come into town a few years before and bought the Beauty and several other entertainment enterprises that had all been owned by local families. Add up all of his new holdings, and he employed more people than anyone else in town. He softened the hard-charging business image with some pretty good philanthropy—sponsoring several charities and single-handedly paying to save the county animal shelter from closure last year. But that didn’t mean he would readily sacrifice his assets. Especially a five-ton behemoth painted such a pretty shade of red.
The two men staring at him mistook his silence.
“You’re the highest county official we’ve got,” Bill said.
“And we’ve heard such good things about your, um, tact and diplomacy,” the commander said.
Thanks, Ramrod.
“Uh-huh. But you’re right. Bill, you take your boat back to the dock to pick up some guys who can hack this thing off. I’ll have to come with you. I don’t think I can get a secure communication off this boat, and I don’t want the world to hear the conversation I’m going to have to have with Gallagher.”
He turned. “Commander, as long as you’re putting this one on me, you get to make the rounds inside. Reassure everybody that their rescue is coming. Hold some old ladies’ hands. Oh, and stop in up at the pilothouse. I don’t want anybody moving or talking to that captain until I get back.”
The commander nodded and headed for the Beauty’s bow. He and Bill made their way to the gate in the railing. There was no Tony this time. The two made it into the boat—Bill jumping lightly in, Hank landing with a thud as his heavy snow boots skidded.
They made the long trip back to the dock in silence. Hank hunched down into his coat, trying to avoid the wind created by the speeding boat. They pulled up alongside the dock. Convinced he was twice as frozen as before he’d left land, Hank eyed the four-foot vault off the boat.
“Chief! Chief! Here, sir!”
Well, thank goodness. For once, he was grateful for the Pup’s inexhaustible exuberance. He took the offered hand and hoisted himself onto dry land.
“Good to see you, Chief,” said the Pup.
“Thanks, Sam. How long have you been here?”
“Got here right as you were pulling away to go out to the Beauty,” he said. “I’ve been coordinating with Larry and the fire guys. Got five other deputies up at the park doing crowd control. The roads guys haven’t been very cooperative, though. They’re threatening to take their bulldozers and go home.”
Nice.
“And the press is screaming for somebody to make a statement,” Sam the Pup continued. “They cornered Gallagher a little bit ago, but I got them pushed back to the top of the road. They’re not allowed down here at the dock anymore.”
Even better. After that, Gallagher would probably be in a fine mood for their little chat.
“Where is Gallagher now?” he asked.
Sam pointed over toward a stand of trees just off the dock. Hank saw the Company Man crouching as he tried to balance a laptop on a rock. Gallagher stood silently over him.
“Thanks, Sam. Now I need you to get me whoever is in charge of the road guys. We don’t need the bulldozers, but we do need saws and drills and maybe some sledgehammers. Get the supervisor down here so I can talk to him.”
Sam gave a quick head bob, then turned and bolted up the hill. Hank watched him go. After almost six months of working with the kid, Hank still had no idea how he managed not to trip over those enormous feet.
He took a deep breath, which thankfully did not lead to a bout of choking on the frigid air, and strode toward Gallagher.
“Mr. Gallagher. Could I have a word?”
“Of course.” They moved off to the side. Hank explained the tugboat and the boulders and the food shortage.
“Why can’t you ferry them all to shore in motorboats?” Gallagher asked.
“Several reasons. The wind keeps increasing, and the water is too choppy for all but the healthiest people to handle. And this dock requires a four-foot jump to get up on it from the boat. We need a landing location that can handle a gangplank, and this is not it.”
Hank took a breath and continued.
“If we remove the paddlewheel, we can get the boat to a suitable docking location within two or three hours. But we think that’s going to mean basically hacking the thing off. If we take the time to do it right, those passengers will still be out there come morning.”
Gallagher looked out through the gathering darkness at his boat. The pinched look on his thin face got even worse. Hank stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited. After a very long minute, Gallagher let out a long breath. Hank didn’t realize he’d been holding it.
“All right, Sheriff. It is…”—he paused—“… the only good option for my passengers. But I would like to get my maintenance men down here to help with the work. They might know how to salvage at least some of it.”
“Of course,” Hank said. “We now have two boats capable of taking people out to the Beauty. I need to get back out there myself.”
“I’ll have my men here in fifteen minutes. With equipment.” Gallagher spun around and marched toward the Company Man, who had given up on his laptop-balancing act. A few swift sentences, and the Company Man was running up the hill to the road, where he could get a cell signal and call in the death warrant for his boss’s boat.
* * *
Half an hour later, Hank clambered back onto the Beauty. He’d been forced to hike to the road and give the hovering TV cameras a statement before coming back. He hoped he hadn’t had frost on his eyebrows. If it was cold before, now it was almost unbearable. The temperature had to be near zero. And now the clouds were starting to roll in. There would be a storm before the night was over. He prayed they’d have the boat to shore by then.
Tony must have seen them coming. He met them at the gate. Hank smiled at him and introduced the Pup.
“This is Deputy Samuel Karnes. He’s here to help out. You have a status report for me?”
“Yes, sir. Three more people in the main salon have had to go on oxygen. We’re almost completely out of food, but your guys did bring out a load of bottled water, which has helped. The, uh, facilities, um, are starting to back up. Not good, that. And we had an emergency in the showroom when a lady’s rosary broke, but we managed to string it back together with dental floss somebody had in her purse.”
Well, thank God for that.
“And your captain?”
“Yeah.” Tony stared at his feet again. “He’s about the same, sir, from what I hear. I haven’t actually gone back up there.”
Hank didn’t blame the kid. It had been a pretty freaky sight.
“Well, Tony, we should be off this boat within two or three hours. I need you to stay here and meet the folks who’ll be coming shortly. They’re Gallagher’s maintenance men, and they’ll be removing the paddlewheel.”
Tony’s eyes got
wide.“How are they going to do that?”
“That’s a very good question. I have no idea. You and Sam make sure they have what they need, though, okay?”
Tony straightened. “You bet, sir.”
Hank set off for the showroom, where he found a decidedly more cranky group than he’d seen earlier. Still, they weren’t doing too badly, considering. Several card games were going at different tables. The guy on the floor had awakened and was doing a series of yoga poses in a corner of the room. Hank gave the crowd the new timetable, which was met with scattered grumbles. He gave them his best smile and was turning to leave when an image of his wife’s yoga workout videos popped into his head. She was always happier after she did one of them. He walked over and spoke quietly to Sleepy Guy, then headed upstairs.
The folks in the lounge were in better moods, but worse health. One of the teenagers was crying.
“I’m glad you’re back.”
Hank turned to see the commander walk in. “The medic is in the staff break room downstairs,” Ramrod said. “One of the waitresses collapsed.”
Hank grunted. “Three hours, max, until we’re out of here.”
“Thank God,” the commander said. “I’ll go find Freedman and see what we can do down at the paddlewheel. Oh, and you, ah, might want to check in on your guy upstairs.”
Hank nodded. That was definitely his next stop. He stepped into the pilothouse and was met with the sound of sobbing. Medic One, looking quite harassed, pointed at Albert.
“He started this about a half hour ago. Won’t stop. It’s driving me crazy.”
Albert still had the sunglasses on, but he had hunched forward and was rocking back and forth. Hank pulled a piece of paper out of his inside coat pocket. Sheila the miracle worker had somehow gotten it down to the lake and into Sam’s hands before they’d come back out to the Beauty.
“Sir. I have here a court order that allows us to draw blood from your person. I need to ask for your cooperation now.”
Medic One eagerly reached for a needle. Hank shot him a warning look, and he slowed down before maneuvering it into the captain’s arm. Albert stopped rocking, but the sobbing continued. Hank sighed and looked out the window. Someone had turned the big boat’s floodlights on, pushing back the darkness. He saw another small boat coast up to the Beauty. It was packed with men and some big sawlike equipment. And Henry Gallagher. He stood stickstraight in the bow, with his perfectly tailored overcoat fluttering in the now-gusting wind.
