by Nobody, Joe
“What do you mean?”
Sighing, the sheriff explained, “The worst cases were always the instances where we didn’t catch the perpetrators. The victims had to go on with their lives knowing the man who had tortured and hurt them was still on the loose. I know of a couple of women who still live in fear, terrified that the rapist who had violated them will come back one day.”
Bishop’s mind traveled back in time, trying to recall any oddity in Terri’s actions after the final battle at Forest Mist. He remembered the disturbing expression on her face when she informed him that Blackjack had escaped. Bishop had seen that same look of overwhelming fear and misery when he and Nick had broken the disappointing news to her out at the ranch. Bishop couldn’t deny the truth any longer; being raped would explain all of Terri’s recent behavior.
Two days passed since the conversation with Sheriff Watts. Now, sitting at his normal position at the end of Pete’s bar, the security expert rubbed his temples while Harry finished closing the pub. His head throbbed with stress, generating enough pain that he longed for aspirin. “No,” he mumbled, “I want the pain. It is a constant reminder of the agony my wife is experiencing… and the fact that men like Blackjack Jones still walk the earth.”
The squeaky hinge of the pub’s front door snapped Bishop’s attention back to the present. Glancing up to see who might be stopping in so late in the day, he was surprised to spot the owner and namesake of the establishment strolling across the threshold. “Pete!” he shouted in surprise.
“Hello, Bishop,” his friend responded with a friendly nod. “Long time, no see.”
Sliding off his stool, Bishop extended his hand and offered a welcoming smile. “Hiya, boss. Damn… it’s good to see you.”
Harry received his own cheerful greeting, Pete obviously in a good mood. After asking the bartender to pour him a cup of Joe, the bar’s owner motioned for Bishop to grab his own cup and join him in the corner.
“I heard you had another of your adventures not so long ago,” Pete started after the two men were seated. “As a citizen of the Alliance, I wanted to let you know how much I appreciated what you and Terri did out there in Forest Mist. I’d heard rumors of immigrants being treated badly, but I had no idea how much the situation had degraded.”
Peering down at the table, Bishop replied, “Thanks, Pete. That means a lot to me coming from you. I’ll pass your words on to Terri.”
Having been a cop as well as a man who had negotiated dozens of business arrangements, Pete instantly sensed something was wrong with his friend and employee. “How’s Terri doing?”
The concern in Bishop’s eyes was impossible for him to hide. “She’s… well… she’s struggling, sir. To be blunt, I’m very worried about her.”
Before becoming one of the Alliance’s most successful entrepreneurs, Pete had been a detective in Philadelphia. The combination of Bishop’s tone and expression awakened the former lawman’s investigative instincts. “You and Terri are my good friends and some of the best people I’ve ever encountered in my life,” he announced with genuine admiration. “Tell me what’s wrong. Let me help.”
It suddenly dawned on Bishop that like Sheriff Watts, Pete had probably dealt with his own share of sexual assault victims. He was also a man who could keep a confidence. For the next 20 minutes, Bishop explained to his employer what had happened since he had departed for Forest Mist.
“Sheriff Watts is right, Bishop. Terri’s ghosts are going to keep haunting her until somebody eliminates the threat posed by the man who abused her. He either needs to be locked away or to find himself staring up at the wrong side of the grass.”
The two men continued to discuss the situation, Pete’s opinion fully aligned with his friend’s. “She probably was raped. I’ve seen a dozen cases where the victims were afraid to tell anyone about the assault, especially their husbands. They were afraid of what their loved ones would think… or that their mate would not want them anymore.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Bishop protested. “I’d love her no matter what happened. She has to know that!”
“I’m sure you would, my friend. There’s no doubt in my mind that you are that type of man. But women are wired differently than we are. We look at things from two completely unique perspectives… we each process and analyze traumatic events using different parts of our brains. As strong as Terri is, she has suffered both physical and mental injury. She feels like a different person, and most likely she is questioning how you would react to having a stranger in your life.”
“How can I help her?”
Shaking his head, Pete sighed deeply. “It sounds like you are doing the right things already. My best advice is to continue being patient with her, and pray that somebody catches up with Blackjack Jones. This is never easy, Bishop. It’s going to test your relationship unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Keep supporting her with all you’ve got, and hope that as the years go by, she will mend. Don’t be surprised if she is never the same.”
“Years?”
Nodding, Pete sadly responded, “Yes, my friend, years.”
Pete watched closely as the man next to him changed. He’d seen the transition before, Bishop’s eyes becoming cold and dark, almost demonic in their depth. A chill went up and down the bar owner’s spine.
“Could I have a few days off?” Bishop whispered, his voice barely audible. “I know I’m probably in the hole with vacation days, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
Pete, again, read his friend perfectly. “You want to go to New Orleans, don’t you?”
Bishop’s face returned to normal just as quickly as it had embraced the darkness. “Yes. I have to help her, Pete. I can’t stand seeing the woman I love in so much pain without doing everything in my power to alleviate it.”
The older man considered the situation for a minute. Taking a final sip of his coffee, he announced, “I don’t mind your taking some time off, but before you do, I have another job I need your help with. After that….”
“You name it, Jefe.”
“My coffee shipment is coming in,” the entrepreneur continued, “I want you to go with me and make sure the transaction goes smoothly. More and more people are in on my clandestine wholesale agreement, and well, the last time I was there, things threatened to get a little out of hand.”
Nodding, Bishop responded, “So we’re going to Beaumont?”
Pete’s eyes grew wide at his employee’s presumption. “How did you know?”
“I heard about a freighter that lands in Beaumont… a ship full of Central America’s freshest beans. I just figured that was your secret source.”
“Damn,” Pete replied, shaking his head and smiling at the same time. “Like I said, word has been getting around. Anyway, I don’t expect any serious trouble, I just think it would be a wise precaution to have a steady hand along just in case things get heated.”
“Over coffee?” Bishop frowned.
“Oh, the ship’s captain brings in a lot more than just beans. Last month, he had about ten pounds of jade; the month before that he had bundles of silk and other materials for sale. I think he loads up anything of value. It’s an interesting avenue of trade,” Pete explained.
Before Bishop could pose another question, the bar owner brightened with thoughts of a recommendation. “I just had a great idea. You know, I keep a beach house there along the Gulf, and there’s just nothing quite like the fresh ocean breeze to clear your mind and refresh your spirit. Why don’t you ask your family to come along? That little boy of yours would love to squish some sand between his toes, build a sand castle and search for shells. In fact, I bet Miss Terri and Hunter would both enjoy the new marketplace they have organized at the port. We can fly out of Alpha on my plane and be back the next evening, the following morning at the worst. It might be a great distraction for her… get her mind off the recent past.”
“I think you might be right,” Bishop agreed. “Maybe a little vacation would cheer her u
p. I’ll ask her tonight.”
Bishop had been pleased with Terri’s reaction to Pete’s offer. “The flight will last about four hours in Pete’s airplane. We can take Hunter and see the ocean, maybe some big ships, and do a little shopping,” he’d offered.
“I’ve never been on an ocean-going ship before,” she pondered, rubbing her chin in thought. “I’m sure Hunter would be fascinated.”
“Pete promised us a tour of the freighter if we are interested… and dinner at the captain’s table,” Bishop added, feeling like he was about to close the deal.
“Let’s do it,” she smiled. “A change of routine would be nice. As long as you promise we won’t go anywhere near Forest Mist or New Orleans, I’m good to go.”
“I promise. Let’s get packing. We’re supposed to fly out tomorrow afternoon,” Bishop replied, giddy with the prospect that the old Terri was still in there somewhere.
The next day, with Hunter’s car seat and two suitcases in tow, the family arrived at Alpha’s small, regional airport. Upon entering the facility, Bishop experienced a fleeting, worrisome déjà vu moment of his own. Luckily, the airport was a completely different scene than when Bishop had battled Smokey’s gang at the facility. After escaping on a dirt bike into the desert beyond, the West Texan had almost died of dehydration.
Now, with Alpha being the Alliance’s seat of government, the place was bustling. The couple noted several large cargo planes parked along one side of what had been an empty field just a few years ago. Several military aircraft were also visible, secure behind a fenced area that wasn’t open to the public.
After driving around the busy facility for a few minutes, Bishop spotted Pete standing next to a private, twin-engine aircraft that looked to be engineered for speed.
Hugs and greetings soon followed, Pete bragging on how tall Hunter had become while showering Terri with a throat full of compliments. After tossing their bags into the cargo hold and loading up his gear, Bishop and Hunter sat in the back, Terri occupying the co-pilot’s seat at Pete’s insistence.
“I didn’t know you were a licensed pilot,” Terri remarked as they began to taxi toward the runway.
“Who said anything about being licensed?” Pete grinned, applying the throttle to the engines after receiving permission from the tower to lift off.
Laughter broke out in the cockpit as the wheels left the ground, Terri playfully punching Pete in the arm for the bad joke.
“See, she’s a mean woman,” Bishop whispered to Hunter.
All eyes were drawn to the windows as Pete gained altitude, the Chihuahua Desert sprawling in every direction under the wings.
The couple took turns pointing here and there, various landmarks visible in the distance. “There’s downtown Meraton,” Terri chirped. “I bet we can see the ranch from here,” Bishop added.
The flight east passed quickly, Pete eventually taking over the sightseeing narrative. “There’s the Brazos River,” he indicated, soon followed by, “You can see downtown Houston off to the right,” a short time later.
The highlight of the trip for Bishop, however, was when Terri turned at one point and mouthed, “This is fantastic. Thank you.”
In fact, he hadn’t seen his wife so happy since the debacle at Forest Mist. It lifted his heart to see her so engaged and jovial.
“Okay, I’m going to take her down for our approach and landing. The airstrip I use is just west of Port Arthur. One of my managers from the area is supposed to be waiting for us.”
A few minutes later, they were wheels-down and rolling toward a small, metal building. There, waving a friendly hello, were two middle-aged men standing in front of a pair of large SUVs. “Our land legs are here,” Pete smiled, nodding toward the duo.
After unloading their luggage into the back of a newer Chevy Tahoe, Pete issued a series of orders to his employees. “Please get the plane topped off and ready to go. We should be back tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it. I hope you have a good meeting,” replied the local manager.
Again, all attention was directed out the windows, eager to see and experience new sights as Pete navigated them toward the port. This time, however, Bishop sat in the front seat, his M4 carbine between his legs.
“It’s just a precaution,” he’d informed a concerned Terri as they loaded into the vehicle. “It’s what Pete pays me to do,” he reminded his spouse.
Terri seemed comforted by his words. “I can smell the salt water,” she observed, her head tilted back to rest on the seat, her eyes closed as she relaxed for a moment.
“Captain Cortez is scheduled to dock this evening,” Pete informed his friends. “We will stay aboard the ship tonight if he arrives on time. If not, we’ll drive to my beach house. I’m sure everybody will be very comfortable there.”
Pulling up to the wharf, Pete and Bishop were both a little surprised at the number of people gathered, all of them apparently waiting for the ship to arrive. “Well, I see that the word has spread even further than before,” Pete commented. “Captain Cortez is doing well with this little arrangement of his.”
Hunter was fascinated with the water stretching off in the distance, his eyes darting between the wide-open horizon and a massive tanker docked just a few hundred yards away. Excitement and fascination filled him, his little body dancing and wiggling in anticipation.
Bishop, wanting to earn his pay, kept his eye on the milling crowd. He noted a variety of delivery trucks, a couple of 18-wheeler semis, and a lot of pickups. It seemed like the Brazilian ship’s customers came in all shapes and sizes. Several folks were armed, but none of them appeared to be threatening.
The security professional didn’t detect even a hint of ill intent among the group, most of the people present chatting and laughing… as familiar with each other as a group of old high school buddies. Several of them approached Pete, offering a friendly greeting, a welcoming handshake and a warm pat on the back.
“Unfortunately, these little cruises don’t follow a strict itinerary like they did in the old days. He is supposed to come into port this afternoon, but a storm or a mechanical issue might change his ETA slightly. We’ll hang around until sunset,” Pete announced a short time later. “The good captain won’t try to dock after dark. He’ll anchor offshore and wait for good light.”
“Roger that, boss,” Bishop nodded.
Chapter 7
Captain Juan Cortez’s eyes scanned the Gulf of Mexico with a skeptical scowl born of years at sea. There was a weather front chasing him from the south, darkness closing in from the east. Life on the deep water was never simple.
Despite having made this voyage dozens of times, the captain was a little wary of the trip. Through the metal deck under his feet, he could feel the steady vibration of the old Perkins diesel. I will have to change her oil when we return to our home port, the captain thought. Finding the proper weight of lubrication was always an issue, but he hoped that it was something he might acquire in The States. The Lady ’s age and miles were always a worry, her powerful engine having been repaired, patched, and rigged with an unholy assortment of mismatched spare parts and homemade replacements. In this day and age, it wasn’t as if he could order a new part on the Internet. She was a vessel holding her own… but living on borrowed time. Sometimes he wondered when he would have to resort to superglue, paper clips and duct tape. For now, he would pamper her and hope she sailed for many years to come.
Still, she had never let him down at sea… at least not for any extended period.
Her name was Senhora de Sao Luis , or Lady of Sao Luis , her home port in Brazil. The captain was a fourth-generation seaman, his great-grandfather having purchased the family’s first fishing boat in 1903.
The Senhora was what his father would have called a “tramp,” though her official classification was that of a coastal trading vessel. She was 215 feet long and 39 feet at the beam. Originally built in the Netherlands in 1964, she had been a short-ha
ul carrier in the Mediterranean Sea until purchased at salvage prices 28 years ago by Captain Cortez’s father. She wasn’t fast, nor was she capable of making trans-Atlantic crossings. She had just enough range to make the Texas run.
As he approached the Sabine Neches Waterway, the old seaman wondered about what his customers called the apocalypse.
Life in Sao Luis hadn’t really changed all that much since the economic collapse that had impacted so much of the world. The peasants still grew coffee in the mountains, hauled their crops by wheelbarrow down to Sao Luis, and tried to sell burlap bags of beans for as much money as possible. It was an eco-system that had existed for over one hundred years.
In the 1970s, large agricultural corporations had purchased sizeable tracts of land and planted java plantations. At that time, the markets for coffee were exploding worldwide, and Central America was embroiled in drug and civil wars. Brazil, with its steady government and established financial system, had the acreage and infrastructure to take a commanding position in the burgeoning business.
By the early 1980s, Brazil was the largest coffee grower globally. Most of that activity, however, was in the central regions of the country. The state of Maranhão, in the northeast, was mostly bypassed by the expansion. Sao Luis remained a second-class city and port, seemingly lost in time and forgotten by elected officials in Rio.
And that was just fine with most of the residents.
Captain Cortez and his family were better off than most, hauling coffee, beef, and cotton north, then returning with the holds full of oil from Caraccas, tequila from Veracruz, or sugar from Cuba.
When the world plunged over the abyss, most of the residents in Sao Luis could have cared less.
Sure, losing some of their modern conveniences was disheartening, but not crippling. After all, most of the city had only enjoyed reliable electrical service for less than a generation. Phones, either landline or cell, weren’t all that common in the typical household. For the citizens who had access to utilities, outages were common due to storms and the community’s rudimentary infrastructure. People, for the most part, lived the way of their ancestors, either by preference or economic necessity.
