An Incident At Bloodtide m-12

by George C. Chesbro

  Garth grunted, then stared at me for some time with an enigmatic expression on his face. Finally he asked quietly, "Just what the hell did you think you were doing, Mongo?"

  "Uh. . bringing things to a head?"

  "You mean onto a head; your head. I can't understand what you hoped to accomplish, aside from almost killing yourself, by playing Tarzan off the Tappan Zee Bridge, and then trying to hijack a tanker."

  "Hijack a tanker? I wasn't trying to hijack that thing, I was trying to park it, for Christ's sake! And don't give me any more of this 'what did you think you were doing' crap. I was pretty pissed off when I left the hospital, because you were where I am right now. I went to have a little chat with Bennett Carver, to show him the photos and ask what the hell his company and son were up to. He was pretty shocked by the whole thing, especially since he disowned his shithead son years ago. But Mama wasn't shocked; she wasn't even surprised."

  "She got him the job?"

  "Right. She's a tough one. The lady as much as told me to go to hell, because there wasn't a damn thing I could do about any of it. That kind of annoyed me. I got even more annoyed when I got back and found the tanker gone; obviously Mama had called somebody, probably her boy, to tell him the tanker should get out of there fast. I took off after it in the car, because I knew if it ever got out of New York Harbor, we'd never see it or Julian Jefferson around here again. I was intending to make a last-ditch effort to get the Coast Guard to stop them, but while I was on the road I realized that was a waste of time. I saw the construction equipment on the TZ, and I just went for a head-to-head with the captain; I knew it was probably the last chance I'd ever have. If you'd been in my place, you'd have done the same damn thing."

  "Yeah," Garth said mildly. "You're probably right. These goddamn people and their attitudes, and the attitude of the authorities toward these people with attitudes, is enough to give you an attitude. Well, you certainly stopped that ship, brother, and you sure as hell made sure the situation would get a public airing. But we're left with a few problems."

  "Like what? Everything you've told me so far sounds like good news."

  "Care to guess where you are?"

  "Uh, Cairn Hospital?"

  "Try the hospital ward on Rikers Island."

  "Oh-oh."

  "Even as we speak, the state and federal authorities are arguing over who gets to beat on you first. Since Carver Shipping claims you caused three million dollars' worth of damage to their tanker, they want at you first in a state court so they can sue you for everything we've got. But the feds' position is that what you did was an act of terrorism, and they want to make an example of you by first trying you on charges of attempted hijacking of a ship and then putting you away for twenty-five or thirty years. Naturally there's politics involved. We don't have anything but enemies in this administration, and this is probably their way of punishing both of us for what they believe to be our close ties to our dear ex-President."

  "Who's winning? State or federal?"

  "Your lawyers, I hope."

  "Who are my lawyers?"

  "Benson, Quadratti, Kratz, and Pringle."

  "Hoo-boy," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Ira's on the case, is he? Talk about heavy hitters."

  "Yep. He's working pro bono, no less. Any number of the firms we've done business with over the years volunteered to represent you. I thought it best to let Ira handle it."

  "Why pick a Washington firm?"

  "Because that's where the real pressure in this case is coming from, and Ira does have friends in this administration. Even more important, he has friends in high corporate places, and, to my thinking, it's in the boardroom that this little drama you've produced is going to play itself out."

  "Your thinking? What about my thinking? I'm the one they're trying to brand and try as a terrorist!"

  Garth grunted. "I'm taking over as quarterback. You worry about resting and getting your strength back. You're going to need it. Right now you're being held without bail, so there's no place you can go, and nothing you can do if you could go someplace. Your P.I. license has been suspended."

  "I don't need a goddamn license to hunt Chick Carver."

  "Ah. But you're not going to do anything unless Ira or I tell you." Garth's tone, as usual, was mild, but I knew he was deadly serious. He continued, "When Mary and I couldn't think clearly, you did our thinking for us. I appreciated it, and I cooperated. Now the situations are reversed, and you're going to cooperate. Sacra Silver isn't our main concern right now; he's not even a secondary concern. These are worthy opponents you're up against now, Mongo, and if we're not very careful, they're going to blow you right into prison. Now that you've come around, there'll be a formal arraignment. Ira and I haven't made a decision yet whether or not to even ask for bail."

  "Give me a break, Garth. You'd let me sit in the can because you're afraid of what I might do if I get out?"

  "Frankly. . maybe. But the main point in keeping you locked up is so reporters can't get to you."

  "I would think we'd want reporters to get to me."

  "At a time and place of our choosing. When I bring you the papers, you'll see that the situation is getting plenty of ink, and what makes it more than just another corporate scandal story, frankly, is the involvement of Mongo the Magnificent. For some reason, there seem to be a lot of people who find you a colorful figure."

  "It sounds to me like you've been orchestrating the media campaign."

  "To the extent that I can, sure. The photographs of the tankers went to all the right people in the press, and I've emphasized that Mongo the Magnificent was working on the same matter that killed a heroic, small-town riverkeeper."

  "Have you told anybody the whole story about what happened to Tom?"

  "Two people-Henry at the Times and Beverly over at the Post. But nobody's going to print any of that, because they'd be sued for libel, but it should guarantee that now we've got investigative reporters looking deeper into the story. We need all the help we can get. But what's keeping this story hot at the moment, dear brother, is the image of the aforementioned colorful figure lying forlorn and alone, near death, in a hospital bed here on Rikers Island."

  "It brings tears to my eyes."

  "There are a lot of people who don't believe that a man of your reputation would trash a multi-ton tanker over a minor environmental infraction and water-hauling scheme, and they're waiting to hear the whole story-from you. But it will do absolutely no good to just talk to reporters; what's introduced and said at your trial is going to be what counts. In order to explain your motivation for going aboard that tanker, we have to at least strongly hint that Carver Shipping is guilty of corporate murder, not just corporate skulduggery. Ira says that won't be easy. He's thinking that we should let you sit tight here for a while and let the investigative reporters keep digging. There's no sense in tipping our hand, and it could backfire if you make allegations we can't prove."

  "For Christ's sake, Garth, I delivered up a whole tanker filled with Hudson River water that was illegally being hauled. That's no allegation, it's a fact. Are you going to tell me the hull cracked open and all that water leaked out?"

  "Nope. But it's virtually irrelevant. I told you I got the pollution and water-shipping stories out. I also told you these people we're up against are worthy opponents. They haven't exactly been sitting still; Carver Shipping has squads of lawyers and public relations people, and they have their own sympathetic reporters to talk to. Within an hour after this story hit the street, their CEO held a press conference to announce that the company itself had uncovered a plot by Julian Jefferson and a few other so-called rogue captains to line their own pockets. The company categorically denies knowing anything about it, and they officially deplore what was happening. At the same time, they are agreeing to take responsibility, to pay all appropriate fines, and even donate half a million to various environmental groups-including a hundred thousand to the Cairn Fishermen's Association, in Tom Blaine's name. Now, that's
public relations, brother."

  "Now you really are bringing tears to my eyes."

  "But wait; there's more. The very next day, our beloved Secretary of the Interior, the same one who's giving away all the timber, coal, and marshlands, held a press conference in Washington to praise-and these are his words-'Carver Shipping's exemplary record of good citizenship and corporate responsibility.' He also took the opportunity to deplore the actions of a 'well-known vigilante type.' Anybody who knows us realizes that I'm the vigilante type in the family, but I believe he was referring to you. He also used the word 'terrorist' a few times. So, for what amounts to pocket money for the company, probably only a fraction of what they've already made selling water to Kuwait, Carver Shipping is looking to come out of this not only with their profits secured, or most of them, but with a new and burnished image as a kind of New Age corporation that really cares about the environment. You get a thirty-year prison sentence. The CEO's even called for a full shareholders' meeting in six weeks to ask for a vote of confidence in himself and the board of directors."

  "I love it."

  "I knew you would. Get the picture? Make a peep about murder now, and they'll just say it's the self-serving rantings of that well-known vigilante type and soon-to-be-convicted felon. So you just sit tight. We're going to save our ammunition, if we can find any, for the trial."

  I looked away. Now I wished I'd just gone back to sleep when Garth had suggested it. The nightmare I'd been dreaming suddenly seemed pale in comparison to the one I'd awakened to, and at least that had only been a bad dream. "What about the other captains involved?" I asked quietly. "Maybe one of them will come forward and tell the truth."

  "You think so, huh? Maybe a few captains really have been fired, like the company claims, but it's more likely they've been transferred to cushy jobs somewhere else in the world, where we won't be able to subpoena them, in exchange for keeping their mouths shut. And you'll never get a member of any crew to testify; half of them are probably illegal aliens."

  "What about Carver and Roger Wellington?"

  Garth shrugged. "What about them? Nothing's going to happen to them, and they'd certainly lie on the stand. They're in administration, remember? And for the company to can anybody in administration would be to acknowledge that higher-ups might have been involved, and they won't risk that. No, the official line is that it was a conspiracy of captains only, to earn extra money. Carver and Wellington will stay at their desks."

  "And so Chick Carver, and the men responsible for him, get away with murder."

  "Hey, I hope I don't have to tell you that I'm no happier about that than you are. But right now, you're up to your ass in alligators, and that's what we have to focus on. For now, we let things simmer. Lots of people have seen the photographs of those loaded tankers, and some people-except for the Secretary of the Interior, of course-are already beginning to wonder out loud how a half dozen ships could cart millions of tons of water, month after month, without somebody at the corporate headquarters being aware of it. When the current publicity dies down, then we spring you to tell at least part of your side of the story. Who knows? By that time, we may be able to make a deal."

  "Maybe I don't want to make any deal."

  "That's easy for you to say; you're not the one who'll have to spend all that time commuting to a federal prison for thirty years to visit his brother. You'll do what this quarterback says, Mongo. I'll call you off the bench when Ira and I think the time is right. Just sit tight; catch up on your reading. Now go back to sleep."

  I went back to sleep, allowed my body to heal, read the newspapers, watched television, and otherwise sat tight.

  Ten days later Bennett Carver demonstrated his political influence by managing to get in to see me. I could have refused to talk to him, but I was curious as to what he had to say. Although I was still in the hospital ward, on narrow-spectrum antibiotics and a blood thinner, I actually felt much better. I didn't think Bennett Carver could say the same. The silver-haired man's walk was unsteady, and he was using his wife's cane, which was too short for him. His pale green eyes had lost their brightness, and were watery. I was sitting up in bed, reading, when he was admitted to my cell. He nodded curtly, then pulled up a chair next to the bed and eased himself down on it.

  "I came to cut a deal with you, Frederickson," he announced with his characteristic bluntness. "I hope you're going to be happy with the terms; but even if you're not, I hope you'll have the good sense not to reject the offer."

  "If I had good sense I wouldn't be in this pleasure palace, now would I, Mr. Carver? I hope you have other business in the city, because otherwise you've come all the way down here for nothing."

  "The company will drop all charges and lawsuits against you. If that happens, the chances are good that, with a little prodding-which I guarantee will be provided-the Justice Department can be persuaded to drop its charges; if Carver Shipping denies that its ship was hijacked, it's difficult to see how the government can claim otherwise. In exchange, you promise not to discuss the matter with the media. When asked questions, you'll reply, 'No comment.' All this publicity is bad for the company."

  "I thought Carver Shipping had the glowing imprimatur and praise of the Secretary of the Interior."

  Carver made a sound of disgust. "Those fools on the board of directors think that's worth something; it isn't. I didn't found that company to have its reputation depend on the praise of a man who's a hypocrite and bullshit artist. There are people I respect, and friends of mine, who believe Carver Shipping is guilty of something precisely because that man said the things he did."

  "I'm glad to hear you say that, Mr. Carver, because the company you founded is damn well guilty of a lot of things. You know it, and I know it. But I'm still not sure what you're worried about. Those people you're referring to are a distinct minority. I read the papers, watch television. Their public relations people, it seems to me, have done a pretty good job of turning things around and making Carver Shipping look like a paragon of an environmentally concerned corporation. It's already old news."

  "It won't be when you get out of here. I don't know what you're going to say, or how you plan to prove any of the allegations I'm sure you're going to make, but none of it can be good for the company. With your reputation, you could have been out of here on bail; since you're not, I have to assume that keeping you secluded in here is a ploy by your lawyer to eventually mount a second publicity assault on Carver Shipping. You're a dangerous man, Frederickson."

  "Thank you. Have a nice day, Mr. Carver."

  "You're facing a thirty-year prison sentence, Frederickson!"

  "So I've been told. Look, Mr. Carver, this isn't about pollution, or illegal water hauling, both of which we know Carver Shipping is guilty of. And it's not about which side can mount the best public relations campaign. As far as I'm concerned, this is all about responsibility. Specifically, it's about your son's responsibility for causing a man's death, and the responsibility the company you founded bears for, in effect, giving him the license to do it."

  "You don't know-"

  "Yes, I do know. Before he stuck a gun barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger, Julian Jefferson told me exactly what happened the night your fellow church member was killed. Jefferson called your son to report that Tom was poking around the ship, and your son came on board that night to put a stop to it. He ordered the captain to start up the engines while Tom was under the tanker, and he personally stripped and trashed Tom's boat."

  I expected him to deny it, or at least to point out the obvious-that my version of something I claimed a chronic drunk had told me before he killed himself was totally worthless in court, and libelous if I repeated it in public. But he did neither. Instead, he winced and turned away slightly, as if I had struck him a physical blow. It seemed proof of what Chick Carver had done, or the bizarre circumstances under which I had obtained the captain's confession were irrelevant to this man, for Bennett Carver seemed to know-had always known-tha
t his son was capable of doing the things I had described.

  "Charles no longer works for the company, Frederickson," he said in a very low, weak voice. "He's been sent off to a. . place very far away, where he will stay until the day he dies if he ever hopes to see another penny of the trust fund he's been living on for twenty years, or of his final inheritance. Neither you nor I will ever see him again."

  "At the risk of sounding insensitive, I have to point out that his mother isn't going to care much for that arrangement."

  "Well, she's going to have to learn to live with it," he said in a stronger voice, lips pulled back from his teeth. "I carry much blame for what Charles has become, Frederickson, but I consider his mother responsible for what's happened here. Charles should never have been put in a position of power or responsibility over other people. And Roger Wellington is gone too. He'll never work in the shipping business again."

  "You seem to have a lot more say about what goes on in that company than you let on in our previous conversation."

  "What I have is a very large block of stock."

  "It's not enough, Mr. Carver."

  "You can't expect me to help in the destruction of my own son, Frederickson! I've sent him away! He'll never bother anyone from around here again!"

  "We'll see how far away he goes, and how long he stays. But I'm not talking just about what Charles did, nor about the immediate superior who let him loose. I'm talking about the company itself; it was company policy, finally, that was responsible for everything that happened. But companies can only be fined. The people who created or checked off on that policy must be held accountable, which in this case means a CEO and a board of directors. You and I both know there was no cabal of captains; they were following what they understood to be official orders. There are enough killer companies in the United States, and under this administration they're going to multiply like rabbits. I'd like to see the men responsible for turning Carver Shipping into a killer company buried; I want them exposed, removed from power, and punished."