by David Coy
Joan knew the sign.
“Guess who that was, Mister Lavachek,” Habershaw said. “Who?” Joan asked.
“Someone who claims to be the Chief Engineer for the Sacred Bond, someone named Pen Patel.”
Lavachek pursed his lips knowingly.
“And . . .”
“He says he has plans to cut a road from here west to the ocean. He wants us to go over the plan with him in the morning.”
Lavachek shook his head and chuckled silently. “It’s a bitch to be right all the goddamned time!"
“Kiss my hind part,” Habershaw said.
“Mine, too,” Joan added. “This isn’t funny.”
Lavachek kept a little smirk on his face. They didn’t say anything for a while.
“You can spend the night here if you want, Greg,” Habershaw said gently. “It’s farther from Duggings.”
Lavachek nodded his head that he’d like to stay. Listening to a man go mad with pain wasn’t the best way to get a good night’s sleep.
“We should do something, Bill,” Lavachek said. “I knew Duggings pretty good. He was a good man.”
“Do what?” Habershaw barked. “What should we do?”
“Sneak over there and put him out of his misery is what,” Joan said.
“That’s too goddamned risky,”
Habershaw said firmly, looking into Joan's willful eyes.
“Maybe we wouldn’t have to get too close,” Lavachek said. “If we had a gun, we could shoot him from a distance.”
“Well, we don’t have a gun. So forget it,” Habershaw said.
“I’ve got a gun,” Joan said abruptly.
Habershaw glared at her to shut her up.
“Well, I do,” she repeated. “I stole it. And I’m keeping it.”
“That’s it, then. We can use that,” Lavachek said. “Hell, I’ll do it.”
“Like hell you will,” Habershaw snapped. “If they catch you, they’ll find the gun, then they’ll find out where it came from—and we’ll all get Vilaroosed. Fuck that. You’ll stay right here.” Lavachek didn’t like the answer. But he took a sip of coffee in silent, tacit agreement. Habershaw was still his boss.
“It’s your call,” Lavachek finally said.
Later that night, as Joan and Habershaw lay in their bed, the sound of Duggings’ cries reached them over the jungle’s din. It came adrift on the wet air like a dark wisp. It wasn’t possible to close the windows or block one’s ears to keep it out; that would be turning your back on the man’s pain, turning his agony to nothing.
Bill and Joan tossed and turned fretfully; and when they weren’t tossing or turning, they lay unmoving, trying not to listen but listening still. Joan was having the worst time of it. Habershaw heard her sigh and groan slightly with each cry that seeped snakelike through the shelter’s screens.
At some point, Bill heard and felt Joan get up out of bed as slowly and softly as a cat. He heard her faint noises at the rear door and heard the slight click of the door shutting. He hoped to hell she wasn’t doing what he thought she was doing. He got out of bed and looked out the window in the direction of Duggings but didn’t see anything. He finally convinced himself she had gone for a walk, perhaps to distance herself from the sounds of suffering riding the jungle’s busy clamor.
When he heard the first shot, Habershaw went stiff, as if the bullet had gone through his brain. A moment later he heard another, then another. He went to the window and looked out. Duggings' cries had stopped, and the jungle’s buzz had shed that soulful rider. He could feel the settlement breathe a sigh of relief.
A few minutes later he heard the soft click of the door again. Joan slid cat-like back into bed. When her leg touched his, he felt cool sweat.
“That was stupid,” he said evenly.
She didn’t answer right away. “I doubt Duggings thought so,” she finally replied.
Sometime before dawn, they slept.
At breakfast the next morning, no one said a word for a long time.
“I guess he went quick after all,” Lavachek eventually said, looking at Joan.
“Yeah,” Joan said. “He went quick.”
* * *
When Habershaw and Lavachek got to the Chief Engineer’s office, a man neither had met, nor had heard much about, greeted them. He was a small man, clad in the brown, clean, cotton commonly worn by those within the Council’s inner circles. The garb gave the man away. This had suddenly turned into a situation with unanticipated consequences.
The Council was the source of tyrannical rule; rules and instructions that had to be obeyed as if handed down by God personally. Here stood a friendly and diminutive fellow who wielded the power of the council by proxy and about to aim that power right at the domain of him and Lavachek. Under that neat and clean exterior was the heart and soul of the Council. He was the tyrant’s unsoiled, innocent-looking nephew, who could sling the Council’s violent power like a mad child if need be. Habershaw's previous resentment of having to answer to Patel was now minor compared to the foundation of fear that his umbrage rested on.
The next thing Habershaw noticed about him were his tiny hands. They were so small and feminine Habershaw wondered if he weren't actually a female in disguise. When he held out his hand for Habershaw to shake, the touch was moist and soft like a little girl’s. His voice possessed a hint of an Indian accent. It struck Habershaw as ironic that such a light touch had so much weight behind it.
After shaking Patel’s hand, Lavachek glanced at Habershaw with a troubled look. He’d felt it, too. There was a sense of androgynous softness about the man that had no roots in the domain of male or female, but there was intense power in him. To Habershaw and Lavachek, two men accustomed to obeying orders by alpha males a notch or two higher on the leadership scale than they themselves, the man seemed to possess an almost sycophantic malleability that just didn’t seem right for the position of Chief Engineer. None of that mattered. His high position with the Council had them spooked into submission without the manly leadership characteristics they were so accustomed to.
“Well, thank you for coming,” Patel said with a white smile. “We have an interesting project ahead of us, don’t you think?”
“Could be,” Habershaw said cautiously.
“Let me show you the plans I have made. These are from the direct orders of Jacob himself, so there is no question whatsoever about the importance of the project.”
He called up a topographic map on the large screen that detailed the terrain between the settlement and the ocean some two hundred kilometers to the west.
“Well, this speaks for itself, if you ask me,” Patel said. “This is where we are,” he pointed, “and this is where we need doo go.” He traced the route with a tiny finger. The course wound around the rolling terrain like a long, thin snake. Lavachek and Habershaw exchanged looks.
“Well, that’s a fairly long way to get there,” Habershaw said nodding his head. He didn’t want to offend the little guy. It could get him killed.
“Hmm,” Lavachek agreed.
The problem was that Patel had no idea what the Manitowoc was capable of. He had designed a road around little rolling hills and hummocks as if the Manitowoc was a toy, not the most powerful bulldozer ever built by humankind. Habershaw knew that the terrain between the settlement and the ocean had few natural obstacles that the dozer couldn’t just flatten. Going around them was plainly a waste of time. Patel’s winding, serpentine route was probably ten times as long as it had to be.
“Do you think there is a shorter route, then?” Patel asked in earnest. “I drew this up in some haste.”
Lavachek and Habershaw exchanged brief worried looks. “No. That one will do just fine I think, don’t you, Greg? We might have to modify it a little when we get to this elevation here,” he pointed, “but other than that, it looks real good to me.”
“Yeah, and maybe a little change here, too,” Lavachek pointed, “But I think we can work with that.”
“Perfect,” Habershaw said, crossing his legs comfortably.
“When do you want to get started then?”
“Jacob wants the road built as very soon as possible,” Patel smiled. “Need I say more than that then?”
Habershaw and Lavachek shook their heads wide and slow and chuckled. “No, sir. No sir,” Habershaw said. “We can start as soon as you send me the file, Mr. Patel. We’ll get right on it. You’ll have your road in a month, maybe just a little more. Easy.”
Patel’s face dropped. “I’m afraid that’s far too long,” he said. “Jacob, you see, wants that road in place in dooo weeks.”
Habershaw scratched the side of his nose and looked at Lavachek. A troubled, panicky look, unseen by Patel, passed between them. If they followed the route Patel had outlined, they’d never get it done in two weeks. The rig just couldn’t move that fast. This situation could get dicey real fast.
Habershaw knitted his brow and nodded his head as if thinking. What he was really doing was nodding and sweating, buying time.
“Uh," he said.
“Hmm," Lavachek joined in the thinking session.
“Well.”
“Yeah.”
“Look,” Habershaw asserted himself with intense professionalism and confidence. “Maybe we could take a few liberties here and there with your route—if it’s okay, that is—not too many, you understand, but I think that might help some, don’t you Greg?”
“Yep,” Lavachek chimed in.
“As long as the road gets done in doo weeks, I think we can all relax,” Patel smiled.
“Great. Not a problem, then,” Habershaw said, also smiling.
“Yep,” Lavachek said.
They shook his small hand again with a promise to begin preparations that morning. With an innocent and white smile, Patel sent them on their way.
* * *
“What an asshole,” Lavachek said once they got outside. “Let’s just cut the road straight in, he’ll never know the difference. We’ll put some curves in it here and there. He won’t even give a shit.”
“Goddamn . . .” Habershaw laughed. “Chief engineer . . . they sure scraped the bottom of the barrel for that little bastard.”
“You got that right.”
“Had hands like a little bitch.”
“Yep.”
“Look, if we wind up on the man’s bad side, and he’s so ignorant that would be too damned easy, we could wind up in a real mess with the council. You get that, right?” Habershaw said, his eyes locked on Lavachek’s.
“I’m right there with you, boss,” Lavachek nodded. “I’ve seen it happen. Some guy with connections starts out okay. But they’re only okay until they’re not. And you never fuckin’ know.”
“That’s right,” Habershaw frowned. “You never know. Especially with connected guys that don’t know what the fuck they’re doing.”
“Yep,” Lavachek nodded.
* * *
They went right to the rig and Lavachek downloaded the file with Patel’s snaky, bullshit road. They wouldn’t use it much, but they needed to make sure Patel knew they had it anyway. They spent the rest of the morning moving the machine to Patel’s starting point and doing some routine maintenance on the rig that was long overdue.
They were just starting lunch, sitting in their favorite spot on a high catwalk when a shiny new shuttle purred in and landed next to the rig. Pen Patel popped out of the shuttle’s side door dressed for a safari, complete with a little sun hat.
“Hello up there!” he said.
“How are we doing today?”
“You just saw us, you asshole,” Lavachek whispered.
“Fine, Mr. Patel!” Habershaw yelled down.
“Just having some lunch. Everything’s under control!”
“May I come up and join you then! I too have a lunch!”
“Be glad to have you!” Habershaw hollered.
“Can you find your way up?”
Patel looked the rig over, back and forth, and then took a step this way and that, trying to find the way up.
“Take the lift to the rear, sir!” Habershaw yelled and pointed. “It’s very easy to operate!”
“Oh, yes! I see it now. Up I come!”
Lavachek groaned. “We’re his pet project aren’t we? That’s it, right?”
“Probably his only project,” Habershaw said. “Look, take it easy and be nice. Don’t fuck around. Just relax.”
“He’s gonna wanna ride the rig all the way to the ocean,” Lavachek moaned. “Just wait and see. Every day he’s gonna be asking us shit and telling us shit. He could have us killed and we wouldn’t even know what we did wrong.”
“I know, Greg. Goddamn it, just relax. I’ll get rid of him.”
It was taking Patel far too long to make it up. After a while, Habershaw and Lavachek looked at each other with grins and chewed and nodded, knowing full well the little bastard was lost in the rig somewhere.
“He’s lost,” Habershaw said.
Lavachek sighed, groaned to his feet and went to look for him. He’d moved just a few steps when they heard Patel’s distant little voice.
“Hello!” it said. “I’m having some trouble finding you then!”
“Stay where you are, Mr. Patel!” Lavachek bellowed back. “I’ll be right there!”
“I won’t move until I see the whites of your eyes!” the little voice came back cheerfully.
Habershaw could see the disgust on Lavachek’s face through the back of his head.
A few minutes later, Lavachek strode slowly back along the catwalk with Patel in tow. Patel was fanning his face with his hat.
“Well, I made it after all then,” he said with his round smile. “This machine is much larger than I had imagined. It is quite remarkable.”
“Well,” Habershaw said to him, “have a seat. Uh, we don’t have chairs here, but the view’s pretty good. I’ve got a cushion here if you want . . .”
“Oh, but no. Thank you so much. I’m content to sit just as you do. My bottom is just as tough as yours, I assure you,” he added happily and sat down on the catwalk. “There. All safe and sound from the jungle’s ugly bugs. I must say I don’t like the bugs here at all. Is this why you sit up here, away from the bugs? If so, it would seem a good idea.”
Lavachek nodded, then sneaked a look at Habershaw.
“My word, the view is spectacular, isn’t it?” Patel observed, opening his neat little lunch box.
“Yep,” Lavachek said, almost politely. “Quite a view.”
Habershaw just nodded in agreement. He was thinking furiously. His food suddenly tasted flat, and he was chewing and chewing, but not swallowing. He had to think of some way to get him off the rig—permanently. Lavachek was right. The little guy had found a home. Before they knew it, he’d have his little girl’s hands into everything.
He’d seen it before, friends or partners punished, penalized for not understanding or following an absurd direction or instruction, like a dog kicked for not understanding a string of English commands. The stupider the command, the greater the confusion would be. There would be a misunderstanding, an error would be made, or someone would do something wrong, or someone would get hurt and a report made. Someone would have to be blamed, and it was never the one in power. Something, something would happen. Mistakes and errors could be dodged under the right circumstances, but not if the powerful were right there, and a witness to it. There would be no reprieve, no excuses, no forgiveness, and the ones in power would chop off your head to save themselves. Being in close proximity to Patel for doo weeks was a big, big mistake, especially now when the rule of law rested with only a few very powerful people.
To Habershaw’s experienced eye, this connected, powerful man’s gentle demeanor and delicate stature belied the ruthlessness under the clean cotton. Put in place by some likely nepotistic action, he was as dangerous as a lunatic to Habershaw—and as unpredictable. He just hadn’t shown that side yet.
They watched
him lay his lunch out neatly, lining everything up. Lavachek couldn’t believe his eyes.
“We will pray now,” Patel said solemnly, lowering his head and closing his eyes. “Mister Lavachek will say the prayer for us, please.”
His eyes as big as saucers, Lavachek, in mid-chew, looked at Habershaw. To Habershaw’s knowledge, Greg Lavachek had never said a prayer of any kind one could repeat in mixed company in his entire life.
“Uh . . .” Lavachek began.
Habershaw nodded furiously for him to say something, then silently mouthed the word, “Any . . . thing . . .”
“Uh . . .”
Habershaw clenched his teeth at him.
“Uh . . . thank you, God, for the food that Mr. Patel is going to eat. Thank you for the food that me and Bill are already eating, and thanks for the spectacular view, too. Thanks.”
When Patel’s head came up, he gave no hint of what he thought of the prayer, if anything.
“And thank you,” Lavachek continued, as Patel’s head went back down, "for this beautiful planet and for the opportunity to live on it. Thank you for the sun that warms us in the morning and for all the bugs at night, even though some of us don’t think much of them, they are a part of nature. Thanks for this rig here which will let us make Mr. Patel’s road so we can all live by the ocean where it’s probably cooler and not as buggy. Thank you for The Council and The Sacred Bond of the Fervent Alliance to tell us what to do.”
Patel’s head came up.
“And thank you"—Patel’s head went back down—"for the medical team that treats Bill and me each week for the infections we get from the things that live on the rig. We’d be dead now if not for them. Thank you, and so long.”
Patel waited a while before coming up this time to make sure Lavachek was finished.
“What infections are these then?” he asked.
“Oh,” Habershaw said. “There’s . . . uh . . . a kind of bug that’s attracted to the rig somehow. They live under things—underneath things in the shade, like under this handrail. They like the cool metal; that's what I think. Lavachek thinks it’s the paint or the plastic. We run into them all the time. Here look at this . . .”
