Skip’s speech was getting a bit slurred as we bobbed in the salt water.
“You’d think with all these oil derricks out here that someone would see us.”
The Gulf of Mexico was full of crude oil pumping extractors that would drill thousands of feet into the Gulf, into the seafloor, to produce oil, that drove America and every nation in the world. It wasn’t big business, it was huge business. It was the World, the World way down south. See, down here gas & oil were king and queen. And by gas, I mean natural gas. And there was crude, that was a lot messier. A rather large oil company recently had a drilling head blow and pump millions of gallons into the gulf. At about 5,000 foot deep. It was World headlines for months. There were thousands of gallons of words traded in the media about it. But they got away with it. Why? Oil and petroleum products are in nearly 144 things that pretty much get used daily by nearly everybody who breathes air, and roughly about 5500 different things. There’s the drug dealer – and the user. The dealer wouldn’t exist without the user. So just think about that the next time you turn the key in your ignition, or drink from a plastic cup. Or take an aspirin. Yes, aspirin is a petroleum product.
But you know what? All that crude invaded and just about conquered the Gulf, but it’s now business as usual. When an entity or an industry is very powerful, no matter what the crime or cover up, it doesn’t go away. And in the World Way Down South, it ain’t going anywhere, anytime soon.
“Are those sharks or white trout?”
We saw more reflections of sunlight off of critters swimming below us.
“Maybe alligator gar. You better watch it Skip, one’s going to eat you.”
“Don’t say that, don’t even joke about it.”
Alligator gar were about 12 feet long, and were known to eat people. Or at least that’s what I grew up believing, however more about that later.
The fish below us swum around, the sun bounced off their reflective scales. I know I mentioned this already, but I’m getting bouncy in the head myself.
“Somebody’s got to see us,” I said.
Skip was staring at something. “Look.”
I did. Maybe a mile away, maybe ten miles away was a derrick. It might as well been a hundred miles away. My energy was low and attitude lower. But we had to go for it.
“Skip, we’ve got to swim in that direction.”
“It’s going to kill me.”
“It’s going to kill both of us if we don’t try.”
“What do you mean? Somebody’s going to find us.”
“I sure hope so.”
“Sure hope so?”
“I can’t guarantee you a happy ending. We aren’t talking a ‘massage’ parlor here, Skip.”
We were in serious trouble. I could think it, but I didn’t want to say it. Denial can be a great partner, and a deadly friend. So I was mum. And the only happy endings I know about are the Vietnamese massage parlors in New Orleans. These places sprung up everywhere when the Gulf got invaded by the crude and the local economy went way south. The happy ending had arrived.
“Skip, like I said. I can’t guarantee you a happy ending, but I’m sure there’s going to be one. It’s not like we’re going to get eaten or anything.”
“Especially not by our own species! However what about the other species? Charlie, I need a goddamned guarantee or something.”
“I can’t do that. But we’re going to be fine.”
“Charlie, we were just fooling around out here. And I think we actually found the General.”
“Found it?”
Ya’ see, we didn’t find it. It found us. The boat we snuck out of the Homeland Security yard, well, we think we ran it into the mast of the General.
“But how could we? The bottom was over 300 feet deep, and the mast wouldn’t stick up that far. Maybe 80 feet. So we have 220 feet clear.”
“Well, we sure as shit hit something. Stop talking and save your energy, we’re going for it. Swim.”
How did Skip have the clarity to do math like that?
“Charlie, this is going to kill me.”
“Do it, fuzzy balls!”
He shot me a pissed look. But when my smile cracked, so did his. I knew I had to stir him up to get his adrenaline boosted.
We swam. We would usually have swim fins on, but when we climbed back on the boat after our first dive, we weren’t sure if we hit something, but we sure as shit knew we were sinking. Things accelerated. We stripped off our tanks and fins - our ‘mini-whopper’ - now building up to become a mistake of a lifetime.
Louisiana rain clouds were like God’s fortresses in the sky. A strong wind would sometimes accompany the storm…and after, blow the clouds out like fast moving ivory monuments. It was a cool sight, staring up in the sky.
This lovely vision was broken by Karen, my other lovely vision. She stepped over to me and parked her body right next to mine.
“Charlie, you said you were going to start working on the porch.”
“I know, I know.” I hated myself for saying that to Karen.
“The porch is going to completely rot and fall down.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow. I guarantee it.” Damn. Now I hated myself more.
“Charlie, you said that six months ago.”
“Karen, six months ago? That would be an outrage.” I’m an idiot.
“Darling, don’t argue my side of the argument.” She whispered, “It makes you look dumb.”
She turned away. I grabbed her arm. She turned to me. Our eyes locked. She was unhappy, but then she smiled. So did I, I loved her. I’m sure I loved her. She put her hands on my neck, leaned in close, caressed my hair, and whispered….”if you fix the porch, I’ll put the one piece on, later.” She kissed me quick, and then walked away.
Damn. Again, she knew me so well. Knew where my buttons were and how and when to push them. And the big button, too. Men think men they’re in control. They’re not. But this one time.
“I can’t. I committed to Skip. And I have to keep the commitment. You know divers always have to have a buddy.”
“Then why don’t you just have Skip put the one piece on?”
She turned and disappeared into the house.
“I just might do that.” At that point I was talking to myself.
And I still had to tell her, not only does she have to review the Crab Shack, she has to give it a good review. The sun was going down this Friday faster than normal and I still had to run over to Crawley’s to get my tanks filled.
We had yet to see the boat. Skip and I followed Otis around. “See this? See this right here? See what they been doing? Now I got to fix this.” Otis was showing us where the chain link fence had been gnawed away by someone trying to cut in. The fence enclosed an eclectic collection of watercraft; some falling apart, most in good repair, and a few killer honeys.
Otis kneeled and inspected the small opening, chain link bent in so as not to cut the entrant.
“Otis, I got you covered on this. I’ll fix it Monday.” Skip was good with his hands and done a lot of carpentry work around these parts. Otis barked, “Let me see if I got a budget for that.”
“Man, I’ll do it for free. You’re doing us a big favor.”
“Shush. Not so frapping loud. The man could hear us.”
“What do you mean ‘the man’? You are the man, Otis. When was the last time you heard from them?”
Otis gave up on the hole. We headed to the chained locked front gate, right next to the launching ramp. He unlocked it and we were in. There were boats and boats and more boats. What was the amazing thing was that were so many, and each damned boat had a story behind it. Remember, a boat had a captain. Every single boat here had one. Well paid. Each boat had a cover, and its supporting cast. There was fast cash and big dough happening that rocked the boat, made the boat, have a reason for existing.
Most of these illegal drugs were headed for the ‘checkbook writing country, the United States.’ They should just add to the Pledge o
f Allegiance another line, ‘and Cut a Check’. Is that not the American way? I found lots of people asking that question lately. And we cannot say there was not a plot to import drugs; and most drugs went into the United States…the land of….’cut a check.’ Party kids and addicts had to have their fix and the billions of currency, 10’s, 20’s and 100’s, leaving the homeland and crossing the borders, headed south, was really quite stunning.
At least that’s what Otis told us when I saw him drink 2 beers in a row.
The three of us walked by at least 30 hulls, we glided past the wood, fiberglass and steel prisoners. As we walked among the beached hulls, each one was distinct, all curving down to meet in the middle at the keel. Grace in design.
“I can’t believe no one has stolen these.”
We walked between the watercraft now sitting on blocks. Smaller ones were sitting on trailers. The rear of the trailers hung lower than the front, sort of like a duck butt. And some of the tires were low and many flat. A flat tire on a trailer was a lot like a man in a nice suit with beaten shoes, and would hang low, looking like a duck butt.
“How long’s the yard been here?”
“Ages. I don’t know if they forgot about this yard, or the dude just died.”
I hadn’t heard ‘the dude just died’ since high school. You see, when someone just disappeared, no matter what, we just assumed ‘the dude just died.’ At 15, this was hysterical. Not so much now.
Then our little adventure stopped for a minute. In front of us was a big eyesore, seemingly out of place craft. A barge. One ugly, wooden, rotted black barge. You see them going up and down the Mississippi River, clogging the waterways and being pushed by tugs. Sometimes as many as a dozen being pushed or pulled.
“You see this here barge? You’d never guess why that’s here.” Otis paused, studied it whilst a bad memory swept over his face.
“Moving moonshine from Missouri?”
“I wish. It was packed full of illegals.”
“That’s not so weird.”
“What was weird – it was going south down the Mississippi. Not north.”
Immigration routes went north. Not south. “Not a lot of illegal Canadians headed to Louisiana.”
“We think it was to ship ‘em out to private parties.”
“Like slaves?”
“Don’t know. The man was mum about this one.”
There was a slash in the side of the boxy hull. Skip peered in and so did I. It was black as the ace of spades. Tar had been melted, and sloshed on the interior to ensure the waterproofing of this hellhole. A weird metal stove looked like a big barbecue. It was about the size of a daybed and it was charred black.
“There was rumor that people were being eaten. Cooked, barbecued. They found lots of mesquite. The surviving illegals were scarred speechless. All of them nervous, rashed out and seriously spooked.”
“Cannibalism.”
“Now I didn’t say that. I was only on the job a couple of days when this rolled in and I didn’t see any evidence of it.”
“But it sure tasted like it.”
My joke broke the tension, we all laughed.
“Shesh!” Otis blurted loudly in his own home tone.
Skip and I ducked low, whispering, “The man, the man!”
Otis shook his head. “Assholes.”
We laughed.
Moving on, I looked back at the barge and saw that a name was painted on the stern. “Mistress Von K. Krause.” Then it struck me…who names a barge?
“Did the DEA know about this twisted barbeque?”
“Don’t know. Homeland Security knows the whole story. I figure they didn’t need this one to get out.”
“Otis, how would you know?”
He stared at me and Skip.
“I know more than you think. So shut your mouth.”
Otis thought about what he himself said, then re-thunk his thought.
“As the mayor of Pass Christian…I know a lot.”
Otis just crossed a threshold of when an individual realizes their own power, tossed in with a little potentiality, but the asshole part had not kicked in yet.
Now, this story itself starts to get a little weird. Like if you haven’t smoked pot in ten years, then took a couple of hits, this is what this situation started to feel like.
Otis shuffled on and we followed. In the dimming light of dusk, he looked all official and important in his security blues. He even had a badge and handgun in a holster. He wasn’t a gun freak, in fact, he was proud that he had never had to pull it.
And, more importantly, Otis had a gift for gab. Gab-gab. Like good gravy on a turkey dinner. In fact that was his favorite saying, but he didn’t overuse it. That was my first perception that Otis had political talent. His best weapon was gab.
So he gabbed on. Otis did respect guns. “You’re damned right I got bullets. Just ‘cause I’ve never used it, don’t mean I’m not prepared.”
Skip and I tried not to laugh. But we were getting off track like I am here, so we started looking at all the boats more seriously. Otis was changing before us, but also staying very cool, his charm being sprinkled on us like powdered sugar.
One of the problems with doing this type a thing with a good friend was that when you hit walls, you joked about it. That didn’t do much good to really get through ‘em. Laughing denial is what I always say. Powdered sugar doesn’t sustain. But it can if the donuts are oven fresh hot. Heat, it was the devil’s power in the human experience.
Then Otis walked us up to his choice.
It was about 45 feet long, relatively new; blue and white, and I would kill to own it. A weekend sailor’s dream and it looked super easy to dive off of its cool stern. Its rear end, landlubbers, was low to the water.
Skip and I circled it, and when we arrived at the tail, we both read the name.
DEAD or ALIVE.
“What kind of name is that for a boat?”
“When you’re high on drugs.”
It didn’t matter. We climbed up the ladder and onto the deck. It always struck me funny to walk around on a landlocked boat. We went into the small cabin. It was luxury all right, but empty. Like walking into a fancy house and it had no furniture, just a mattress on the floor in a room.
Odd.
Otis pulled a key out and started the engine. If muffled, coughed, sputtered, then caught and started.
I climbed down to the ground and crawled under and looked at the propeller. It was spinning. It whined as it cut through the air, just a blur. That was a good thing.
“Try reverse.”
Otis handed Skip the controls. He slipped it into reverse and it worked beautifully. Backwards blur.
“Shut her off. We’re good.”
Skip was happy. “She is a honey.”
“Like good gravy on a turkey dinner.”
We laughed. He was stretching the law big time for us. “Have it back in the yard, Saturday night, by midnight.”
“Done deal.”
“I’ll have Benny drop her in the water. She’ll be good to go Saturday dawn. “And give Benny a tip. And remember the other deal.”
“A Crab Shack review by Karen. At least a four star or better a five if she’s got it in her.”
“That’ll do. Just get her liquored up first.”
We laughed.
Food, like sex, was always better when you’re a little drunkie.
Crawley had a dive shop in Pass Christian. It was a semi-organized mess, but Crawley took each one of us, his customers, very seriously. When your life is at stake 180 feet underwater, you want and need that kind of service.
“When was your last hydrostatic?”
I fumbled around a bit. “Last year. The tanks are fine.”
“They always say that. And they always explode. Let me pull the valve and we’ll take a quick look. Your boys need inspecting.”
“Crawley, I’ll do it the moment we get back. They’re fine.”
“Donkey dicks, I shouldn’t
do this. But I will. But on Monday get your ass in here and let me look inside.”
Crawley dragged the air tank over to the compressor. I dragged the other.
“What about Skip’s?”
“Skip’s what? Skip who?”
Crawley laughed.
“How is he by the way?”
“Yeah. Yeah. He’s good.”
“Are you looking for the General?”
How the hell did Crawley know that? “Crawley, just stop poking around and fill the tanks. When I get back, I’ll let you inspect them. Alright? On Monday.”
“What boat you on?”
“Stop poking around.”
“You should talk to the mayor about getting a boat out of the DEA yard that Homeland Security runs.”
“Now who in the hell gave you all these crackpot crazy ideas?”
“The Mayor.”
“There is no mayor of Pass Christian.”
“There is now. Mayor Otis. Donkey dicks, the General is going to fight you before you get her booty.”
I couldn’t believe that Crawley could know all this. No secrets in a small pond. Crawley started the compressor; it was so loud it terminated the conversation. But Crawley raised his voice higher. He was loud.
“You boys be careful out there. Karen would miss you terribly. But she’d find someone else.” How could Crawley call out my death or disappearance like that? It was kind of sick, but kind ‘a funny.
“When you’re hot, you’re hot, Crawley.”
“And your wife’s a hottie. Charlie, I may be low on fuel, but the torch still works.”
Crawley was on a roll, or at least he thought he was.
“And donkey dicks, what the hell are you doing searching for the General? People looking for the General have bad luck.”
“Now I don’t need bullshit like that.”
“You know there are sunken U-boats out there. “
“With Nazi gold. I’ve heard all the stories. All the U-boats have been found, dived and torn to pieces. And all the historical landmark declarations run over like a possum on a swamp road. Next.”
Masters of Taboo Presents: Cannibalism, Digesting The Human Condition (Limited Edition) Page 4
