Flotilla (24 page)

"The slots and table games filling up the place when this other thing happened," Miguel said and Dad nodded sourly. The Asian members of the community were concerned about the kind of attention the
Dixie
would bring and perhaps criminal elements. They were vocal about it, enough so that everyone had to have a sit-down in the Executive suite on board the
Phoenix
. For an entire afternoon, Rick and Miguel had to endure squabbling from Pac Fish, the citizens and other hangers-on.

"So what do you recommend? Should we close the
Dixie Star
?" the Pac Fish suit asked their spokesman.

"Not at all ... we welcome the income the
Dixie
generates." The spokesman was a tough old gent named Le Cheung. He spoke English with a British accent and his arthritis forced him to limp along with a carved rosewood cane. He lived with his family, or what he called his family: poor expats from Macau and Taiwan. "We think the gaming facilities would benefit from some Asian influence and balance out the clientele."

They wanted to install games like Pai Gow and mahjong, Cheung explained. Dad was totally against it but Miguel wanted him to give it a chance. The main thing, according to Dad, was that Le Cheung wanted to take it over, not share it. "We give them this and next week they're back for something else. Maybe a bigger piece of the action," Dad had complained.

"I said that I didn't think so," Miguel grinned. "For one, they know there are more round-eyes and brown people on this boat than Asians. They kick us out, there's a big hole in the water where the
Dixie
used to be before morning. The
Dixie
is big enough that nobody wants it to go away."

"Yea, but I was right about our share of the profit going down."

"We're still making money, pal," Miguel said mildly. "A smaller piece of the pie is better than no pie at all." The whole thing started out crazy and was moving too quickly to have any control over. Dad still saw a million problems with it but decided to along with it. Like Miguel said ... they really didn't have a choice.

Dad finally stopped his story long enough to take a bite of Miguel's flap steak. I haven't mentioned it up until this point but he does make some of the best steak you'll ever taste. It's amazing.

"The details of setting up the
Dixie
kept us going 24 hours a day," Miguel said. "Who knew that people would eat so much bread at a restaurant? We went through 90 of those sourdough rounds in the first night and we thought that would last us a week." Getting bread out here was difficult, too, forget fresh bread. They had to run around getting a bakery set up and ironing out any 'quality control issues'.

"I was still upset about the games," Dad continued. "I said to Miguel, 'You seriously see no problem having them along for the ride like this? I mean ... pai gow? I don't know pai gow - I've only seen people play mahjong. We're supposed to be running this casino and I don't know half the games we offer.'"

"Yeah, and I was like 'So?'" Miguel laughed.

"So I was like, 'what happens when we have to step in? What if there's a problem? How would we know if the customers were getting cheated?'"

"Just like I told him, we didn't need to," Miguel explained. "It doesn't matter if we know the game as long as the customers do. Look," he put a beer down and began to gesture, a move that meant Miguel felt passionate about something. "They can't run a dirty game - they'd be out of business in a week if people stopped playing. They'll have to run clean games or at least look so clean no one can tell the difference. Meanwhile, the white guy and the brown guy - they run the rest of the show and everyone knows we're just looking for an excuse to throw the tables overboard."

"Are we going to throw the tables overboard?" I asked.

"No. It doesn't matter what we're going to do - it only matters what they think we're going to do."

"Huh?" I was lost.

"Miguel's logic is layered." Dad explained. "Sound familiar?" Ugh ... layered logic again. This was one of Dad's favorite things to beat me over the head with last summer. I was not going there with him now.

The way they saw it,
Dixie
was a huge success. On the first night, half of the Colony was trying to get in the door. Poor folks who had been living on their start-up loans were trying to get in and Rick had those folks bounced before they got a chance to sit down at a table. On one issue, Pacific Fisheries had been absolutely adamant and Dad was determined to meet it: keep the trash out. Sure, it sounded harsh but there was a moral to this story - you couldn't afford to let the guys who owned you money get into even deeper debt. Even if they were positive they could win enough to pay off their loans, you didn't let them in.

"The fishing, the
Dixie
and the scams were a beast to keep organized but man, was it paying off!" Dad was smiling ... happier than I'd ever seen him. He had been through a lot these past few years, working and scraping to find a comfortable spot here. Along with rebuilding his life in some semblance of order, he wanted to build his relationship with us. I have to say that it was great to see that after all his talk, he was getting there. Dad took some time away from the casino to work on the Farmers Market boat. There were still tons of details they had to work out.

"Then he comes up with this name for the boat," Miguel said. He sounded like it was irritating and amusing at the same time.

"What name?" I asked.

"The
Cooger & Dark
."

"What's that?"

"Literary reference," Dad replied. "From a book. See, it's from an old Ray Bradbury novel and-"

"Never mind."

"Everyone likes the name," Dad complained. "Nobody wants to hear about where it comes from." The burned out hulk had new paint and welded-steel structure, new vinyl and paint. It looked like a custom job you might have spent your 401K on, the one where you docked it in Lake Arrowhead or Lake Mead and never went anywhere else.

We finished our late lunch and spent a few minutes trying out a new .22 rifle that Miguel had purchased. I was very happy ... this summer would be perfect. "When can we go see the boat?" I asked.

"Right now," Dad grinned. "We need to take a spin around the colony and show off the sign anyway."

We strolled over to wear the boat was docked, half-way between the
Horner
and the
Gun Range
on E-ring. People were still welcoming me back and it took a few minutes to work my way over to the
Cooger & Dark
. It's hard to be polite when all you want is to see your girlfriend and get to all the making out we discussed. Don't worry - I'm going to be a gentleman: I still remembered Ethan and his machete.

It was really supposed to be a perfect moment for me. I think Dad wanted it, too. I landed at the Colony and he's pulling out surprise after surprise. The
Dixie Star
, the floating farmer's market ... I'm getting hugs and handshakes from everyone I run across. The Land of the Weird is welcoming home one of their own and now ... now my Dad is no longer a screw-up. He's hit the jackpot and I'm going to be spending the summer basking in the glow of it all. It makes what happens next almost hilarious.

The trouble started somewhere underneath. The original engine had been gone over by someone, not Miguel obviously, and a fuel leak had been missed. The boat was idling before its trip around the Colony with new banners advertising a 'Farmers Market Experience' merrily flapping in the breeze. We were watching and waiting to board Dad's most recent accomplishment, another milepost in the journey away from being 'Rick the Ocean-going Loser'. It was at this point that the fumes got heavy enough to ignite.

My first view of Stacy in five months was her running in from the back screaming "Fire!" What do they say about the best-laid plans? Never mind.

Stacy lands in my arms, screaming about the fire. Flames were already popping out from somewhere to the rear. Dad and Miguel immediately charged aft holding extinguishers while Stacy and I watched from the dock. People came running, including one guy holding a salt-water fire hose, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Miguel emptied his extinguisher down the small porthole in the engine bay and ended the emergency. Of course, now the boat and the produce were smoke-damaged. Of course, no one wants a tomato that smells like burnt plastic but that was only the beginning.

After demanding they be reimbursed for the now-unsellable produce, the hydroponic farmers decided they would rather work together and create a small storefront that 'wasn't so stuck-up'. In less than 20 minutes, Dad had lost his boat and most of his vendors. Then the Pac Fish Rescue Team arrived ... they wanted an accident report on the operation they were part owners of. According to Pac Fish, if you set your own boat on fire, they give it a shrug and maybe a funeral. If something that belongs to them happens to burn, then it becomes a Loss Management issue.

They asked questions about the boat itself, how 'it arrived on Colony D when the accident investigation was still more or less in progress on Colony B.' Like that was our fault ... Miguel got permission to take the thing from some admin guy he knew on Colony B. But wait, it gets better.

It turns out that the boat was involved in a wrongful-death lawsuit filed against Pacific Fisheries because someone died of smoke inhalation trying to put the fire out. Their attorneys wanted to haul the scow in to shore for an inch-by-inch investigation on how the fire started.

When the boat became the
Cooger & Dark
, any evidence they were planning to use disappeared and they were screaming 'cover-up!' Pac Fish was very unhappy that a key piece of evidence was now unavailable to be used to help their case.

Their unhappiness landed like a rotting carcass in the office of the Asset Manager on Colony B who had given it to Miguel. That person was afraid for his job and was burning up the air between Colonies B and D demanding that Dad and Miguel help get him out of this mess. Dad wanted to spend the afternoon with me, but instead I was stuck farting around on the
Horner
. Dad and Miguel returned around seven or eight that evening. Dad immediately poured a drink for each of them. A double-shot of tequila each ... the meeting had not been pleasant. Dad tossed his back and grunted as the alcohol hit him. "Those guys are a cross between a CPA, a lawyer and a cop," he said darkly.

"What's a CPA?" That was a new one, to me.

"An accountant." There was a brief, ominous pause.

"What's an accountant?" Give me a break, I'm 14.

"Look it up!" Dad suddenly roared. Over by the console, I could see Miguel hiding his mile by ducking his head and massaging the bridge of his nose. This should have been funny to me. Under normal circumstances, I would have been cracking up at this little sitcom. Instead, I was depressed. It was just as crazy here as it was at Mom's house ... maybe more so. I didn't know it at that the time but it was about to get a lot worse.

Our current position is: 34deg55'16.74"N 120deg42'26.90"W

The next day, I was stuck having to restocking the cold case with water, beer and soda at the
Gun Range
. I wouldn't have minded, but I had to listen to yet another conference call between Dad, Miguel and the admin guy on Colony B. The
Cooger & Dark
was a smoky and sour-smelling hulk tied to the fishing porch. If I had a choice I would have gladly been elsewhere.

"What about all the remodeling we've done?" Dad complained.

The asset manager was aghast. "You remodeled it?"

"Of course," Dad sounded puzzled, no surprise there. What did Pac Fish think they were going to do with it, set up a floating 'don't play with matches' museum?

"So now the boat can't be investigated because all the original wood, flooring and paint have been removed." The manager's question wasn't really a question at all...more of a statement.

"Uh...I guess." Dad still sounded bewildered. Since when was this an issue, much less their issue? I heard the manager sigh and it sounded like a weak fart on the speakerphone line.