High Water (4 page)

The blue Corolla cruised bumperless down State Street, burning daylight. The excitement of a field expedition to the water park and the afterglow of lovemaking had set Pete at ease after the incredibly stressful day. He drove while Liz rested her hand on his neck. Pete knew the way since he had dropped Liz off at work plenty of times. Like clockwork, they hit several green lights in a row.  Their streak stopped relatively close to Tahitian.

“So, Doctor Sharpe, what do you think it is?” Liz asked playfully as they waited for the light to change.

“Well, right now I’m wondering whether it’s some kind of parasite, or protozoa,” Pete said. It was absolutely his best guess at the moment, and was dismally poor at that. Plus, he was biased given his area of study.

“Protozoa?”

“Yeah, protozoa.”

Sweetly, Liz said, “English, please.”

Pete laughed, “Unicellular organisms, better related to us mammals than they are to bacteria or viruses.”

“Hold up, something that little is related to us?” Liz asked, skeptical.

“Believe it or not, yeah. Things like bacteria don’t have mitochondria, which are our body’s little power plants, but protozoa do. Protozoa also have a cell nucleus, which is much more like us. They’re more centered and more organized than bacteria.” It never ceased to amaze Pete that these single-celled organisms were so biologically familiar to his own, even looking eerily similar under the microscope. That similarity also explained why they caused humans so many problems.

“I sort of remember some of what you said from my biology class. That’s kind of cool.”

“Right? Protozoa are what I’ve been studying, Malaria is caused by a protozoa.”

Liz nodded, “Okay, right, I knew you were working on malaria.”

“Yep, and my work was on a few things to help kill the bastards. Malaria happens when the protozoa get into your body from a specific kind of mosquitoes, the Anopheles. The protozoa hang out in the skeeter’s saliva and then go down the mosquito’s straw and into your bloodstream.”

“I hate mosquitoes,” Liz grimaced. She tended to swell up when bitten by them.

“Me too, and it gets worse. They get into your liver first and start to divide. From there they start infiltrating your red blood cells by squirming through capillaries.”

“Nasty,” Liz replied. “Why the red blood cells?”

“Those are the cells that carry your oxygen around. The parasite wants your oxygen for its own reproduction and rips apart those cells trying to find it. When they eat the oxygen molecule, they make a house out of your red blood cell.”

“Bad tenants, right?”

“The worst kind,” Pete replied, chuckling.

“So why would this apply to the pool at Tahitian?”

“Well, blood transfusions and ingestion can spread some protozoa and it also spreads in-utero too.” The light turned green and Pete advanced at a moderate pace, not really in a rush.

“People are constantly putting their mouths in the water at Tahitian. It’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, I agree. If Tahitian isn’t cleaning the pool properly they risk some serious contamination. How many people are in there every day?”

Liz sat for a moment, thinking it over. “A lot, but here’s the thing, Pete,”– Pete loved to hear her say his name. It meant she was about to rebut his argument – “I don’t think we have mosquitoes inside Tahitian.”

Pete nodded, glancing over for a moment as they stopped at another light. “Exactly. When you said her eyes were messed up, I thought Chagas, which is another kind of parasite. But the visible signs of infection are really pronounced and aren’t lining up correctly, could be something else— shit!”

A car full of people sped around them, blowing the light. A teenager hung out the window, waving a Gatorade bottle and screaming curses. Liz yelled, “PISS OFF!” back at them.

Pulling her head back in, Liz muttered, “Probably paying Tahitian customers.”

“New Jersey’s finest,” Pete said. 

Getting off King’s Highway Road, he made a right onto Climes Road that bordered a massive parking lot serving Tahitian Water Adventures. One end of the parking lot was home to a large billboard advertising for a local casino, long shuttered after New Jersey’s fatal experiment with government-sanctioned gambling. A slightly obscene swirl, some kind of minimalist advertising gimmick, subtly advertised the casino with sex. The swirl had a pair of tits drawn onto it. Either the graffiti artist didn’t have much of an imagination, or the advertisement itself was a failure. After seeing it for the first time a few months ago, Pete still wasn’t sure which it was. Either way, he couldn’t see himself ever setting foot in a casino. It just wasn’t his type of entertainment.

Neither was the water park for that matter. Towering over the other end of the parking lot was a plain brown warehouse, topped by ancient air conditioning units crowning the building like crenellations. Disease ridden castles were better left to Edgar Allen Poe, Pete mused. Spotlights tried to flood the parking lot with harsh fluorescent light, even though the sunset to the right of the billboard had painted the building with gentle shades of orange. A green neon sign underlined in electric blue made an arc over the main doorway promoting “Tahitian Water Adventures.” The water park was a relic of the 1990’s.  Its décor was just a little out of date and the bright colors of its attractions more than a little faded. These days it was a bit of an artifact.

Evening was close and it promised to be mild, with a soft, pleasant breeze kicked up by the temperature drop. With windows open to enjoy the evening, Pete and Liz sat in the car with their backs to the waterpark.  They lit up a small joint that Liz had stashed in her purse. The sun was not done yet: having retreated behind a few wispy clouds, it treated them to a beautiful violet and azure blush.

“It’s so beautiful,” Liz said.

“It’s a shame that it’s wasted on this shithole.”

“Oh, I know, right? It’s bizarre that people want to spend their time in that place when you can watch something like that most nights out of the year,” Liz said, gesturing at the sunset with the lit joint. “Best show on earth.”

“Hell, I can’t believe they are still holding this concert. What do you think the management of that place does to help them sleep at night?” Pete asked her.

“Meth.”

“Are you serious?” Pete said, drawing his gaze away from the painted sky to gape at Liz.

Liz laughed, “Just kidding. The heck if I know. You can’t sleep on meth anyway. The owners have been cutting corners on chemicals, though.”

“You mean the Comparis.” Pete knew that the park was run by two brothers who were skeevy enough to star in their own reality show.

“The same, Roman and Robert, who had me doing bulk ordering of chlorine and bromine for a while. From what I can tell, those two weren’t using half of what they were supposed to use. When I said something, they stopped letting me order chemicals.”

“Of course they did,” Pete said. The joint had gone out. “Want me to relight this?”

Liz looked at it and shook her head, the whites of her eyes already relaxing into redness. “Nah, I’m feeling toasty.”

Pete smiled, feeling the same.  He ashed the roach into the tray, saying, “I guess we should we get going?”

“Oh yeah, let’s roll,” Liz replied.

Getting out of the car, Pete took one last look at the fading sunset then began to get himself ready for their infiltration. Grabbing the small plastic jar he had sterilized, Pete left his wallet and cell phone hidden in the center console of the Corolla. Not that anyone would steal Pete’s old phone, an anachronism in the age of touch screen devices. Walter and Liz loved to harass him about his old flip phone. But he thought still had character. As far as phones go anyway.

While Liz busied herself with her purse, Pete leaned against the damaged car. He watched patrons file past the bouncer into the water park. The far end of the parking lot was quickly filling up and the thudding bass from inside the building suggesting that the opener was already on stage. Pool concerts were one of the unique attractions offered by Tahitian. Music and water aficionados got into their best swimsuits to stand in a heated pool at the foot of the stage, waving large flamingo-colored plastic containers filled with cheap spirits.

Despite his comfortably numb state of mind, the whole concept of the pool concert still disturbed Pete. He liked live music as much as the next person but as a microbiologist was not enthusiastic about standing waist deep in the pool with hundreds of drunken people. The thought of tepid water sloshing against their assholes and between their genitals was repulsive but Pete had learned that America is all about cheap thrills. Tahitian Water Adventures was the place to go for that kind of entertainment.

Pete heard the passenger side car door open. “If this adventure was a fable, the zinger would be, ‘Be choosy about with whom who you bathe’, or wait, is that even grammar?” he said to Liz as she got out of the car.

Liz came around the car, laughing, and grabbed his hand warmly, “Christ, you are stoned. Come on, let’s go through the side entrance.” They both giggled wildly. They passed between parked cars and groups of patrons pre-gaming in the parking lot as she led him to the back of the building. Entering an alley that butted up to the regional rail tracks, they entered through a steel door that read “
Employee Entrance”
. It was unlocked with a duct-tape wrapped key on Liz’s carabineer key ring. Liz had told him once that she used the 500 pound test carabineer as her key ring in case she needed a pair of brass knuckles, or if she needed to rappel. The same philosophy, perhaps instilled by her outdoorsy parents, gave her cause to carry a vicious looking combat knife in her purse next to her cell phone and lip gloss. The way Liz treated preparedness as sacred was downright sexy to Pete.

After stepping inside and turning on some lights, they strolled together through a long hallway. The smell of chlorine hit Pete’s nose before they opened the door marked “
Locker Room
”. Rows of narrow steel lockers painted a drab moldy green color were dimly lit by a single bulb high up on the ceiling. The floor had the greasiness of a surface perpetually wet.

“Everyone on duty should be out on the floor and nobody is going to ask me questions anyway. I’ve been working at this hellhole for a long time.  Too long,” Liz said as she walked authoritatively through the dark rows of closed lockers.

In the dim room, Pete didn’t have to suppress the facial expression that surfaced at her long-suffering attitude about her job. Until tonight, he was under the impression she wanted to stay at Tahitian. Before he could ask her about it, a crash sounded from further inside the locker room. Startled, Pete’s hands shot up as he turned on a toe. His instinct kicked in from years of training. A large silhouette rose and approached them from the end of the row of lockers. Pete squinted to make out what it was, steeling himself.

Liz spoke up, “Oh, hey Bryan!”

Bryan stepped into the limelight and gave them both a shit eating grin. With a crown of messy red hair and a robust goatee, Bryan was about his height but with a bulkier build. An indeterminate number of years older than Pete, Bryan had been Liz’s work buddy for about the last year. The absurd yellow and black flannel he was wearing made him look like a honeybee trying to pass as a lumberjack.

“Hey Liz, didn’t think you were on duty for the concert,” he said, strutting over. Pete felt something stir uncomfortably in his stomach when the man casually stepped in front of Pete and rested his elbow on the nearest locker, blocking Pete’s line of sight to Liz. Pete realized he was still clenching his fists and tried to relax. Macho bullshit was integral to Bryan’s winning personality. Generally, Pete tried to reserve judgment. It only took a few encounters to recognize a douchebag, and he had previously promised himself that he wouldn’t fall for the man’s bullshit. It wasn’t working. 

“Oh no, no not tonight, we’re, uh, going to the concert. Figured I’d get past the bouncer, you know?” Liz explained, less than convincingly.

“Awesome. Banter Amidships will kill it. You need wristbands, though, or they’ll flag you.” Liz made a sound that was something between a groan and a squeak, but Byran’s grin got a little wider. “Don’t sweat it. I have a few extra in my locker.”

Liz’ hands drew together cutely in front of her chest, “Oh, that’s great Bryan! We really appreciate it.”

“Sure, not a problem,” Bryan said as he turned around and smiled blithely at Pete. “We don’t see you much around here,
Peter
. I thought you didn’t like pool concerts?”

Nobody had called him ‘Peter’ since his second grade teacher, Mrs. Hague, had worn it out. Annoyed, he broke eye contact with Bryan long enough to see Liz give him a nervous look from behind the obnoxious goateed lifeguard. “I’m always up for some, uh, speed metal,” he said. Pete had been raised on hip hop and couldn’t tell speed metal from aluminum.

“It’s not speed metal, it’s dubstep. Man, you need to get with the program dude! It’s the hottest thing out there right now,” he said, sanctimoniously shaking his head. Brusquely pushing past Pete, Bryan headed back for his locker. Nothing pissed Pete off more than music snobbery.  He had to admit he knew dubstep, electronic dance music characterized by heavy bass and screeching industrial noises. The genre collectively sounded like the amplified interior of an old-school steel pencil sharpener.