The New Madrid Run (23 page)

Underneath the sign stood a dark-haired man of medium height with a strong, stocky body and muscled arms. He waved them into two adjacent slips. As they were berthing, the fellow strode toward them with an obvious air of authority. While still a distance away, with a broad, wide-toothed smile, he hollered, “Hello, sailors. Welcome to Monroe!”

Travis leaped off the bow onto the walkway, tying off the boat. The sensei helped Christina and Todd down, then followed. The preacher had backed his boat in, and he and Carlos climbed off the stern onto the dock. As the fellow moved toward the group, another man, slightly taller but equally capable-looking, came out of the building and joined him. The newcomer appeared better dressed and a touch more sophisticated than his associate. He was a handsome man with dark hair and good features, but there was a cruel set to his eyes.

The shorter of the two men extended his hand to Travis: “Henry Lafont’s the name. This is my brother, Peter,” he said, nodding to the man next to him as he shook Travis’ hand with the grip of a Sumo wrestler.

Introductions were completed, and Travis couldn’t help but notice Peter Lafont’s eyes as they rolled over Christina. He didn’t even try to be subtle. She, too, was aware of it and flushed.

After a pause, Henry Lafont continued, “How long will you folks be staying with us, and are you going to need any repairs or supplies?”

“No repairs,” Travis replied, “Maybe some supplies. We’ll probably be here a day or two.”

“Good, no problem. Where are you coming in from?”

“The Florida Keys, or where they used to be.”

“Gone, huh?” asked Lafont.

“Like they never were.”

“Well, I guess a few years from now, we’ll truck in a couple of loads of sand and become the new Miami Beach,” laughed Henry. As he talked, he appeared to be a congenial enough fellow, but there was something about him that said that as soon as you didn’t please him, you’d see a different attitude. His brother was less subtle. There was a look of dangerous arrogance about him—a man used to getting his way.

As Travis studied the Lafonts, Peter spoke for the first time. “Tell me, how will you be paying for your dockage here?”

“Well, that depends,” Travis said. “Why don’t you tell us what the rules are and we’ll tell you if we can play by them.”

“Well put,” Peter replied, his eyes sharpening. “As you may or may not know, with the federal government pretty well shot, paper money isn’t worth much, so perhaps you have something of value that we’d be able to barter for your stay here?”

“Sounds possible,” Travis said. “Let’s say we’re here for two days, what would be a reasonable payment for that length of time?”

Peter looked at him. “What a reasonable payment might be no longer applies in these times. We’re not just supplying dockage, we’re offering protection as well. We’ll barter food, fuel, engine parts, guns, ammunition, and radio equipment.”

Travis thought for a moment. They had taken the radios from the Coast Guard cutter a while back. They could spare one of those. “Okay, how about a like-new VHF radio and antenna for our stay?”

Peter paused for a moment and looked out across the dock. “That and ten gallons of fuel.”

“Good Lord, man!” Travis exclaimed. “I don’t want to buy the berths. I just want to rent them!”

“It’s a hard new world, Mr. Christian. You want the berths, that’s the price,” Peter said, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he did his best to stare Travis down. Travis knew he’d been had; they needed the security of the docks. Anchored off shore they wouldn’t last ten minutes before somebody shot Ra and broke into the two boats.

“Well, I guess we have no choice but to accept your hospitality,” Travis answered with just a touch of sarcasm.

“Intelligent decision,” Peter said. “But to make you feel better about the deal, I invite you to one of the few operating saloons in Monroe for drinks, on me.”

“I suppose you own the saloon, too.”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact. Why don’t you stop by around seven and we’ll get to know each other.” Peter added as he flashed a look at Christina. “Well, I’ve got things to do. Henry will arrange for the radio and fuel, and give you directions. See you about seven.”

After securing the boats and settling up with Henry, who, in an unusual gesture of magnanimity, threw in some sugar and a box of powdered milk for Todd, they prepared to see the town.

Earlier in the trip Christina had discovered a few pieces of jewelry in one of the drawers in the forward bedroom—a gold bracelet, a necklace, and some earrings. They took these to barter with, should they need anything in town. Ra was taken for a half-hour walk, then left to guard the sailboat, as always.

They were directed to the section of town that had survived most, or perhaps had been destroyed the least. It was still a mess, but commerce was taking place amid the rebuilding.

Noticing that people looked at them warily and few spoke, Travis muttered. “Not the friendliest bunch, are they?”

The preacher chuckled. “Take a good look at us, son. We may have been tourists at the start of this little vacation, but we look more like mercenaries now. From the M-16s to the Samurai swords, we look like we work for Genghis Khan.” It was true—even Christina carried the nine-millimeter, and Todd carried one of the hunting knives tucked into his belt, its scabbard and blade up, imitating the sensei.

They found a place that served food—not really a restaurant, more like an open-pit BBQ selling grilled chicken and baked potatoes. Christina bargained a few links of the gold bracelet in exchange for everyone’s dinner. The sun began to set as they sat at the candlelit tables, ate half-cooked chicken, drank warm beer, and thought they’d died and gone to heaven. Afterward, spurred by the prospect of a free drink or two, the preacher and Carlos urged the rest of the group to search out Peter’s “Sea Dog Saloon.”

Night was falling, and after a short walk through nearly deserted streets, they found the tavern. It had once been Maryann’s Bar and Grill, but Maryann had been made an offer that she couldn’t refuse and a new sign was nailed over the old one. The bar was small but, considering the times, well tended. Fortunately, the supply room had just been stocked when the catastrophe struck. Maryann and the Lafonts were peripheral friends, and they had sent over a few men to help her keep the looters at bay. When things quieted down, the Lafonts, in much the same manner as Colonel Rockford, gave her a couple of options.

A dozen stools lined the bar and about the same number of tables were scattered around the dimly lit saloon. A sign above the bar read: ALL GUNFIGHTS TO BE TAKEN OUTSIDE, OR WE SHOOT THE WINNER— THE MANAGEMENT. Four men sat at the bar, and another eight or ten sat at the tables. A well-armed bouncer leaned casually against the end of the bar.

In the back, seated at a table against the wall, were Peter Lafont and another man, whom Travis immediately identified as the third brother. He had the same dark hair and swarthy complexion. He was as tall as Peter, but not as heavy. Where Peter appeared arrogant and dangerous, the other was just plain cold to the bone. He had a large, aquiline nose and a thin, white scar that ran from his cheekbone to the edge of his jaw, adding considerably to his sinister appearance. Every shift of his dark eyes said he could kill you at lunch and not miss a spoonful of dessert at the memory.

Peter saw the troupe as they walked in and waved them over while making some comment to his brother. As the group moved toward the table, the two men, who had been playing cards, put the deck aside and stood.

Peter looking slightly inebriated, flashed a big smile. “Welcome! I’m glad you accepted my offer. This is my brother, Chad.” After introductions, everyone was seated around two tables that had been pushed together. Peter called the bartender over, drinks were ordered and promptly delivered. For the next hour conversation ranged from the Lafonts’ “recent successes,” to the history of the newcomers, and their adventures. During that time several rounds of drinks were ordered. Peter was drinking doubles and rapidly losing any sense of tactfulness regarding Christina. His conversations were becoming rife with innuendos. Chad looked at Travis and the Preacher. “I hear you’re from Florida. Is there anything left at all down that way?

The preacher humphed. “Not enough to say grace over.”

Directing his conversation at Christina, Chad asked, “So what are your plans?”

“Travis owns some land in western Arkansas. We’re going to see if it’s still there.”

Peter drained his shot glass, then moved his seat closer to Christina, resting his arm on the back of her chair. “No reason for you to be in a hurry,” he slurred. “Why don’t you stay awhile. I could be your personal guide to seaside Monroe.

“Not interested. You’re drunk,” she replied, unable to keep the disdain from her voice.

“So take advantage of me. I’ll resist just enough to be respectable.”

Christina pushed his arm off her chair. “Why don’t you save us both some time and take advantage of yourself.” Travis watched the exchange. Then turned back to Chad, who seemed to be amused by the situation. He decided to let it go for the moment. “Looks like you’ve done well for yourselves, given the situation.”

Chad smiled without warmth. “Right place right time. We’re just assisting the community in recovery, friend.” Travis met his steely gaze. The waitress arrived with another round of drinks.

Peter raised his glass. “To recovery—and new friends.” The preacher and Travis exchanged knowing glances during the lackluster toast.

The older brother questioned Travis about the changes they’d seen in their travels. His eyes occasionally darted to Christina but, by and large, he kept himself within the bounds of good manners.

Unfortunately, that was more than could be said of Peter, whose rudeness and arrogance were peaking. The more he drank, the less he hid his desire for Christina. She was an attractive woman, and it wasn’t the first time that a man had been “taken” with her, but Peter was used to taking what he wanted.

While Travis and the preacher talked travel with Chad, Peter decided to become more earnest in his affections. Travis sat on Christina’s left, facing Chad, which left him turned partially away from Christina. Todd and Carlos sat back from the table, watching. The sensei had just excused himself and gone to the restroom. The portable CD player on the bar switched to a soft country ballad, and Peter decided he wanted to dance. “C’mon. Le’s dance a little,” he whispered.” You get to know me a little better.”

Christina pushed his hand off her chair again. “I’m running out of polite, lover-boy. For the last time, the answer’s no.”

Ignoring her, Peter struggled to his feet and suddenly, before anyone could stop him, was dragging her from her chair, pulling her to him in a sloppy excuse for a slow dance. “C’mon baby, jus’ a little cheek-to-cheek.” Travis had been attempting to keep his cool for the sake of his people. When he turned around and saw what was happening, he swung his head back to Chad, looking for assistance. Chad just sat there smugly, with a whisper of a smile, staring at him. Travis had just started to rise when Christina quit trying to struggle and suddenly moved into Peter, kneeing him hard in the groin. Peter grunted and doubled over when Christina slammed him with a straight-arm, shoving him backwards to the floor.

“You little bitch,” Peter rasped through the pain. “I’m gonna . . .”

Christina looked over her shoulder at Travis. “Now’s a good time for a little help.”

Travis sighed exasperatedly and muttered. “Where’s a frigging anti-tank gun when you really need it.” Then, in one swift move he snatched his full beer can off the table and hurled it at Peter who was just rising, striking the man squarely in the forehead. Travis glanced quickly at the others. Christina was rubbing her wrists, more angry than frightened. Todd and Carlos were back against the wall, Carlos protecting the boy. The preacher was calm but ready for a signal. Chad just sat there, unconcerned, amused, certain of his brother’s abilities. Travis decided to make it short. Before Peter could move, he stepped forward and gave him a crude but effective side kick to the inside of the knee. The joint snapped like dry timber as Peter screamed and collapsed onto his good knee. Travis took another step forward and caught the Cajun with a hard uppercut, nearly lifting him off the ground and slamming him against the back wall.

Peter, with his nose smashed, front teeth powdered and his leg broken, was out for the count. Travis turned just in time to see Chad rising out of his chair, his hands clenched, an entirely different look on his face. But he was barely erect and reaching for the gun in his belt when he felt the barrel of a rifle under his chin.

The preacher rose slowly beside him, keeping his gun tight against the man’s neck as he took the Cajun’s gun. “You move a muscle, the only thing you’ll be fightin’ for will be air through the hole in your neck. You got it?”

Chad looked at him, murder in his eyes.

“I said, you got it?” the preacher emphasized with a push from the barrel of his weapon that lifted Chad to his toes. Chad nodded.

During this performance the bouncer had slowly made his way across the bar and was raising his gun at the preacher’s back when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Surprised, he turned his head. The sensei, having returned from the restroom, watched it all happen and stood quietly in reserve. He was ready when the guard made his move. The sensei tapped the man on his left shoulder while standing to his right; the guard turned his head and looked the opposite way from the Japanese, who reached in, lifted up the gun, exposing the man’s side, and delivered a punch that broke three ribs and ruptured a kidney. The guard was no longer an issue.

Travis looked at Chad, then to the rest of his crew. “Well, I think we’ve worn out our welcome. Time to go. Sensei, take the point. Preacher, bring your friend along just for safety’s sake. We’ll let him go when we’re clear. Christina, Todd, Carlos, stay in the middle as we go out. I’ll take the rear. Let’s move!”

Just as they started out, another guard appeared in the doorway and leveled his rifle at the group. The sensei had just turned back to check on his people when the man came through the entrance and caught him unawares. As the guard aimed his gun at the sensei’s back, Christina, without the slightest hesitation, shot the intruder three times with her nine-millimeter pistol. The man bounced out the door and hit the ground, the soles of his feet sticking up, holding the door open. The sensei, swinging around at the sound of the shots, quickly realized what had happened. He looked at the man’s feet, then at Christina, and smiled that half smile of his, bowing ever so slightly. Travis just shook his head in amazement.