I turned to my left and began walking. I came to a section composed mainly of warehouses, just a few small lights about them, watchmen doubtless around somewhere, not that it mattered. Moving on past, I enjoyed the smells from the river, from which a light, warm, humid breeze was coming. Tomorrow would probably be hot and muggy, but the night was pleasant
There were no city sounds here, only insects in the grasses beside the road. And so far, no traffic along it.
I took my time, not wanting my arrival to coincide too closely with the passage of the ’copter. I followed a curve in the road which took me around a warehouse and nearer to the water.
The next big view to open up included people. There were overhead lights playing down upon a docking area, and I could now hear the creaking of a winch. A boom was swinging. A number of barges, anchored in various positions, came into sight. The one at the wharf was being loaded with large flats of cartons, which a pair of workers moved to strap into place once they were deposited. I found myself a comfortable and unobtrusive spot on the bank above the road’s right shoulder, and I settled there to observe the enterprise for a time. There were still quite a few flats waiting upon the pier for loading.
… A quick tick derick flick through the barge’s computer, which was now functioning in order to compare the manifest and what actually came aboard, told me a number of interesting things: the vessel would be departing in about two hours, and it would be stopping in Vicksburg.
No hurry then, and I could think of several arguments against prematurity in my approach. So I watched the operation and counted heads and checked out things which occurred to me with the computer.
There were the two men aboard the barge, loading the cargo into place. I assumed the crane itself to have a human operator, though it occurred to me that the large, red-haired man, wearing faded jeans and a blue and white striped sweater, who was seated atop a packing crate drinking a cup of coffee, might be manipulating it remotely by means of the small device near his right hand, which he occasionally raised.
Tick-terick.
No. He was just calling off inventory items through a broadcast unit. There was someone in the shed manipulating the crane. Another man was sprawled—sleeping or drunk or both—upon the decking, his back against the shack, head rolled to the side upon his shoulder, mouth open, eyes closed.
I guessed that the big man on the crate was the one listed in the vessel’s computer as “Ship’s master: C. Catlum”. The computer itself was similar to that on my houseboat, and I read that its standing orders required two live hands while the barge was adrift. I assumed that the guy propped up against the shed qualified loosely as the other one. I further assumed that some sort of union rules required that the vessel be loaded and unloaded by someone other than its captain and crew. I noted three cars and a truck parked in a lot behind the shed. The cars probably belonged to the laborers, the truck to the warehousing company which had stored the cargo. I strained and made out the lettering “Deller Storage” on its side. Good. It seemed I had a reasonable picture of the situation now. I cast about then for the best approach. There was just no way I could sneak aboard—I had discarded that notion long ago.
I watched for over an hour, assuring myself that there was no one else around. The stack of flats grew lower and lower. Another fifteen minutes, I decided…
When that time had passed, I rose to my feet and made my way slowly down toward the lighted area. There wasn’t much left to stow now. I walked out across the planks and up to the side of the packing case. The man propped against the shed still hadn’t moved.
“And hello to you, too,” said the man on the case, not looking in my direction.
“Captain Catlum?” I said.
“You’re one up on me.”
“Steve,” I said, “Lanning. I understand you’ll be leaving for Vicksburg in a little while.”
“I won’t deny it,” he said.
“I’d like a ride down that way.”
“I’m not running a taxi service.”
“Didn’t figure you were. But when I mentioned to the man at Deller Storage that I’d always wanted to ride on one of these, he said maybe I should see you.”
“Deller’s been out of business two years now. They should take that name off the trucks.”
“Whatever they call it these days, he said if I could pay my way I could probably get a ride.”
“The regulations say no.”
“He said maybe fifty dollars. What do you say?”
Catlum looked at me for the first time and he smiled, a very engaging thing. He was a ruggedly good-looking guy; about my own age, I guessed.
“Why, I didn’t write the regulations. Some fellow in an office back East prob’ly did.”
The crane swung back and descended. It caught hold of another flat and raised it.
“You realize, I’d be jeopardizing my career by taking you aboard,” he said.
“He really said a hundred dollars. I suppose I could manage that.”
He did something to the machine at his side, indicating the loading of that last flat.
“You like to play checkers?” he asked.
“Well—yes,” I said.
“Good. My partner’s going to be out for a while. What’d you say was the name of that man you talked to?”
“Wilson, or something like that.”
“Oh, yeah. Why’d you wait so long before you came on down?”
“I saw you were busier at first.”
He grinned and nodded. Then he came down from the crate, leaned forward and counted the remaining flats. He reached out and entered something into the unit. I was suddenly awed. There had been no real way of telling while he was seated, and he was well-enough proportioned that it was almost difficult to believe, but the man was about seven feet tall.
“Okay,” he said, hooking the unit onto his belt and handing me his cup and a huge thermos jug. “Take these, will you?”
Then he leaned forward and scooped up the unconscious man. He draped him over his left shoulder and headed up the gangway as if the extra weight meant nothing. He headed into the small cabin and dumped him onto a bunk. Then he turned toward me and took his cup and thermos.
“Thanks,” he said, hanging the cup on a hook and depositing the jug in a corner.
I was reaching for my wallet, but he walked away, departing the cabin, and checked on the rest of the incoming cargo. When this was done he turned to me, grinning again.
“Say, I’m going to have to break the shoreside computer hookup in a few minutes,” he said, “Do you think Wilson might have left a message about you in the company machine?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“You a sporting man, Steve?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars he didn’t say a word. You know old Wilson—or whoever.”
I figured I could probably use the money, and I wanted to strengthen my story, as he obviously believed I was lying—though I didn’t think it really mattered that much to him.
“You’re on,” I said, and I coiled.
“Okay. They’ll finish stowing the stuff in another five minutes. Let’s go and see now.”
I accompanied him back to the cabin, where he approached a terminal and punched an inquiry after messages in the warehouse computer.
STEVE LANNING WILL BE ALONG, the screen flashed.
“I’ll be damned,” he said. “Old Wilson remembered. That’s a fine trick. Looks as if you ride free. Well, we’d better be gettin’ ready to cast off now. Say, how good a checkers player are you?”