“Manny…” Glottis began as I approached.
“Ignore it,” I said and yanked his sleeve to get him moving toward the ship.
Velasco was planted in front of the Limbo’s gangway, staring toward the dry docks. He let Glottis pass but moved to bar my way. Glottis trotted up the gangway, making it buckle and groan with each step. Up above, the Limbo’s deck was crowded with sailors all looking and pointing.
“The Sea Bees are striking,” I told Velasco.
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“Maybe the Limbo oughta shove off while we still can,” I suggested, hoping Velasco wouldn’t argue with the ‘we’ part.
“The captain’s getting ’er underway now,” he said, “but first… let’s see that union card.”
I showed Charlie’s handiwork to Velasco and he shook his head, disappointed. “One of Charlie’s rush jobs,” he observed, but handed it back to me. “Lucky for you, your new captain’s far-sighted. Get on board.”
“Thanks for the gig,” I said, shoving the card back into my breast pocket, “and for not asking too many questions.”
“Hell,” he said, “after what happened to… Naranja,” the pause was too long for comfort, “I can see why you’d leave town. Let’s just hope I don’t have to go fishin’ you out of the drink again.”
“I’ll stay under next time, I promise.”
Velasco looked away, then thumped me on the shoulder. “Get aboard, son, or you’ll be left behind.”
“Right,” I said and ran up the gangway.
A few minutes later the Limbo cast off and pulled away from the dock. The police car, now with a cracked windshield, raced up and Bogen jumped out before it had come to a complete stop. Bogen raced up to Velasco and apparently got into a heated argument as he kept gesturing to the Limbo while Velasco made helpless gestures. I took one last look at Rubacava and then went below to report to the captain and start my new job.
Mop to Top
I found that the Limbo took some getting used to. Part of it was that I was no longer the boss. I didn’t realize how accustomed I had gotten to being in charge. I mean, one day I was the owner of a swanky nightclub with over a dozen people working for me; and then, literally the next day, I’m at the bottom, the one taking the orders. It was quite an adjustment to make.
Well, I wasn’t exactly at the bottom. I had one guy to boss around. At least I didn’t have to peel the damned potatoes myself. But Glottis… Glottis was the chief engineer with a whole staff to give orders to. That took some getting used to as well. And some of the guys had a real problem with the idea of a high-ranking demon. At least, until the first mate observed—with sharply-pointed words—that ‘that demon’ was the one keeping us all afloat. That put things in perspective for even the loudest malcontent.
Yet another big adjustment for me was just being on the ship. From the outside it looked pretty big, but most of the space was taken up by cargo. There wasn’t a lot left over to move around in. And being aboard ship was a lot like being in prison: closely confined and no realistic way out. No wonder sailors went wild when they were on leave.
I got friendly with the radio operator partly as a way to alleviate the claustrophobia. He had worked Vegas when he was alive, so we connected partly on that level. And we also sort of cornered the gambling on the boat. Some smart asses started calling the galley ‘Calavera Café’ until they were persuaded to cut it out. Being dangled over the side by a huge, orange demon can change one’s mind in a hurry about what’s funny. It was just a game to Glottis because he never would have let go, but the guys didn’t need to know that.
Anyway, the radio operator and I were pals and so I was able to hear news that otherwise I might not have. The CB strike got to be pretty serious and spread to the other dock workers. I wondered if maybe Alexi had lost control because wanton destruction wasn’t what he was about. An explosion to distract Bogen was one thing, but what happened afterwards—if the reactionary Hearst newsreels I saw in port were to be believed—was something else. Newspapers I bought when the Limbo docked carried pictures of burnt-out warehouses and sunken cargo ships still moored and I was reminded unwillingly of photos of the USS Arizona I had seen as a child… but I recognized anti-labor propaganda when I saw it. Another thing I heard, not so easily dismissed, was that my club had been burned to the ground, although that couldn’t be linked to the strike. Even with me gone, Bogen had gone ahead with the raid and shut the place down. It was empty when it caught fire. It was supposed to have started because the fryer in the kitchen wasn’t shut off, except we never had a fryer. High-class clip joints don’t do chips. I didn’t care so much for the club, but it cost the LSA a prime source of revenue.
It wasn’t too long before everyone on board learned that Naranja hadn’t actually been sprouted. It was an inexplicable mistake to everyone but me, and I wasn’t going to say a word. The last news I heard from Rubacava was that, after the torching of the club, Bogen had disappeared. He didn’t leave town the normal way, and he wasn’t found sprouted. He just wasn’t there one day. I guess Max had finally made his move. Too bad he didn’t make it before the club burned down, but maybe that wouldn’t have been the smart way to do it.
Every shore leave I wanted to just get tight as a drum at the first bar I could find, but I always had work to do. The first thing I always did was to check at the Nada Mañana offices to see if Meche had still been on board when the Lambada sailed after it’s stop. She always was. Then I had to send a wire to Salvador about where I was, where I was headed and what little I had learned. I rarely had enough time to get even mildly drunk before having to get back on board.
The Limbo crawled along from port to port, unloading and taking on cargo. We weren’t moving very fast. Neither was the Lambada, but she was making better time than we were. It wasn’t long before she was two ports ahead, then three. I was able to learn a few things during our longer stops, mostly that Meche never seemed to go ashore. I figured that meant Domino was keeping her on a short leash. What I couldn’t figure out was why he was taking her on a luxury cruise in the first place. Salvador didn’t know either. Our agent in Puerto Zapato was made aware that the ship carrying Meche was heading his way, and that he should be on the alert; but the Lambada was months away from Zapato and the Sea of Lament is huge.
There’s not much more to tell about the journey. One day on board the Limbo was a lot like any other, and shore leave was much the same everywhere: check up on the Lambada and Meche, send and receive cables, get drunk and be carried back aboard ship by Glottis. Once I wired Carla but I never got a reply. Just as well, I supposed. The further I got from Rubacava, the more she began to seem like a mistake; but I still cared for her.
Glottis slowly remade the Limbo in his image. After rebuilding the old diesel engines into something special, his crew started giving the rest of the ship a makeover. Each port saw the ship looking newer and newer. Apart from the mechanical changes, there was usually some crew turnover at each port as well. Some souls made careers in the Land of the Dead. Others just worked their way across as fast as they could, picking up and dropping one job after another as it suited them. After a while I was one of the older hands on board. In time I got out of the galley and was moved around the ship as different talents were uncovered. About halfway to Puerto Zapato I was posted to the bridge. I learned how to plot a course and even how to pilot the ship. Then I spent time in the engine room, actually taking orders from Glottis. That was fun. Fortunately for me, Glottis had no ideas about payback. Then I was the radio operator for a while. Then it was back to the bridge before being assigned to supervise the loading and unloading cargo.