bit. He walked to the end of the loading stage and surveyed for himself the many lights jeweling the decks, the tired porters sweeping the dark upper walkways, the kitchen staff wiping the third-deck tables and chairs, turning them up to make room for a mop-down of spilled drinks, food, trash paper, and smashed candy. He thought of the cooks swamping down the giant ranges in the hot night, the tobacco-smudged and sticky dance floor, the piss- fouled bathrooms and damaged main-deck lounge already prowled by the ship’s carpenter. It was all fun for somebody, he guessed, but his back and legs were killing him from the night’s climbing and scuffle.
About one-thirty he rolled into his bunk, jammed against the ceiling of his cabin, and a minute later Charlie Duggs came in, stripped down to his drawers, and hung his clothes on two sixteen-penny nails. “Oh, man,” he said in the dark, “I feel like I fell through the paddlewheel.”
After two minutes, Sam sensed that he was already falling asleep, and gratitude to whatever controls man’s slumber flowed through him like a medicine. Then Charlie yawned and said, “Don’t forget to roll out, wash your armpits, and buck up for the ten-thirty harbor tour.”
AT EIGHT the next morning the two of them were eating eggs, fried potatoes, and onions with the rest of the crew. The musicians had gone drinking in town after the boat docked and were eating out on the open part of the deck, moping about like wounded soldiers. Charlie folded a piece of white bread in half and waved it in the air over his plate for emphasis. “On the way down from Cincinnati we stopped at an odd little town in Indiana, I think, and ran an afternoon trip. I was nailing down new chocks for the piano during the break, and then Elsie and Ted did a number with the little girl and some of the lady passengers gathered around the bandstand and got this look in their eye like they was ready to start bawlin’. I don’t know why. It was a happy little song. Maybe they thought she was a come-alive baby doll or something.” He took a heaping bite of potatoes.
Sam straightened in his chair. “Where was the town, exactly?”
“That was a busy trip. It might have been in Kentucky, now that I think about it. Every time she sang, the mommies would come up to the bandstand. Maybe they were imagining what kind of life she might have in front of her. Everywhere she sang her two little numbers, she got the same reaction.”
Sam finished his eggs and shoved away his plate. “Some people think a lot about the future and screw up the day they’re walking around in.”
“I hear that.”
Sam did a slow pan of the cafe and frowned. “You think someone might want to save her from a musician’s life? I got to admit, they bring home about as much as a fry cook. My sergeant in the army sang on some phonograph records. Big labels, too. He was paid ten bucks for two sides of the record and never got a penny royalty.”
Duggs drained his ironware coffee cup and put it down, his head bobbing. “Brother plays in the Orpheum orchestra, and that don’t even pay the food bill for his family. He’s got to do Sunday bandstand work and Elks club dances and all that kind of bullshit.”
Sam tossed his napkin in his plate. “I play a little piano.”
“Pick up some extra scratch that way?”
“People tried to hire me for about a penny a key, so I said the hell with it.”
Charlie threw back his head and laughed.
Captain Stewart walked in and stood in the doorway, which everyone took as a signal to get to work. Before long, the boat was swamped by a special charter for middle-school children. The white band played for the chaperones and a few tourists as the boat eased up along the docks toward the grain elevators, the mates and watch-men keeping the children from walking the rails and swinging from the ceiling fans.
TWO DAYS LATER the boat ran a moonlight trip out of Donaldsonville, and two days after that the
He was going up the main staircase when the Wellers caught up with him, Elsie racing past, saying she needed aspirin. Ted mopped his face with his handkerchief and leaned against the rail. “The damned cops here aren’t interested in lost children from Cincinnati. They wouldn’t call other jurisdictions unless we paid the charges, and we’re about flat broke.” He pulled off his straw and wiped the hatband mark on his high forehead. “The desk sergeant took our description and threw it in a drawer. We asked him a bunch of questions, if there had been any child stealing that he knew off. You know what he told us? He said he had a few kids of his own he wouldn’t mind someone taking off his hands.”
“Sounds like you ran into a jughead. Probably the chief’s brother-in-law.”
Ted glared at him. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
“Look, I’ll lay off the two o’clock trip if the captain gives me the okay, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Ted cocked his head. “What makes you think you can do better than we did?”
“I know an old boy on the force-that is, if he hasn’t quit by now. We were in the same detachment in France.”
HE CROSSED the railroad tracks in the heat and climbed the long hill into town. At the police station the sergeant told him that Melvin Robicheaux was directing traffic at Florida and North. Sam walked out and half an hour later spotted him standing on a side street under a drugstore awning, smoking. His uniform was wrinkled and greasy, his badge pinned on crookedly. Sam called out his name.
The officer blinked. “Lucky! Where the hell did you come from?”
“The real city.”
They shook hands.
“You get a indoors job like you said you would?”
“Got it and lost it. I’m working on an excursion boat right now.”
“No cop work? Most boys got on the force.” He took a hissing drag on his cigarette.
“No. Not that. Not official, anyway.” He then told him what he was doing and who he was looking for.
Melvin spun his cigarette into the street and laughed. “You really are a lucky son of a bitch.” He looked down and laughed again.
“You want to share the joke?”
“You just walk up and get what you want, just like that.”
“What?” He bumped up his shoulders. Melvin Robicheaux seemed angry that the world was taking it easy on everyone but himself.
“I ought to hit you up for a few bucks like I do the pimps.” He looked up and down the street. “But I’ll take it easy. There’s a bunch of raggedy outlaws live way up on the river, right before the Mississippi state line, I guess. The Skadlocks. The old woman of the clan is Ninga, and she fits your description.”
Sam looked at him and then down the blinding street. “So do a lot of ugly old gals. This one ever steal somebody’s kid?”
Melvin looked over and watched an Oldsmobile run a stop sign. “She or any one of them that lives with her would carve out the pope’s eyeballs and bring ’em to you in a coin purse if you was to pay enough.”
“The world’s got no shortage of cutthroats. Why’d you think of her so fast?”
“Dogs.”
