The Directives Read online

  “I’m right here,” Terri said from the shadows.

  Corky turned to find himself staring into the barrel of the lady’s pistol. He grinned and shook his head, “Well now, don’t we have just a regular, old Mexican standoff.”

  The rain began seriously pelting the gathering, the drizzle turning into a cold, steady downpour.

  Corky seemed to ignore the discomfort, eyeing Terri closely before speaking. “I apologize for how we went about introducing ourselves, but I had to be sure who you were. One of my men claims to have met you once, and I wanted him to get a good look before I approached you. Your security men, however, reacted faster than we anticipated.”

  “So, now you know who I am. Say what you have to say. I’ve got to get this baby out of the rain before he catches his death of cold,” she said looking down at Hunter’s car seat. “Let’s either talk, or start the killing - you decide.”

  Corky laughed, an honest chuckle coming up from his belly. “So what I’ve heard is true,” he replied, grinning widely. “I want to invite your men and you to my captain’s brunch. I have a good idea why you’re here, and think we should talk sooner rather than later. Please be my honored guest.”

  “Forgive me, sir. While I have heard of a ‘shotgun wedding,’ I have never received a brunch invite at gunpoint. I suppose I can concede that social protocols changed some two years ago, but call me old fashioned, I would just prefer to bypass these strong arm tactics in our future dealings,” the Alliance leader announced, lowering her weapon. “Lucky for you,” she continued, “I do have a weakness for those little cocktail shrimp. Now, more importantly, what would a guest of honor wear to such a soiree? I left my heels back in Meraton.”

  Terri was just changing into some dry clothes when the coach’s door flew open, a grumbling, drenched Betty cursing the world for a lack of umbrellas.

  After towel drying her waterlogged locks, she asked, “When is Bishop supposed to arrive?”

  “He should be here today or tomorrow,” Terri answered. “But you never know with him. Trouble seems to find my husband.”

  Brushing more of the liquid humidity out of her hair, Betty smirked at the remark. “He’s not the only one in your family that seems to be a magnet for drama. What’s up with you guys, anyway?”

  Terri laughed, checking her own tresses in the mirror. It took Betty a moment before she realized Terri was dressing a little more formally than normal. “Are you getting gussied up for Bishop?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Terri replied waving off her friend. “Bishop will probably waltz in here smelling like a goat, wanting to sleep for two days straight. I have a lunch date.”

  “Oh really,” came the response, Betty’s curiosity now pegged. “Some muscular, blonde-headed surfer you met at the beach? A well-tanned, cabana boy-type you bumped into while strolling along the sand?”

  “No, and no. I’m meeting with Captain Landreneau, aboard his private yacht.”

  Betty didn’t buy it, but wanted to play along. “My, my, what a forward young lady you’ve become. Your husband is due in town any moment now, and you’re being whisked off to share caviar with some mystery man on his yacht? Given Bishop’s history, I hope this gentleman has a private army in his employ.”

  Terri snorted at the remark, her outburst completely destroying any attempt at playing coy. “Actually, this captain’s name is Corky, and he’s at least 60 years old. While the man is quite charming, he is hardly my prime candidate for a fling. Besides, his yacht is actually a tow boat, and lunch is more apt to be oyster stew.”

  Betty, now having fun, decided to reverse their little game. “Not that I would whisper a word to Bishop, mind you, but I must ask why you are meeting this man. He must be extremely wealthy. Did he promise you lavish gifts? I wonder if diamonds are still a girl’s best friend? Are you turning into a gold digger right before my very eyes?”

  Putting a finger to her lips and striking a pose, Terri did her best to imitate a bimbo. “Could be,” she squeaked.

  “Okay,” Betty frowned, tired of the diversion. “Let’s have it…. Why are you meeting with some strange man?”

  “Because he runs the island we’re standing on, and he requested I meet with him. He said please. I thought it only polite to attend, and besides, he promised me the best grilled shrimp on the Gulf Coast. How could a girl say no to that?”

  “I was, as the old song says, truly born on the Bayou,” Corky stated, the pronouncement causing his guest’s eyebrows to peak.

  “My parents had been staying at a remote fishing camp when my mother had announced that I was about to make an early debut. My father made a heroic effort, tirelessly rowing an old pirogue across the black waters of Bayou Boeuf in the middle of the night. It was 21 miles to the doctor in Morgan City, Louisiana. They didn’t make it.”

  “Amazing,” responded Terri.

  “I guess I decided to enter the world while afloat, and it was a telling sign. Since that day, over 61 years ago, I’ve rarely seen fit to leave the water.”

  There was a polite chuckle around the table, the gathered men having never seen their leader so open and talkative. No one was quite sure what to make of the conversation, with the majority of the men deciding the beautiful lady visiting with their leader had loosened his tongue.

  “While other children were learning to ride bicycles and skateboards, I was docking boats,” Corky continued. “My driver’s education class consisted of piloting a 20,000-ton tow boat through the Mississippi locks outside New Orleans. The captain of that old rust-bucket had taken a liking to me, and gave me an unprecedented turn at the wheel.”

  A steward appeared from the galley, a fresh plate of grilled shrimp delivered onto the middle of the table. A few of the seated guests immediately reached to refill their plates, others remained fixed on their boss at the head of the table.

  It was the weekly captain’s meeting, a tradition Corky had initiated over 30 years ago. Despite the apocalypse, regardless of the circumstances just outside the docked tug’s superstructure, he had demanded that tradition be maintained whenever possible.

  Every man seated around the dining table had attended these gatherings since coming into Corky’s employ. Some had been doing so for decades, others just a few years. But none of them had ever heard the boss carrying on with personal stories and details like he was now. Women and their wily ways, they all thought. Perhaps the old man is smitten.

  A small man in statue, Corky held the respect of everyone in his employ, but none more so than the actual captains who commanded his fleet of towboats.

  His skills in pushing a barge through the brown waters of the Gulf Coast waterways were legendary. Most of those seated today had witnessed Corky’s capabilities first hand, events which elevated their appreciation of his nautical skillset to the level of awe-struck.

  No one could handle a towboat like Corky. It was said he could stop a 70,000-ton barge on a barrel without using any reverse thrust. Others claimed to have seen him keep an explosive load of butane off the rocks after a hitch line had failed. He was the only man in history to ever push a side-by-side load up the narrow Bayou Mardi, a stump-lined, propeller bending, hull breaching passage that few men would attempt with a single load. He was, as the old timers say, a natural.

  Before he was 20, Corky knew every eddy, silt bank, foul, and shoal on the Intercostal Waterway from Brownsville, Texas to Pensacola, Florida. He could decipher a river’s surface tensions as well as captains three times his age and experience.

  But there was more to him than just extraordinary seamanship and piloting skills. Like most successful waterborne entrepreneurs – Corky had a natural affiliation with things mechanical.

  “I purchased my first tow boat at the tender age of 25, that old, rusting hulk’s diesel motor smoking like a coal-fired boiler. My pappy and I rebuilt the cranky, old machine using a cypress tree as a winch and buying parts from salvage dealers. Those were the days, gentlemen… those were the days.”
/>   Raising his glass in a toast, Corky brought the foaming head of homemade beer to his lips. It was cold; it was being served with the best food he could find for his guests. That’s all that mattered.

  Pushing barges full of commodities ranging from soybeans to cement mix, Corky quickly developed a reputation as a trustworthy captain and savvy businessman. His loads arrived on time, at the right destination, and for a fair price.

  He purchased his second boat before he turned 30. By the end of the next decade, his growing company owned seven such vessels. The number in his fleet had doubled ten years later.

  There had never been a Mrs. Landreneau. Corky spent most of his days on the water, pushing loads from Houston to Mobile, running the great river north as far as Chicago.

  Like most men of the sea, he’d had his share of queenies, the French Quarter in New Orleans his favorite place to eat, drink, and make merry during the rare break from the helm. Bankers, brokers, and freight forwarders didn’t like meeting on the bridge of his tow. They required his presence ashore to sign papers, negotiate agreements, and execute contracts. New Orleans was the place to conduct business… including monkey business.

  There just hadn’t been time for romance or courting. Besides, Corky knew his true love – the water.

  By the time the terrorists attacked the United States, the aging Cajun was a millionaire several times over. The pressing needs of a growing empire allowed for fewer and fewer trips at the helm, a frustrating fact of life for a man who felt an ever-growing sense of isolation and loneliness.

  It was pure coincidence that Corky was experiencing a mid-life crisis when society fell. The dawning realization that he was in the last third of his life and claimed no family, friends or children fueled a rather radical change in his outlook.

  Still occupying an expanded, heavily modified, captain’s quarters on one of his towboats, Corky had purchased his first car at 58 years of age. A 1956 Ford Thunderbird convertible, it was vintage just like the captain. He’d met a pretty woman during a shipper’s conference in Galveston and took to wooing her with his generosity. He’d even approached a real estate agent about buying a home… on land… with a garage to house his luxury vehicle… as long as it was a beach property.

  And then everything had gone to hell.

  Not one to follow the national news, Corky’s first sense that something was really, really wrong occurred when one of his best captains had called in, reporting that there wasn’t anyone at the Port of Houston to unload the 30,000 metric tons of natural gas he’d just docked.

  An hour later, another of his tows reported in from Corpus Christi, stranded at a fuel pier that seemed to be closed. No attendants, no staff… it was like a ghost town.

  When he and his office staff started making calls, they found the phone systems across half the gulf were down, the attempts that did manage to ring through were rarely answered. Over the next few days, the size of the disaster became apparent. All up and down the Gulf Coast, his boats were arriving full of cargo, only to encounter empty docks, burning cities, and downed communications systems.

  Sophisticated radio equipment, powered by onboard diesel generators, allowed some measure of command and control over his fleet. Not knowing what else to do, he began ordering his captains back to Galveston.

  He’d gone into the city proper, trying to find information, help, or advice. He soon learned the local government was overwhelmed. It seemed as though there was a statewide lack of electrical power. Houston was suffering from an out-of-control fire, and Austin had already experienced the first food riots.

  There hadn’t been anything else left to do but ride it out, hunkering down on his boat and drinking coffee with his frightened captains, crew and office staff.

  “I told someone recently that the apocalypse had passed me by,” Corky stated. “I had everything I needed right here aboard the Morgan City Queen. A freezer full of food, 5,000 gallons of diesel fuel, and a yard full of barges, all filled with grain and other valuable cargo. What apocalypse? I didn’t see any such end of the world.”

  Again, a light chuckle came from the seated guests.

  “It wasn’t until the galley ran out of flour that I realized everything had changed. I hiked into Galveston, and what I found there… well… you all saw what was happening. People were starving, attacking each other…. An attitude of “Each man for himself,” prevailed. I couldn’t just stand by and let that happen. No good man could. I had to try and change things for the better, and I believe we’ve succeeded.”

  Heads nodded in agreement all around, a few glasses of beer raised in salute.

  “But now, gentlemen, now we are faced with yet another change. This morning, I was informed that we had a secret, special visitor to our island. One of our men noticed a fancy motorhome, complete with escorts and armed guards. Another of our people recognized the leader of an organization called the Alliance, out of West Texas.”

  The old captain’s eyes became very serious, moving from man to man around the table to make sure he held their attention.

  “We’ve known of this group for some months. We’ve heard some fantastic stories of their escapades, intercepted radio traffic among their cities and villages, and interviewed refugees who have made some unbelievable claims. It seems the military has recently joined their ranks, and now they are marching east.”

  “Maybe this leader of theirs needed a vacation,” teased one of the younger men. The joke fell flat, so much so that his mate scooted his half-full mug of beer away, out of his reach.

  Shaking his head, Corky dismissed the suggestion. “No, our sources in Houston tell me that she’s here to scout our operation. The Alliance has the intention of spreading recovery throughout the entire state. Some people even talk of recreating the Republic of Texas as an independent nation.”

  “She?” inquired one of the old captains. “Did you say this leader is a ‘she,’ sir?”

  “Yes, and I would like to introduce you to her. Gentlemen, please welcome Ms. Terri, Chairwoman of the ruling Council, and Ambassador of the Alliance of West Texas.”

  Terri smiled around the room, several of the men openly showing their surprise.

  Corky paused, giving his men time to consider the ramifications of the information. “Before we sat down to eat, I had the most interesting conversation with this insightful young lady. I was worried she led conquerors, bound and determined to take territory and impose their will on the population. She has convinced me that is not the case.”

  Taking another sip, Corky continued, “My next concern was of our plentiful resources being seized and distributed to less fortunate parts of the state. Again, she has confirmed the Alliance has no intention of conducting business in that manner.”

  Terri, for the first time, spoke up. “We believe in free trade. Our governing body only gets involved to facilitate exchange.”

  “And finally,” Corky continued, “I was worried about democracy and representation. Again, I’ve been assured that the Alliance has, and will continue to have, elections. Our city will have fair representation in the system they are creating.”

  Several heads nodded around the table, smiles and toasts in anticipation of a new day.

  “So, do we resist? Try to isolate ourselves? Or do we join forces with this Alliance and pledge our loyalty? I wanted all of you involved in this decision, gentlemen. Change is riding a fast current, headed directly at our bow.”

  One of the most senior men at the table cleared his throat, “Captain Landreneau, I have a hundred questions, as I’m sure do my colleagues. When the time is right, will we have the opportunity to receive answers?”

  Before Terri could answer, there was a knock at the door. The first mate entered the room, quietly whispering something in Corky’s ear. Soon, the message was repeated to Terri.

  Standing, Terri gazed around the table, smiling and making eye contact with each seated man. “I can assure all of you, we will do our best to address your questions.
I’m positive we’ll have a few of our own. We will be in contact and then send a team of our experts to coordinate with you. In the meantime, I understand the weather is quickly deteriorating, and I should return to my home.”

  Gomez made a decision which surprised both Bishop and Grim.

  “I’ve been thinking about this,” he announced out of the blue, “and I don’t reckon it’s a good idea for us to make any more of the scheduled stops.”

  “Why’s that?” Grim asked.

  “Major Misery’s men must have trucks and fuel. Lady Star is only making about 35 miles per hour, and it would be easy for those guys to get in front of us and lay in wait. We should just roll on through and head to Galveston.”

  “And what stops them from just driving to Galveston and waiting on us there?”

  “No. No. No,” the foreman shook his head. “The island is a boundary. It’s controlled by a different man with his own security people. If the major sent his people in there, they wouldn’t be welcomed at all. Only the guards on the train are allowed.”

  Thoughts of Terri and Hunter immediately flooded Bishop’s mind. “You make it sound like some sort of mafia or organized crime syndicate?”

  Gomez shrugged, “How can you tell the difference between a don and a successful businessman rebuilding his empire? Especially these days.”

  “And who is this man that controls Galveston?” Bishop inquired.

  Gomez grinned, “He calls himself Corky. I hear he’s a crafty, old Cajun who owned a bunch of barges and towboats. Story goes he organized the people down there by seizing the cargo on his craft and using that as leverage. I’ve heard he had hundreds of tons of grain, fuel and other freight sitting on his decks when everything went to hell.”

  Bishop didn’t doubt it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen a local businessman step forward and fill the vacuum created after the government collapsed or was unable to provide solutions. Sometimes such men provided the best possible answer, other times ultimate power corrupted.