TVA BABY and Other Stories (2 page)

The girl was just sitting there watching me. Woman, really, but I like to call them girls. She looked real cute in her bikini, and I told her so.

She didn’t say anything.

“What lake are we on?” I asked, to break the ice. Plus I was curious.

Her mouth moved but she didn’t say anything.

“Barkley Lake or Kentucky Lake?” I asked, to help her out.

“B-Barkley,” she said.

I nodded as if I had known all along; and in a sense, I had, within a fifty percent margin of error. I knew it had to be one or the other, which was where this whole business had started.

She kept staring out the door toward the rear deck, which was a mess. I had gone a little overboard, so to speak, and the guy’s head was half off. She looked kind of horrified, which was understandable, so I made her stand up and take the wheel (which would keep her looking straight ahead, or so I thought!) while I went out and “tidied up” as my mother used to say. The deck was slick with all that helpful blood and the dead guy just slid right off, under the railing and into the water.

When I came back in I was wearing the “Captain’s hat,” which I thought was a nice touch. The girl was still freaked out, though. Which was understandable. The guy could have been her father or her husband, either one. She was about twenty-something.

She looked real cute in her bikini and I told her so.

“D-don’t,” she said.

Apparently she stuttered. I pretended not to notice. When I was a kid I knew a guy in Boy Scouts who stuttered and we all pretended not to notice, to spare his feelings. I say “all”;
some
of us pretended not to notice while others were more cruel. I used to tell them, “Cruelty is not a merit badge,” which it isn’t.

“D-don’t,” she said again. She was backed up against the wheel, staring at me instead of steering.

Don’t what?
But I knew what she was thinking. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m a TVA baby.”

That got her attention. I turned her around and showed her how to hold the wheel so the boat would go straight. I showed her from behind, being careful not to bump up against her bikini. She was finding it hard to relax.

Meanwhile, I had other problems. The gas gauge, which I could see over her strapless shoulder, was on empty! They must have been bringing the boat in when I had arrived, seemingly out of nowhere. In fact, I could see the marina, up ahead about a half a mile, tucked into a cove along the shore.

They say that when one door shuts another opens. I pointed at the marina, and she said “Aye aye, Sir.” Not really, but that’s what I imagined she might have said had she been more relaxed. She steered straight for it, though.

Houseboats are nothing if not slow, so I “fished” a cigarette out of my carry-on and went out onto the tiny little front deck for a smoke. I offered her one but she apparently didn’t smoke. Or maybe she had been trying to quit.

High up above I could see the vapor trail of the jet, already being scattered by the stratospheric winds. Ahead, in the water, I could see something that looked like a log.

I checked it out as we putted by, at about the speed of a walk-on-the-water walk. It was the flight attendant, with her arms and legs stretched out, as if she were still falling through the air. Transitions are like that: the old persists into the new. She was face down in the water, so I figured she hadn’t survived the fall, which people rarely do, so I signaled the girl to just keep us going, which she did. I was worried about the gas.

Another “log” was coming up, and this one was the little boy. The kid. “Ned.” He was face up and his eyes wereopen so I grabbed his legs and pulled him on board, still without slowing down. I figured a lot of starting and stopping was the last thing we needed.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Barkley Lake,” I said. “It’s the Cumberland River dammed up. TVA.”

“Where’s my dad?”

I pointed up. You could still see what was left of the vapor trail, but the plane was long gone.

“You killed him,” he said.

“You don’t know that for sure,” I said. Actually, I had, but the last thing I needed was some hysterical kid on my hands. His clothes were all wet and his bones were all broken, so I scooped him up and put him inside on the little orange sofa. I propped him up and sat the girl down beside him. The marina was coming up and it was time for me to take the wheel.

“This is ‘Ned,’ “I said. I didn’t know her name.

“He killed my father,” the kid said. She just stared at him, horrified, then at me.

“It was his own fault,” I explained back over my shoulder while I steered. “All this is top secret. Navy business. I’m a Navy Seal, and I was sent to take care of him. It’s OK.”

None of this was strictly true, but I have read about the Navy Seals. They are a tough bunch of customers.

“Really?” he asked.

“Shut up,” I said.

That shut him up, for a while. Meanwhile, the girl was eyeing the water, like she wanted to dive in and escape, which she could have done in her bikini, so I tied her legs togetherwith a piece of plastic rope. It was time for me to concentrate on pulling in at the marina, which I did. Very smoothly, I might add.

The gas guy came out to help us tie up. Another hillbilly, also wearing a captain’s anchor hat. He saw all the blood on the rear deck and registered alarm, saying:

“What the fuck?”

“Help,” said the girl, speaking up, finally.

“He killed my dad,” the kid said.

They were both trying to get me in trouble. The gas guy was backing away, still registering alarm, so I killed him with the shotgun as a precaution. It made a mess of his face, and the girl started screaming. I should have aimed lower.

Luckily, there seemed to be no one else around.

I had to help her off the boat, since her legs were tied together; and I had to carry the kid, since all his bones were broken. It was turning out to be one of those days.

“Stop that damn screaming,” I said, and she did. I sat her down beside the kid and instructed her to sit tight while I checked out the cars in the parking lot. I had had enough of boats, and how many guys carry a key for every kind of car in their carry-on? Pickups, too.

Again, mine would be the only hand raised.

I wanted something inconspicuous, so I settled on a Camry and put the kid and the girl in the back seat. First I made sure the gas gauge said full. On second thought, I made the girl in the bikini ride up front with me, where I could keep an eye on her.

“Fasten your seat belts,” I said. “We’re in for a bumpy ride.” That’s from a Bette Davis movie. You’ll never see Bette

Davis in a bikini. And it was pretty bumpy till we got to the highway, then it smoothed out, suddenly.

“I want my mother,” said the kid from the back seat.

“Then you’re in luck,” I said. “She’s your mother now. And I’m your new dad. We’re on our way to get married as soon as we find a preacher.”

All white lies, of course. I’m a TVA baby, not about to marry her or anybody for that matter. But the last thing I needed was a homesick kid on my hands.

“Isn’t that right, honey?” I asked.

She was no help. Her eyes were closed. We were doing about ninety. I could see the kid in the back, in the rear-view mirror. His eyes were wide open. “You killed my dad,” he said.

His was a real one-note song.

“The Navy sent me,” I persisted. “I’m a Blue Angel. I’m your new dad. And she’s your new mom. It’s all going to be OK as soon as we find us a preacher.”

“It was OK before,” he said. I could tell he didn’t believe me.

“Just shut up,” I said. I looked for something on the radio. To my surprise, they were already going on about the plane and the door and all the people falling out. Apparently there were others. I figured they must have radioed down the news and got everybody all stirred up.

Sure enough, there was a roadblock up ahead—two cop cars in a V formation, and a bunch of “smokies” with those hats and vests and the like. Luckily, I was prepared for just such an eventuality. How many guys carry blue lights in their carry-ons? I stuck mine on the dash and it confused them just long enough for me to crash through on cruise control. The smokies all jumped out of the way, all but one. The restwere shooting but they can’t shoot worth a dime. I thought things would settle down once we got past, but the ones that survived insisted on following like a swarm of angry bees.

My left rear tire was thumping so I guess they weren’t such bad shots after all. Apologies, etc. Luckily, there was a Wal-Mart just ahead. They carry everything.

One thing I hate about Wal-Mart is the way they are all over you as soon as you walk in, saying, “How can I help you today?” It’s like they are in a hurry to get you out of there. They don’t bother you, though, when you are waving a shotgun like a magic wand. Everybody sort of melted away as soon as we came in. It was almost like the place was empty, except I figured there were people ducked down here and there in the various aisles.

I dumped the kid into a shopping cart and made the girl push it. Her legs were still tied together, so she had to sort of hop. How often do you see a girl in a bikini in Wal-Mart? She looked cute and I told her so, but she just glared at me. I got some cereal and milk for later, and some bullets and a little hiking tent. It was time to give up on the car. The bullets were hollow points. “Do you know how to set up a tent?” I asked the kid.

He wasn’t speaking either. Believe me, I was getting tired of these two! There was no time to waste, so I raced to the check-out area. They have several lanes but they were all empty; no check-out girls.

I wasn’t about to stand on ceremony. “Looks like we get a freebie,” I said.

Then I saw the check-out girl hiding under the counter, her make-up all smeared. I made her stand up and reachedinto my pocket for my billfold. I wanted to make things as legal as possible under the circumstances, as long as it didn’t take too long, but wouldn’t you know it, my billfold was missing! I figured it must have fallen out of my pocket somewhere in the descent from the commercial airliner, earlier. That’s why parachutists wear special pants, with all those special pockets, I suppose.

“J-just g-go,” the check-out girl said. She was also afflicted with a stutter. I was running out of patience, so I made her give me all the money out of the cash register, and gave her two twenties back.

“Keep the change,” I said. It was a joke but she didn’t get it. Neither did the kid.

“You can’t pay her with her own money,” he said. “That doesn’t count.”

Now he was mister logic. He was all folded up in the cart, like a rubber midget, with his eyes wide open. “Navy Seals don’t steal,” he said.

“Sometimes they do,” I said. “I’m a Blue Angel anyway.” I did my hands like wings.

“No you’re not,” he said. “You’re a TVA baby.”

He said it with a certain admiration in his eyes, so I told him the truth, which was that indeed I was. I was tired of pretending anyway. “Now you know why that ‘dad’ of yours had to die,” I said. “He had it all wrong.”

He just stared at me, all owl-eyed. I peeled off another twenty, to make it up to him. His fingers weren’t broken but his arms were, so I stuck it in his wet shirt pocket. That took some doing. Meanwhile, I had forgotten the girl in the bikini. She was trying to hop away. I caught up with her, no big deal,and herded her back with the shotgun and said, “Now, let’s get the hell out of here, on the double!”

Easier said than done. We started out the door but the parking lot out front was filled with police cars, all with blue lights flashing. There were Darth Vader types in black helmets crouched behind them, looking ready for action.

“Change in plans,” I said.

“N-no shit, Sherlock,” said the girl. She was getting saucy. I liked that. I gave her a twenty and she stuck it down the front of her bikini. I liked that too. I gave her another, then steered her and the cart toward the back of the store. It was slow going with her hopping, but I couldn’t help push the cart since I had my carry-on in one hand and the shotgun in the other.

It wasn’t my job to push anyway.

“Y-you’re t-toast,” she said. She was still stuttering, or maybe it was the hopping. I decided to ignore her. Besides, I had other things on my mind. I knew that if I could get to the loading dock I could escape into the woods out back. There’s a woods behind every Wal-Mart.

Unfortunately, the loading dock was also filled with pissed-off-looking Darth Vader types.

“T-trapped!” she said. She seemed pleased. I was getting tired of her shit. “Don’t be so sure,” I snarled. I poked her in the butt with the shotgun and we headed for the TV section, which is, in my opinion, the nicest part of the store. All those TVs going at once, all tuned to the same station. It’s almost like home.

They were all showing the “Breaking News,” which was the scene out front, the parking lot crowded with copcars with blue lights flashing. There was even a helicopter. It was Live.

“You’re toast,” she said again. I never liked that expression. Toast always seemed to me like something nice. I was explaining this to her and the kid while I was setting up the tent (they were no help) when she said, “I don’t know why you keep talking to him. He’s dead.”

I stopped, taken aback.

So that was it! The open eyes had fooled me. But what about all the things he had said? Had I only imagined he was talking to me? It was entirely possible, I knew. Perhaps he had been dead all along. There was no way to know for sure. He was cold but that could have been the water. His clothes were still wet.

“So what?” I said, to give the impression that I had known all along. I made her get in the tent and topped off the pistol with the hollow points. The shotgun still had four shells.

Meanwhile, on the TV, all the Darth Vader types were coming in the front door. I turned around to look and, sure enough, I could see them toward the front of the store, darting around the aisles, trying to stay out of my line of sight.

They were moving in from the loading dock, too. Luckily, I still had a trick or two up my sleeve.

How many guys carry a universal remote in their carry-on? (Raise your hand!) I flipped around until I had Oprah on all the screens. I was waiting for her to stop talking when one screen exploded. They were shooting.