Augusta, Mother of Salt (Transparent Ones Book 3)

By Chang Terhune

AUGUSTA REYES WAS DOING JUST FINE, THANK YOU. Supporting two kds and a mother-in-law pulling salvage from the waters off old Connecticut’s Gold Coast was no picnic. Most days she came back empty-handed.

People came to Hollow Point to escape debt, war, or the law. The Coastal cops didn’t ask many questions. And that suited Augusta just fine. The last thing she wanted was questions about her age, past, her scars and where she learned to fight.

One day a yacht arrived, owned by a handsome and “retired” gangster eager to hang up his past and make a new life with someone special that just happens to be Augusta. She can’t believe her luck; of all the women in Hollow Point he wants her?

Then a salvage crew goes missing near the the quarantined ruins of Strong Island and Augusta’s carefully manicured life is about to fall apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312361683

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Augusta, Mother of Salt (Transparent Ones Book 3)

Augusta, Mother of Salt

By

Chang Terhune

Augusta, Mother Of Salt

CHANG TERHUNE

Copyright CHANG TERHUNE 2014

Published at LULU

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1:  Connecticut Was Dead

CHAPTER 2: Life at the Waterline

CHAPTER 3:  A New Man in Town

CHAPTER 4:  A Night to Remember Takes A Life to Forget

CHAPTER 5:  Old Scores Never Settle Down

CHAPTER 6:  Worn Shoes and Knives

Chapter 7 - A Knife’s Edge Is No Place to Sleep

CHAPTER 8 - This Is Your Glass of Darkness

CHAPTER 9:  No Place to Die, No Place to Live

CHAPTER 10:  Ain't No Sunshine

CHAPTER 12:  A Pointed Entry

CHAPTER 14:  A Descent

CHAPTER 15:  Body is the Person

CHAPTER 16:  Clocking Out

CHAPTER 17:  Epilogue

GLOSSARY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1:  Connecticut Was Dead

Connecticut was dead, drowned under the reclaiming seas long before she was born. The coast and everything for over a hundred miles inland had gone from green and vibrant to brown, sun-baked and dusty.  Augusta Reyes was just another ghoul scouring its remains for salvage and buried treasures.

She stood near the prow of her skiff, its titanium ribs poking through the spray-on hull in places where decades of sand, sea and chemical scour wore it away.  She wore her wetsuit half-zipped and hanging from her waist, exposing her muscular torso and tank top over a faded floral print bikini.  She smelt liquor in her sweat as wind carried the smell of ocean around her.  Her lungs ached from the crap cigarettes the Shinies sold that she'd smoked too many of the night before. Despite this, her mind ached for more as much as her head ached from Calendra's rotgut booze.

Before her was the open expanse of the Sound, its calm, sun-dappled surface belying the litter of ruined mansions, barges, ships and forgotten things on the bottom.  Across the Sound was the northwestern coast of Strong Island, its ragged shore limned with smaller islets.  She thought of the blighted hags she and her fellow limpiarinas occasionally fought on its southern shores, their long-poled knives flashing as they kept her crew away from the riches under the surface over there.  Beyond that stood the five-mile high UFW tower, black and glinting in the sun as it rose over waters both wasted and reclaimed.  She wondered if anyone ever looked out its windows to the northeast at the ragged coastline in their backyard.

Augusta sighed and drew a cigarette out from the pack in her tool bag.  She glanced at the ultrasound scanner to her right showing the bones of ships below her displayed in ghostly white.  She flicked the cigarette's tip against the pack's damp sparkside and it lit on the fifth try.  She inhaled and held it for a second before exhaling and shaking her head. 

Augusta muttered to herself, Another day in -

A splash at the port bow drew her attention.  First a bobbing white rubber buoy emerged then a small brown boy wearing a beat up facemask.  He spluttered, coughed then drew in deep, gulping breaths before pulling off the mask.

How many minutes, Mami? he asked, paddling one handed towards her, dragging the buoy behind him.

Three, mijo. Three, she said, exhaling and smiling down at him.

Felt like four, he said, throwing the buoy over the side and glancing at her, searching.

Watch says three.  Watch don't lie, she said, squinting at him and blowing smoke out her nose.  She waggled her wrist and the old watch on it shook around.

Papi would say four, he mumbled into the water as he grabbed the gunwale. 

Your papi would say the devil was sweet and kind if he thought it'd get him another ten seconds of life, said Augusta.  Plus what he doesn't know about diving or honest work would fill up the Sound and then some.

The boy pulled himself over the gunwale, his mother leaning to the other to offset his weight.  He pulled the buoy up and let it hang over the side.  He dropped the mask to the floor of the boat and ran his hand through the short kink of his hair, spraying her with a fine mist.  She looked him over, his brown skin twice as dark as hers but from so little sun.

So, Leon, whatcha got? she asked him, crossing her arms over her chest.

I got some... Leon trailed off as he rummaged in the net attached to the buoy.  She scanned the horizon for a second before looking back at him; no Skags sneaking up on them.  Good.  I got some metal, a knife, a -

Hey, lemme see that.  Augusta sat down in the stern, taking the knife from him.  It was an old one, crusted with barnacles and other debris from lying so long on the seabed.  Yeah, not bad.  It's got some crap on it but I'll show you how to clean that off.  We may not be able to sell it but it'd be useful in the boat.  She put the knife down again.  What else?

An old box, some -

Whoa. Gimme that, she said.  He handed it to her, looking up at her face with a squint that hid his gold and brown eyes.  The box was covered in the same growths, rusted and green.  It's kind of flimsy, but maybe after we get it clean I can sell it to the King Scrap.  He'd like this antique thing.

What's antique? asked the boy.

Stuff that's old, she said.  Stuff that poor folks can't use but rich folks like to put on a shelf to look at.

Why?

Boy, don't start with all that asking, she said.  She pressed the mass of growth on the box with a strong thumb.  It didn't move.  So many questions when you could just watch and learn.

Yes, mami. Leon went quiet.  She sighed and ruffled his hair.

Hey, you're my main man.  The only man I got who'll listen.  I'm gonna teach you all I know.  One of these days you and I will work together, bringing this stuff up from the depths and making us rich.

How rich? said the boy, flashing her those brown eyes.  His damn father's eyes, she thought.

Rich enough that I won't have to work all the time, can sit on the docks and drink beer while I got others scraping at the bottom of th' Sound.

Rich enough to eat whatever we want? Whenever we want? he asked.

Yeah, boy.  Let's see what else you got in there. He showed her through the bag of scavenge.  She'd purposely brought him to a shallow, well-picked spot where he could safely dive without having to worry about getting tangled in ruins or awakening a hidden mine.  These reefs had been picked clean for years.  Whatever he found was mostly junk even the most desperate limpiarinas couldn't use.  Except for the box that was a surprising find for a bare spot like this.  The rest of his haul was broken bits of metal and glass, nothing worth the effort of cracking off the growth to smelt it.

Boy, you did real good.  Found something even though everyone else's been over this spot a thousand times.  She ruffled his hair again and he laughed.  Let's head back and see what we can do with this stuff.  Pull up the anchor.

Leon climbed over the forward seat and hit the switch for the anchor's small motor.  It groaned as it slowly drew up the anchor chain.  When it hauled up the anchor hit the bracket with a sharp clang.  Leon sat down in the middle bench while his mother sat astride the rear seat at the rusted motor.  She pressed the ignition but it failed to start.  She pressed a few more times without result.  Finally she took out a wrench and hit it just below the engine cowling.  This time the engine roared to life when she pressed the button. 

They moved slowly out from the shallows.  Augusta threaded her long needle skiff through the bones of old buildings, carefully avoiding those girders and beams that hid just below the surface, ones that could easily gouge a hole in the hull even at low speeds.

Faster, momma!  Faster! shouted Leon over the noisy, grumbling engine.

No, baby, no, said Augusta, shaking her head.  We go too fast here we could get hung up on a garbage reef or worse.

Leon looked down into the water, its surface sparkling with the morning sun.

How did this all get here anyway? he shouted.  What happened?

Don't they teach you anything in school?

Yeah, but...

Augusta, sighed.  The last thing she wanted to do was give a history lesson; nursing her hangover as quietly as possible and getting back to their houseboat was preferable.  But she couldn't find a good reason not to talk to the boy as they weaved around the reef.

A long time ago -

How long? Leon shouted.

Like four hundred years or so -

Whoa!

Right? said Augusta.  So a long time ago the waters were lower.  There was snow on the ice caps at the North and South Pole -

Where Tio Santa Claus lives?

Yeah, right.  Augusta squinted at her boy.  You want me to tell you or what?

Yeah, said Leon, pursing his lips.

People used to use stuff called gasoline, coal and oil to run their car engines, boat engines and even jet planes.  Stuff had all kinds of bad smoke and fumes in it.  Clogged up the air so bad you couldn't see past your hand in some cities.  They used that and all these chemicals that made the air bad, polluted the water and all sorts of bad crap.  But it was the ice caps melting that really screwed things up.  Weather got weird and then the hurricanes and floods got real bad. Pretty soon people noticed their houses were getting wet and the beach wasn't so far away.  Not in a day or nothing but over the years.  Soon people had to abandon their houses, then streets, then cities and move way inland where the water wouldn't reach no more.

Whoa, said Leon, looking at the water around them.  Augusta found the history lesson helped her focus on getting out of the reef wreck so she kept speaking.

"Yep.  Rich folks? They held on for a while. Built walls and pumped water out to keep their mansions safe from the water.  Poor folks just had to hold on until they couldn't no more and then they ran.  Then even the rich folks had to leave their big mansions and luxury high-rises when Ol' Unthinkable came through then King Ghidra drowned most of Strong Island.  And then the wars happened?  Forget about it.  They left the places empty and rotting, letting old Chalchiuhtlatonal swim around in 'em."

Ayi! shouted Leon and leaned away from the gunwale, making a quick sign across his chest and taping his forehead. 

That's right, you keep away from him.  That Mr. Jade Skirt, he likes little boys who don't mind their mama's best of all.  Likes to drag 'em down to serve him and his wife, Mrs. Jade Skirt, special tea made from human blood and hair.  Leon kept still and looked at Augusta.  Yeah, so they places all empty now.  Then the wars came and made the water bad and the land bad, too.  No one could live near here.  Hell, couldn't even fly near here.  Wasn't until about fifteen years ago they cleaned 'em up enough people could go back.  Now NEACRO got us in here to do the dirty work no one else wants to do.

People didn't want to work? asked Leon.

Nope.  They went to the Moon, Mars and all the other planets the UFW take 'em to.

What's a necro? asked Leon.

It's a - whaddya call it - a acronym.  Stands for Northeast American Coast Reclamation Organization.  It's the people that keep us in safe. Kinda.

Oh, said Leon, thinking.

So yeah, little old' Earth was boring for rich folks.  So they don't care if the poor folks come back here and scrape out what they can.

The boy suddenly slapped the gunwale and his eyes brightened.

I wanna go to Mars, mama!

Can't no more, baby.  The FMR done locked that place up tight. No one's been there for a hundred years or more.  Leon became silent, pouting and pondering this.

Piloting carefully, Augusta cleared the last of the blackened, barnacle encrusted protrusions in the water.  She took a final puff on her cigarette and mashed the end against the hull into a spot where a hundred thousand other cigarettes had been extinguished.  She dropped the butt into a can near the stern and shouted to the boy, grinning wide.

Hold on to your hat!

Leon shrieked with excitement as his mother opened the little motor's throttle up.  The sound of the straining engine was matched by the white noise wash of the wake behind them; they roared around the far side of the island and turned inland.  Augusta wasn't going particularly fast but it was enough to thrill the boy; he deserved a good time.  She trained him hard the last couple of weeks.  He'd be working with her full-time soon.  Ten was plenty old to be a limpiarino out on the Golden Coast.  There might not be too much playtime for a while before he was old enough to work the New London yards with the other teenagers.

Almost a mile away, Hollow Point grew visible as the big pier and hundreds of brightly painted container shack tenements stacked atop one another emerged out of the haze behind the breakwall.  The haphazard assemblage was grafted onto the coast's red rock baking in the morning light.  It looked like a small hurricane could take the whole thing away but Hollow Point had clung fast to the Golden Coast even after the triple fronted storm King Ghidra rolled through in 2428.  Folks wouldn't let a Category 8 hurricane ruin their hunting for drowned treasures there.

With little Leon whooping she motored north, in towards Hollow Point's dingy harbor.  Though other villages had sprung up like barnacles on the rough shores with names dredged from the past towns like Tunxis, Gypsy Springs, Kings Highway Cutoff and University Point, none were as old or big as Hollow Point.  Nor looked as simultaneously run down and new, like broken cargo.  As with everything else around the area, most of Hollow Point was dredged up from the seas or scavenged from elsewhere, cleaned up and pressed into service until it disintegrated.

As they drew closer she slowed down, obeying the faded warning buoys outside the harbor.  A pair of breakwalls sat at the entrance to the harbor, partly rebuilt from ruins left behind and added to with new supercrete and steel reinforcements.  Their sides were alternately streamed with rust and the harsh white of gull shit.  At either end of the entrance rose the two tall guard towers, each topped off with an enclosed silver pod bisected by a band of smoked glass windows surrounded by a catwalk at their base.  Each pod held a pair of NEACRO guards, watching over the harbor for bandits or skags.  Atop each pod sat dual beam guns, their barrels dark and sagging in the sun as if asleep.  Augusta had seen them awaken a few times, automatically sighting the approach of unidentified skiffs from far across the sound.  Once or twice she'd even seen the purple beams they fired shooting into the night and sinking targets miles away.

A guard stood out on the catwalk of the left hand tower, his yellow and black NEACRO uniform standing against the silver of the pod.  He had a rifle slung over a shoulder, its barrel pointed down.  The bill of his black hat shielded his eyes, covered in wraparound black shades.  He watched them come in and nodded down at Augusta with the briefest of waves from fifty feet above then returned to scanning the horizon with his binoculars.

'Bout time one of them assholes got out of their air-conditioned pods and did something, she muttered to herself.  Leon waved enthusiastically but the guard ignored him.

It was mid-morning and all the other limpiari crews were usually long gone, out into the Sound and working the coast with the first light of dawn.  Were it not for Augusta's skills as a limpiarina queen, she’d be out there with them, leaving Leon with his sister and grandmother.  Only two other boats were on the water, one coming out and one going in, their pilots waving to Leon and Augusta.

Hollow Point was one and a half miles inland when the town of Bridgeport was founded five hundred seventy-five years before.  It was always an immigrant neighborhood even before the big storms came through in the Twenty-First and Twenty-Second centuries. From what history survived, apparently it was rough and tumble from the beginning. Now it was right on the water after the oceans ate a few miles of coastal land and still a destination of last resort. 

Someone told Augusta in a bar once how a hollow point had been a type of armor-piercing bullet long ago before there were boulder guns, plasma rifles or anything else like an energy weapon.  They were designed to expand on impact and cause major tissue disruption and damage.  It suited this place just fine, she thought.  Especially on Gundy Fight Night when the rowdies rolled their gundy-bots out of makeshift shops and sent them at each other, drinking and betting the night away. Eventually the liquor and rowdiness of the night cased something to go off and a fight would break out and bring with it a crackdown by NEACRO guards with prods, tasers and threat of a few days in the tanks.

But despite war and rising oceans Hollow Point remained, looking as rough as it always had from where Augusta sat in her skiff offshore.  It was nestled into a tight little cove made from the broken coastline that had once been a city called Bridgeport.  To the north were the remains of the old superhighway crumbling into the sea.  Nestled to the south was a smaller cove sheltered by a tiny outcropping of bleached and broken macadam. 

The center of Hollow Point was its enormous pier, hundred-fifty feet of poured concrete jutting into the water.  The pier or wharf as it was also called, served as the town center, housed its market, schools and administration building, and served as the main gathering point.  At the head of it lay the shell of an old power plant, its brick form matched by rusted and exposed steel girders.  An ancient metal plate on the front, battered and washed by countless storms and burned under countless sunny days read CONNECTICUT ELECTRIC.  Something had formed a rust pattern around it that looked like sand dunes or a painting of fire. 

Several hundred containers fashioned into homes stacked rose on the hill from behind the hulking building, forming what was known as 'Tainer Town. Each container had been customized with windows cut out, terraces added and walkways of steel, rope and plastic connecting them all together. Augusta had lived their briefly when she first arrived and always felt that the creaks, groan and snaps of the metal around her as she climbed up towards her rented container home was the last sound she'd hear before the entire thing came apart around her and buried her underneath it.  That or she'd die from tetanus just by sleeping there.  She'd gotten out as quick as she could to a houseboat.

Off the main wharf were just a couple of smaller makeshift piers for the fishing or limpiarina's boats. A couple hundred houseboats were clustered around this central point and off to the other side of the cove.  On the opposite shore were more floating docks and the rusty boxes of houseboats moored at them. This comprised the entirety of what was known as the Flats, Augusta's neighborhood.

Hollow Point looked as if it would fall over any second, the containers tumbling down to crush the building and anyone in the vicinity.  Despite this, people always told Augusta she should live closer to King Scrap's and the riches of the inner harbor but Augusta would rather take her chances in the Flats with her houseboat.  The Golden Coast was dangerous enough without having to worry about whether you'd wake up with the entire town collapsed on top of you as you drowned in the harbor.  Not to mention the lawlessness of central Hollow Point, an enduring feature since 1775.  Not even the watchful eyes of NEACRO from their pods at the breakwall or their flying hoppers could stem the tide of murder, robbery and rape up among the containers.

Augusta guided the skiff in between the small reef islands and the peninsula, letting it coast towards home.  The safety nets were down so she didn't need to break out the horn to tell guards turn them off.  Once in a while a smart mine would come back to life, float to the surface and wander in to attach to a skiff before detonating.  It was rare but the nets kept them out just the same.

Here the water lost its blue color and grew red, brown and rocky with debris and runoff. Even further out you could still make out the remains of houses that had once been inland and well above sea level.  When they were within five hundred yards of the docks, Augusta let the engine die down to a watery mumble and guided them into an empty berth. 

Usually, the docks were empty, with only a few old women mending nets or splicing up torn wetsuits. They always looked up at her, nodded a greeting or simply smiled.  Some gave her an empty stare.  She knew them all, worked salvage with their daughters and grieved with them when some of those daughters didn't come back with her.  Some of these women hated her for it and she couldn't begrudge them that. 

Today the berths were all full which was odd given how clear the weather was.  People should have been out but instead something kept them in.  As she cut off the engine she heard the sounds of a large gathering above her on the main wharf, a sign as to why the boats were still in.

She and Leon climbed up onto the dock and Leon carried a small net bag with his haul in it.  Once up the short walkway they saw a group of a hundred or so - the entirety of Hollow Points limpiarist community - gathered around the NEACRO trailer where McMillan, the local administrator, had his office.  The trailer was twice the size of the biggest houseboat on the Flats, painted in meter wide black and yellow stripes and emblazoned with the letters NEACRO on the front in white.  McMillan was standing in front of the doors on the catwalk, flanked by a pair of his guards.  They nervously held their guns low and scanned the crowd.

What's going on, mami? asked Leon.

Something's up, she said to him, a protective hand going to the back of his neck and massaging his sweaty skin and wet curls of hair. Let's go.

They had to make their way through the edge of the crowd to get past them and over to King Scrap's hut.  She heard McMillan shouting over the voices of people as they drew closer.

Look, we're doing all we can.  NEACRO isn't licensed for policing out beyond the border, he said.  McMillan's dark skin and military short hair glinted with sweat in the sun.  Augusta knew the NECRO's, as folks around here called them, didn't consider Hollow Point a plum gig even though it was one of the few recognized resettlement areas outside of their main bases of operation.  McMillan, like the other administrator's before him and those after him, didn't like leaving the comfort of his trailer unless it was time to go home to the safety of the NEACRO compound up at New London.

He looked like he enjoyed it even less when he had a hundred scared and angry people yelling at him.

'S bullshit, Mike, said someone at the front.  Augusta didn't recognize the voice at first but picked it up.  Marcus Chau, skinny little man with few teeth and less sense.  He tended to be a ringleader and got picked as a spokesman only because he was loud and bitter.  You guys got hoppers 'n' guns but you just sit back here and - 

McMillan's dark black brow furrowed deeper at this as if he would hit Chau before speaking.  He cut him off with words instead of the piezo knife on his belt.

We are bound by the agreement with the UN and the UFW to never engage with the infected elements of Strong Island unless -

Unless someone's been attacked, said Chau.  Yeah, we heard that part.  But Emi Losaar and her crews been gone since last night.  I got a dozen people behind me that said they saw them skags in their boats just beyond the edge of those buoys.

Chau pointed behind him with a skinny brown arm at the crowd of people.  As if his thumb triggered it, heads nodded as it passed them by.

We haven't had any notice of gaps in the barrier, said McMillan, wrapping his thick arms across his chest and glowering down at Chau who looked as if he weighed as much as one of McMillan's arms.

Who the hell's telling you?  Because if you got off your asses and actually flew over there you'd see they're -

As we've told you before and you know from the bulleting board over there, the UFW and the UN jointly monitor the integrity of the barrier, said McMillan, his voice straining to keep control as much as the muscle sin his neck were straining at his stiff collar, as he pointed off to the red where NEACRO kept the residents up to date on al activities.  The UFW regularly issues bulletins about the infected populations activities and any issues with the barrier.  None have been reported so I am not authorized to act on anecdotal reports.

The fuck does that mean? said Chau.  Others grumbled around him.  We seen it!  You guys don't get out of here so how could you see shit?

McMillan shook his head and Augusta took Leon's hand and pulled him through the less aggravated edge of the crowd.  She knew better than anyone else that McMillan wouldn't and couldn't do anything about the barrier crossings until something happened.  And by then, when someone was missing for a few days, it was often too late.  A report would be filed, patrols would step up for a week and then things would settle into a normal routine.  Until the next incident.  Such was life on the Golden Coast.

They pierced the far end of the crowd and made their way up the walkway to the edge of the stained concrete platform the old building stood on.  A few shacks were clustered around its edge like eggs or infant buildings huddling near their mother for security.  A large container had a sign with letters written in spot-welding:  King Scrap.

Well, what did the great Augusta and her crew bring in today? said a white-haired old man leaning out of the doorway of the container's end.  Leon dropped the bag and looked to his mother.

Well, go ahead, she said.  Show King Scrap what you got.

Leon opened the bag and stepped back so the old man could peer inside. He knelt down on prosthetic knees that whirred and wheezed as much as his breathing and poked through the bag with a worn metallic finger strapped onto his scarred hand.  Augusta noted the boy's fear as he watched the man poke at the trash he'd brought up.  Every loud clink of the finger on metal made him flinch.  Finally King Scrap stood up with a groan.

Well, it's not the best first haul but not bad, either.  He reached in his pocket and withdrew several plastic cards, sorting through them.  I'll give you ten for the box.

Leon looked at Augusta and she looked at King Scrap.

For real? she said.  It's kind of beat.

Well, if you're suddenly in the scrap business and know better then I'll just - he made to put the clacking cards back in his pocket.

No, no.  He'll take it.  Augusta picked the box up and handed it to him, taking the proffered card out of the other.  What's so special about it?

Leon watched the exchange between the two.

This is an old mint tin, said King Scrap, holding it up and tapping it.  Not much here but when I run it through the buffer and a few other machines I got it'll clean up nice enough to catch twice what I gave you at the open market down in Ft. Greenwich.

Damn, said Augusta.  Shoulda held out for that.

You'd be wasting your time and mine.  King Scrap pocketed the box and patted Leon on the head.  The boy looked out for the metal finger as if it were tipped in acid.  You listen to your mother, boy. Pretty soon you and I will be working exclusively together.  Your mom's one of the best pickers there is.

Thanks.  Augusta smiled and looked at Leon.  King Scrap smiled down at the boy as well.

He's looking more and more like his father every day.

Ain't nothing I can do about that, said Augusta.

Nothing you should do, said the King Scrap.  The sunlight caught the scars that marked his face.  He's a handsome man.

Well, the package don't exactly show all the contents, if you know what I mean.  Leon watched his mother and the darkness growing in her face.  Leon's father is a good man, but -

You never say Papi's a good man, blurted Leon.  You always say he a bad man.  You say he's a ass-

Augusta clapped a hand over his mouth.  She grabbed the bag and smiled at King Scrap.

Thanks for the tip.  I'll watch out for those boxes from now on.

King Scrap smiled, winked and nodded simultaneously at the boy before ambling back into the shed on his whining, clanking knees.

Augusta pushed Leon back in the direction of the skiff and helped him back down into it.

Mama, why you shush me back there? he asked in a harsh whisper.

Because King Scrap is friends with your father.  Spent some time with him at the gundy fights and up in the breakyards.  Can't have him thinking we're always bad mouthing your dad behind his back.  Even though I am.

But you always saying that Daddy's -

What I say to you and what I say to other people's two different things, Augusta said, untying the skiff and kicking off from the dock with a boot.  It's kind of private, you know?  And you're my main man, my partner, right?

Yeah, he said, nodding.  Like Capt. Mueller and Lt. Jagow!

Uh, right, said Augusta, not sure which of his cartoons Leon was referring to.  Like them.  And they don't tell people everything they tell each other, do they?

Naw, said Leon.  But this one time, Capt. Mueller got caught by these soldiers from Pella and he said -

Boy, let's not get off track here.  You gotta remember that what Mami tells you about people ain't necessarily for other people to hear you got it?

Got it, mami, said Leon, settling into his seat.

Good, she said.  She started the motor and eased out from the dock.  Now let's stop at the autobodega and see what we can get for that tenner you earned.

Yeah! shouted Leon, raising his fists high over his head.

Augusta smiled and opened the engine up full.  They roared past the end of the dock despite the large NO WAKE sign painted on the rusted butt end of the floats.  Augusta laughed and Leon kept whooping as they moved past the smaller islands poking up out of the harbor, their peaks covered in scrubby gingko trees or mounds of bird shit from the seagulls, cormorants and pelicans that rested there.

Moored against the lee side of one of these was the autobodega, run by a couple known as the Shinies.  It was a long barge refitted with two stories of warehouse and storefront on the bow.  In large white painted letters, AUTOBODEGA shown on the side over the rusty hull. It moved daily, serving the needs of the bigger communities along the Gold Coast, selling and trading.  Mostly it sold dry goods, groceries and medicines.  On Sunday night's it did a brisk business in liquor, cigarettes and even gods pawned for the betting.  Soon it would be tied up to the main dock they'd just left from, lit up for the night like a party boat. 

Augusta hailed it with a blast from her horn.  A similar horn answered and a light flashed. Someone stepped out of the main door on the port side and rolled down a rope ladder.

Augusta let the skiff glide in and Leon grabbed a throw-line, tying it to the bow cleat.  He climbed up the ladder quickly and threw himself over the side.  Just as his mother got both hands and feet on the ladder he was leaning over the edge of the barge shouting, Come on, mami!  Come on!

Coming, boy, said Augusta.  She moved slower from fatigue but the ladder proved no difficulty for her.  Once she was over the top, Leon shot inside as the owner walked in with Augusta, holstering the heavy pistol he always wore. 

Kid's a little monkey, huh?  Glad I got bananas in there! said the owner.